Landscape in Poetry - Forgotten Books
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Transcript of Landscape in Poetry - Forgotten Books
LAND S CAPE I N POE T RY
FROM HOMER TO TENNY SON
LANDSCAPE IN POETRY
FROM
HOMER TO TENNYSON
WI TH MAN Y [L L US TRA TI VE EXAMP L E S
I I f
FRANCI S T . PA L QR AVE
L A TE P R OFE S S OR OF P OE TR Y IN THE UN I VER S I TY OF OXFOR D
mantra {a suntorso prenneD al D ininu inteI Iztto, 2 11a ! na atte
D a nte
M t Quant u ck net QBmpfinnungaIsMalawi
B e e thov en,Mo ttofo r the
P a sto r a l Sym p lzony
i nnhun
MA CMI L L A N A N D CO .,L I MI T ED
NEW YORK : THE MACMI L L AN COMPANY
P R EFACE
“ AMONG the m anymovements of the hum an m ind during
the nineteenth century not the least worthy of note ha s been
the greatly wider prominence and popularity reached by land
scape art,not only in the form of picture and drawing, but as
d iffused by multipl ied forms of reproduction, and by photo
graphy . The manifold sources of interest and pleasure thus
opened to civil ised nations—to England in particular, longthe favourite home of this a rt—are obvious . No r , perhaps,would i t be possible to name any other l ine of development
and advance more innocent and wholesome, or more free fromthe counterpoising evils which
,with a sad
,an almost uniform
frequency,l ie in wai t upon every step forward or onward
that mankind can take .
Poetry and painting, i f not brother and s ister (as once wassaid of music and of song), are at least nearly akin ; and
thi s progress in landscape art seems to give a timeliness to theaim of the following book
,enlarged from lectures delivered i n
the University of Oxford during 1 89 5 . And the sphere.
of
University work has itself been recently widened in two
directions which may also,i t i s hoped
,render such an attempt
more seasonable, - the Honour School of English L anguage
and L iterature, and the “ Extension ” system . I t has been
partly with reference to these that so many specimens of thetreatment of L andscape in its widest sense are here offered ;and that those from ancient or foreign literatures have been
vi P REFA CE
translated into prose with the greatest degree of closeness to
the originals which I have been able to provide or to find,
although conscious everywhere how largely poetical charm has
been hence sacrificed. Yet thus only,as a rule
,can any fair
portion of the original tone and colour be preserved. A lmost
every verse translator i s inevitably tempted to import modern,romantic
, detai l and feel ing into classical poetry. And even
where the aim has been at l iteral accuracy,the d ifference in
sentiment with which the ancient and modern worlds have
regarded Nature is so fine and subtle, that i t proves apt to
evaporate under metrical necessi ties . A few translat ions in
verse,however
,are included for the sake of rel ief when they
seemed sufficiently close to retain some part of the authentic
quality.
I t is s imply as L iterature that the Greek and R oman poets,
with those who follow,have been here regarded. Philological
quest ions,with the influence of national H i story over Poetry
,
li e beyond my scope.
But so far as I may have succeeded in this effort i t wil l
meet the wish expressed by Matthew Arnold in one of hi s
letters,that a somewhat considerable body of Greek and L atin
l iterature should be so rendered as to make it accessible to
readers, anxious for some familiarity with the literature of those
great languages which they have studied but little .
The original texts have uniformly been subj oined (exceptin case of H ebrew
,Celtic
,and Anglo - Saxon quotations), in th e
hope that the book may thus gain an interest for a larger body
of readers . H ere the always increas ing number of University
Extension students, and of other readers everywhere, has been
special ly kept in view ; those who, without directly aiming at
scholarship,have knowledge enough of languages not our own
as to be able,by a id of an English version
,to trace some thing
Of the aspect,something Of the original charm and magic by
PR EFA CE vii
which Homer,Vergil
,or D ante
,are enhaloed —While scholars
may be interested by this first attempt to unite in what might
be strictly named an Anthology, a tolerably full gallery of ex
qu isite pictures from worlds now passed away
Cras amet qui nunquam am a v it,quique am a v it cras amet .
To those readers, again, who are preparing for the English
Honour School , I would point out —Fi rst, that knowledge ofthe great classical l iterature
,of the poets in particular
,i s simply
essential to the true,the innermost appreciation of our own
poetry ; and then, that the series of th is collect ion which
ranges from H ellas to Saxon England, in its degree displays
the sources,more or less foreign
,which have played a part so
large and so beneficial in forming that l iterature, which, in
Macaulay’s noble phrase,i s “ the most splendid and the
most durable of the many glories of England.
”
The plan of the volume is explained in the prefatory chapter.
H ere,on my own account
,I will only add a few words from
the excellent H ou sefiota’B ook of P oetry,
by Archbishop
T rench : “ I trust that I shall not be found fault with that I
have sometimes taken upon me in these notes to indicate what
seemed worthy of special admiration, or sought in other ways
to plant the reader at that point of view from which the merits
of some poem might be most deeply felt and best understood.
”
I f the explanatory criticisms now offered should sometimes
have the good fortune even to approach the quality of those
supplied by the good and gifted A rchbishop,my readers may
be amply satisfied.
L ONDON ,S ep tem be r 1 896
CON T EN T S
CHA P T ER I
PR EFATORY
CH AP T ER I I
L AND SCAPE I N THE GREEK EP I C
CH A PTER I I I
L AND SCAPE I N GREEK L Y R I CAL , IDY L L I C, AND EP I GRAMMATI C
POETRY
CHAPT ER IV
L AND SCAPE I N L UCRET I US ,VERG I L , AND OTHER AUGUSTAN Po ETs 34
CHA P T ER V
L AND SCAPE I N L ATER R OMAN EPI C AND THE“ ELOCUT IO
NOVEL L A
CH A PT ER VI
L AND SCAPE I N THE HEB R EW POETRY
X CON TEN TS
CH A P T ER VI I
L AND SCAPE I N EAR L Y I TAL I AN POETRY
CH A P T E R VI I I
L AND SCAPE I N CEL T I C AND GAEL I C POETRY
CH A P T ER IX
L ANDSCAPE I N ANGLO - SAXON POETRY
CH A P T ER X
L AND SCAPE I N ENGL I SH MED I AEVA L POETRY—CHAUCER AND H I S
S UCCESSOR S
CH A P T ER XI
L AND SCAPE I N EL I ZAB ETHAN POETRY
CH A P T ER XI I
L AND SCAPE POETRY UND ER THE S TUART K I NGS .
CH A P T ER XII I
L AND SCAPE POETRY TO TH E CLOSE OF THE EI GHTEENTH
CENTURY
C H A P T E R X IV
L AND SCA PE I N R ECENT POETRY—SCOTT AND B Y RON
C H A P T E R XV
L AND SCAPE I N RECENT POETRY—COL ER I DGE, KEATS , S HEL L EY 1 96
CH A P T ER XVI
THE L AND SCAPE OF WORD SWOR ’
I'
H
CH A P T ER XVI I
THE L AND SCAPE OF B ROWN I NG , ARNOL D ,B ARNES , AND CHA R L ES
TENNY SON
CH A P T ER XVI I I
TH E L AND SCA PE OF AL FRED , L OR D T ENNY SON
INDEX
CHAPTER I
P R EFA TOR Y
FROM primaeval days it i s impossible that man can havelooked without interest, awe, and pleasure on the mysteriouslyalluring scene around him—mountains, rivers, plains, sea, skystars
,moon
,sun
,their rising and setting. No r could these
great features of nature fail of being in some way represented,
so soon as poetry and painting reached any true grasp ofexpression . T hose so remote efforts
,however
,whatever they
may have been,are lost ; and centuries probably went by
before Palestine and H ellas gave us the earl iest extant delightful examples of L andscape in Words. But the case wasdifferent with L andscape in Colours, in which scarce any rel ichas survived for some two thousand years after the probabledate of the poems that have reached us under the awe- strikingnames of D avid and of Homer.The first interest, then, which may be claimed for our
subject i s that,in its limited degree, poetry does enable us
to feel how the book of Nature, with its many- coloured pages,
affected the three gifted l iterary races of the Med i terraneanworld—H ebrew
,H ellenic
,L atin—during years when
,if land
scape art in some sense may have existed, the evidence of i thas barely survived in a few crumbling Gra e c o -R oman frescoes .L i terature ( in which we must here include prose) has hencesingly L andscape for her portion, broadly speaking, between1 000 and 1 0 00 AD . After that date, more or less, first as a
B
2 P REFA TOR Y CHAP .
background to human figures, then in T itian’s work to Turner’s
,
l
L andscape appears as,i tself and by itself, an unfail ing source
of pure,lasting pleasure.
T o trace landscape in colour through its parallel course tolandscape in words would be a most interesting essay . Thiscannot be here attempted ; but it m ay help to clear up ourmain subject if we cast a prefatory glance at the characteristicsof the two arts ; so far as words can render the silent innereffect which picture or poem
,in proportion to their merit in
art, leave on the sensitive spectator. In common,both, i t i s
almost a tru ism to say,are bound to exhibit Nature as seen
through,coloured
,penetrated by the poet’s or the painter’s
soul whilst they,in turn
,i f genuinely gifted for art, frame
their ideal landscape on the gre at lines, and after the laws andinner intention of Nature herself : reverting thus to realism inits real essence through the union of Observation and individualgen ius . In varying degrees Nature must thus be general isedor modified bare real istic photography
,or a mere catalogue of
details,—each fails to give the
,landscape, rendered i n words or
colours,that union with human feeling which
,whether by way
of sympathy or ofcontrast,art i tself and the human soul always
imperatively call for. The absence of th is marriage of Man
and Nature is what leaves us cold,we hardly know why
,before
many a skilful landscape picture,and i s what tem pts
'
u s to Skipthe poet’s descriptive passages—Thus far for what is commonbetween the rival arts ; we may now compare them . Poetry
,
rendering the scene or subject chosen in su ccessive verbalpictures
,and bringing before us images of scent and sound
and movement,has at first S ight vast advantages over paint
ing, confined, as the artist i s, in regard to form,to a single
instant,and unable to do more than barely suggest motion ;
whilst his colours,with the light and shade
,available as materials
,
cannot go beyond one octave,as i t were
,in the long scale
1 I a llu de to th e m agnific ent spec im en, sa id to be a View from Friu li , inthe B u c k ingham Pa la ce collec tion. T h is , th e fa ded fresc o e s inth e S c u ola de lS anta , Pa du a , and th e ba c kgro unds to som e ofh is figu r e
- pic tu res , Show a
depth and tru th ofsentim ent no t a lways fo und inT i tian’s subjec t - inventions ,and suggest tha t ha d th e du e sea son a rrived , he m igh t have ranked ea silyam ong the very grea test ofthe landsc apists .
P REFA TOR y 3
of Nature,ranging from absolute darkness to midday splendour.
Add to this that the poet can prepare the reader’s mind fo r hislandscape
,connecting it easily wi th the always underlying human
sentiment,whilst the pain ter must produce his effect almost
wholly 1 by the canvas presented. Yet,on the other b and
,
who can question that colours,even a single colour
,shall place
the scene before eye and mind with a vivid truth , a realisation ,which the genius of the Muse hersel f
,concen trating al l the skill
of all the poets who have ever been, cannot even approach ?—And it adds to the interest of th is comparison, that amongthe differe n t races of mankind i t will Often be found that onehas been gifted most for the pen, another for the palette.
The task before us is suffi ciently large, and i t wi ll be bestto sketch its l imitations at once. My scheme does not aimto cover the whole field even of Western poetry . Both in extent and in the varied command of language requisite for suchan anthology
,i t would be beyond my powers ; and far more
,
such a world-wide gathering as that which the di stinguishedGerman H erder attempted in his P op u la r rS
‘
ongs.
2 Thus,in
the first portion of my work,I can only allude to the singular
development of L andscape in Poetry di splayed, according toH umboldt, long before the Christian era, in the Indian Veda s,in the epics R a m ayana and Ma /za o/za r a ta , and with greaterfullness in the poems of Kalidasa
,contemporaneous with
Vergil and Horace . Amongst Ka lida sa ’s,Humboldt especially
praises the landscapes in theMega d/zu ta or Cloud Messenger , sonamed from the drifting vapour to which the lover confideshi s grief. We find here a medi tative dreamlike sentiment
,a
sympathetic nearness to Nature, which, in contrast with theGreek apartness from her, the Greek de finitene ss of outline,may be truly called romantic. The poem “ paints with adm ir“ able truth to nature
,the joyful welcome which hails the
first appearance of the rising Cloud, showing that the looked1 A lm ost wholly, bec a u se a landsc ape known to the Spec ta tor, or one
obviou sly dea lingwith som e fa m il ia r hum an inc ident or pa ssage in l i tera tu re(l ike th e nam es affi xed to programm e "
m u sic ), m ay m ore or less d isposethe spec ta to r to gra sp the pa inter’s idea .
2 Volks L i ede r , 1 778 .
4 PREFA TOR Y CHAP .
for season of rains is at hand.
” 1 But this rich vein of song,
with whatever treasures are lying b id from us,like gold
within the rock,in all that Persia, Arabia, China, may also pre
serve,must be here passed by in P indar’s phrase
,they speak
only to the wise. And we shall afterwards have to noticeother inevitable omissions .The subject, even when limited, has thus far, I believe, been
but briefly handled I might almost repeat with that deep - souledand prophe tic bard who did most for R oman nature- scenes
,
“ the pathless places of poetry are our wandering ground,
”
Ania P i er i dum p er agr o loca . But it i s in no spirit of boastingthat th is is noted ; the fact i s rather a source of anxiety, anappeal to the reader for a j udgment
,lenient if not favourable
,
of an attempt which cannot escape frequent deficiencies .A lthough L a ndscape in Poetry has not hitherto, so far as
my knowledge goes, at least in our language, been so muchas mapped out systematically, yet I have been greatly aidedby certain previous essays. Most important of these is thesketch (which does not exclude landscapes in prose or incolour) by that many - sided man of science
,A lexander von
Humboldt,in Cosm os, his great Pnysica l D escr ip tion of tb c
Univer se . Another and a more detailed survey is givenin the volume of lectures by my gifted predecessor atOxford, C. Sha irp :
2 but i t i s chiefly our own poets whohere are analysed ; the series, perhaps rather arbitrarilyselected, ending with Wordsworth . Briefer, but with morevariety in range
,is an outline prefixed to Mr . J . Gi lbert’s
excellent and carefully illustrated volume, L andscap e inA r t
befor e Cla ude and S a lva tor .
3 And a very few but well chosenpoets have been similarly treated in Mr . P . G . H am e rton
’
s
L andscap e .
4 In case of Greek and R oman literature I am
1 Cosm os, Pa rt I I The a u thori sed transla tion, ed i ted by E. S abine, 1 849 ,ha s here be enu sed .
2 The P oe ti c I nte rp r e ta ti onofN a tu r e . Ed inbu rgh , 1 877 .
3 Mu rray, 1 885 . Th i s very interestingwo rk Shows w ide S tu dy and refinedta ste. B y a id of illum ina tions and the ba c kgr o unds inea rly pa inting i t tra ceslandsc ape from c la ssic a l a r t onwa rds , thu s c overing ground untou ched byany o ther book I h ave m e t with . I t deserves to be better known.
41 885 .
6 PREFA TOR Y CHAP .
scenery,we may say
,are not the result of any mere ignoran t
fancy by which we project ourselves into external Nature,but
evidently the result of an instinctive recognition of thatspecial kind of agency which is
,indeed, familiarly known to
us as existing within ourselves,but which is also universally
recognised and identified as existing outside of us and aroundus
,on every side . I t is a reflection of that infinite R eason,
that L ogos—of which we partake,and without which in
Nature wa s not anything m a de tiza t w a s m a de . All things,including ourselves
,are fu ll of it .”
I t i s not meant that these larger thoughts have been always“ perhaps have been often—within the direct consciousnessof poets in their landscape. Yet the sense (to sum up thisargument) of the purpose infused through
“ everything that is,
”
from the adj ustment of sun and planets to the smallest functionmicroscopically traceable in plant and animal structure—inone word
,the sense of the unity of Nature, rendered in terms
appropriate to each age as i t passes ; these have been deepunderly ing principles
,a secret inspiration from the first
,in the
unsophisticated human mind and heart, and should always bekept in View through our survey from H omer to T ennyson .
H ence in many different modes i t is that landscape appearsin poetry ; the soul of Nature has spoken to man with all hervast—ln the epithet which Shelley took from L ucretius, her“ daedal —fullne ss . Some of these modes it will be best todefine briefly. The task i s indeed d iffi cult ; indulgence isbesought for it, as a mere sketch -map for the wide regions wehave to traverse.Four or five main aspects of Nature taken by man’s
mind in poetry may su fli c e . These can be ranged broadlyfrom simple to complex
,forming a development which, at the
same time, answers more or less to the order of date. But itshould always be remembered that art is free, that the poetsespecially do not always confine themselves to a single m odeof treatment ; that human nature itself remains, as Thucydideslong since said, ,much the same throughout . The new islatent in the o ld
, the o ld breathes forth through the new .
H ence the various aspects of landscape in which Nature
fl
PREPA TOR y 7
o fle rs herself never wholly di sappear from poetry they revive,
or they melt into one another, defeating the effort to rangethem under definite classes or in sharply separated periods .I We may first name the simple
,almost physical
, delightin the scenes of the home landscape, which seiz ed especiallyon the early poets of Greece and the Middle Ages . ObjectsWere painted singly and with a few clear touches ; the meadowin spring
,the living stream
,the cool sheltering wood, the flower
at their feet,as we always see with children
,appear to limi t
their horizon . Poetry in this phase,in truth
,but sets to song
the cry of delight when infant eyes Open on the cowslip fieldand early as the style began, i t repeats itself ever and anon,in Wordsworth’s phrase
,Where life is wise and innocent . ”
I I Even,however
,in the earl iest days of surviving poetry,
from H omer himself,landscape, taking also a wider range,
appears as the background to human life—as scenery to the play .
I t i s thus by snatches and s ide glimpses that Nature, as a rule ,i s seen in the poetry of Greece, epic or lyric. H ere we finda close analogy between painting and poetry
,and thi s primit ive
mode in verse has been truly likened to the exquisitely imagina tive fragments of landscape which delight us in the figu resubj ects of the o ld I tal ian and Flemish artists, before landscapeas such was dealt with as by itself sufficient.I I I In classical poetry
,however
,the range gradually widens.
Civil isation and the li fe in cities threw then,as they throw
now,the sensitive soul u pon the pure charm of Nature
,
whilst Nature,through roads and resting- places
,became every
where more accessible. Philosophy—conscious thought uponthought—compels man to ask the origin and the meaningof the visible world. Nature
,as the immediate work, and in
some sense the expression of the D ivine,is rendered by
H ebrew poetry as a vast vague power appears distinctly withL ucretius . D eep interest in the landscape
,a certain passion
for it as such,sympathy with Nature
,make themselves heard
in R oman song ; landscape now at once contrasts with, andsupports humanity.
IV P resently the H ebrew and the R oman sentiment areunited and expanded by Christianity so vastly that poetry hence
8 PREFA TOR Y CHAP .
forth prepares to be penetrated by what one may cal l themodern spirit. And the popular recognition of this change
,
th is development, is well founded, despite the attempts whichbegan with the I tal ian R enaissance to renew the classicalspirit. Ne o - paganism is a hollow theatrical mask ; the o ld
world, broadly speaking, does differ widely from the modern .
Greek, L atin, H ebrew poetry alike th ink of Nature as sub
jo rdina te in interest
,or as external to man . But the long
interval of European dislocation and reconstruction now intervenes more than six centuries
,during which light struggles
wi th darkness and barbarism,must be overleapt before the
modern world—the mediaeval - modern perhaps one mightname it—was born ; before Poetry lifted her voice to charmand to comfort mankind again.
T he horiz on hencefo rth was immensely enlarged ; at fi rstseen only from the valley just as it l ies about us
,the landscape
is now studied,as it were
,from the mountain top. R eligion
,
Man,Nature, these permanent elements of the landscape in
poetry,wrought upon by mediaeval thought
,by the R enaissance
,
by our own modern atmosphere,so largely t inged by physical
science,have given rise to certain deeper, more intimate,
relations between Nature and the soul “Mellower years,
”
i n Wordsworth’s phrase,
“ brought a riper mind,And clearer
“ insight.” L andscape now appears as matter of pure de sc r ipt ion
,human interests being subordinate, l ike the figures intro
du c e d in the work of painters from Claude to our own time.With this al so
,in a kind of contrast
,poetry devoted to regions
or spots of historical interest may be named. This latterform
,howeve r
,leads naturally to d idactic treatment ; and the
danger of hence declining into prosaic style has renderedi t comparatively infrequent.More d istinctly modem i s the attempt to penetrate the
[i nner soul of the landscape itself ; drawing from it morallessons or parables for encouragement
,or
,indeed, for warning,
when before the poet’s mind i s the unsympathetic aspect ofNature
,her merciless indifference to human life. Under
another conception the landscape becomes a symbol of underlying spiri tual truths. Or again, it i s, as it were, clothed in
P REFA TOR Y 9
the hues of human passion,idealised by strong emotion—a
mood which easily falls into exaggerated figures,or what Mr .
R uskin may imply by “ the pathetic fallacy .
H ere we may also note how,at least in the English work
of this century,a remarkable element pervades the landscape
of the poets . Whether in regard tod ista nces or to nearer Obj e cts,
a greater truth,a finer and closer accuracy is constantly given .
In this,the latest of our styles
,we may trace the influence of
facts made known by science ; the geological elements whichhave shaped the mountain the intimate structure of the floweror, more important, the lessons of thorough methodical inve stiga tionwhich physical science has impressed, not only onpoetry
,but upon every branch of human study .
We may perhaps now suggest the deepest point of view inour poetical treatment of the landscape
,nay
,the very basi s of
the deepest accents of song,in the phrase used by a writer to
whom I have already been indebted :“ the recognition of
“ mind by mind of the unity between the wonders of theworld without with the wonders of the world within theperception of D ivine purpose ; the organic
“ pre - establishedharmony ( to take the o ld formula) between our sensations ofcharm and the scene before us ; the beauty of the world, which initself—as another deeply feeling writer 2 has observed—Nature,as it were, does no t need for use, or to gain her own aims,coming forward
,almost as a l iving personality—the A lm a Venu s
of L ucretius— to meet and vitali se the sense of beauty implantedin man . These phrases
,indeed
,only attempt imperfectly to set
forth what we can rather feel than express,but what
,indeed
,
i t i s the privilege of P oetry herself,in her highest m oods, to
awaken in the sympathetic soul . Yet,l ike all that belongs to
the spiritual s ide of human nature,these thoughts come only
by glimpses —seen,and hardly seen —like fairy treasures they
vanish when touched by the “ dead hand ” of definition .
A noble passage from S . Au gustine’s Confessions 3 may sumup this subject in bette r words than mine . Nature, he argues,leads him up to Go d by her beauty 3
1 D uke ofArgyll , T/ze Uni ty q a tu r e
J . B . Mozley, Univer si ty S e rm ons.
3 B . X , vi .
P R EPA TOR Y CHAP . I
W/za t is t/zis ? I asked the earth, and it answered me, Ia m not H e ; and all that i s therein confessed the same. Iasked the sea and the depths, and the creeping things withlife
,and they answered, We a r e notMy God, seek t/zou a oove
u s. I asked the breez y gales, and the airy universe, and al lits deniz ens repl ied, Ana xim enes is m i sta ken
,a m not God.
I asked heaven, sun, moon, stars : N ei tker a r e w e,say they
,
tke God wkom t/zou seekest. And I said unto all thingswhich stand about the gateways of my flesh (i . e. are accessible to the senses) , Ye na ve told m e ofmy God, tlza t ye a r e
notH e,tell m e som etking ofH im . And they cried out with
a loud voice,H e m a de u s.
”
CH A PTER I I
L AND S CA P E I N THE GR EEK EP I C
THESE many moods in which poets have tried to translateNature must obviously bring with them a great and de l ightfulvariety in treatment . Throughout, however, the governingrule ,which, consciously or not, has been almost always followed,may be expressed i n the noteworthy phrase used by Beethovenas the motto of hi s great P a stor a l Symp /zony, Mehr Ausdruck“ de r Em p findung als Malerei
”: It is not so much painting,
as the rendering of inner sentiment . With this as'
a kind oftext, to be before the mind always, let us approach our onlytoo vast theme
,following within the domain of each language
a rough chronological order,and beginning with the Greek
and the R oman poets—those who,after all and above all, in
the region of their art,
Ar e yet a master light of all o u r seeing
guides and models now for near two thousand years, unsu r
passed, and seldom equalled.
Epic poetry properly deals.
with the acts and passions ofman . H ence in the verse of that still greatest of all poets,Homer
,or whoever left us I li a d and Odyssey, natural de sc r ip
tion as such is always purely incidental to the narrative,introduced most often in the form of comparison . ButH omer’s vast range of simile thus brings in wild beasts and
birds,beside the landscape
,scattered everywhere in profusion ;
and he has painted all with a picturesque vigour, as famous
I 2 L AND S CAPE I N THE GREEK E P I C CHAP .
now as in i ts own ancient day for its life and truth . L e t ustake some of these glimpses at random . When Odysseus, yetunknown
,relates some tale of adventure to Penelope
As the snow which the south - east wind has melted, whensoftened by Zephyr
,thaws on th e mountain - heights, and as it
melts,the rivers fill while they flow 1—even thus flowed her tears .
Or,when Circe had undone the spell wherewith She bound
the companions of Odysseus, and he returns to them ,we have
this farmyard picture—how l ively, how fresh, how modern 1 2
As when young heifers in the fold- yard all frisk together aboutthe drove of cows when they return home satiated with pasturenor any longer do the pens restrain them,
but with vehementlowing they run round the mothers so they
H omer was not only famil iar with the sea, but loved i twith a love somewhat unusual in poets . H ence the comparison following
,when D iomede encou rages the Achaeans to
battle.
But as when on a loud - resounding beach, as Zephyr movesthem, wave on wave of ocean rushes—cresting itself fi rst o u t atsea, but next as it breaks on the land roaring loudly ; and curvesround the headlands as it goes, in a peak, and spews forth these a - foam so the D anaan ranks 3
1(DS 66‘xu
‘
ov Ka r a'
r vjrc e‘
r’
év d/cpmr éhoww dpe a a w ,
fizz 7"
Efipos Ka r é‘
rnfev, ém‘
w Zégbvpo s Ka r axe tfiyTflKOfl éW) ? 5
’
dpa Tv’
js nor a /t a l 1 r >x7j00va t péour es.
0d. xix , 2 05 .
Gas 6’
81"
av dypa vhoc 1 r6p¢e s 1 rep25017s dyelxa la s,éAGoé a a s és Kén'
po v, ém‘
jv flo r dvns Kopéo ww a t,
r ad a r (Ina a xa lpo va w éVa l/Tfa l. 065’
é‘n (In/colfaxova
’
, dAA’
ddwbv yvxofip eva t dfl ¢ t0éova w
un‘r épa s d‘
Js ép é Ke i r/or
(0
0d. x1 , 40.
3(II S 5
’
87"
év a lyra hq? woAvnxét xiii /a Ha hda ansdpvvr
’
éWa O' O'OT GpOV Z e cp ifip ov i57r o Kw rja a vr os‘
m ix/fl yMy 7 6 np c’
br a Kopéa a e r a t, a t’
r r ap é’r e t
‘
r a
xépa cp {in‘yVIS/Ae uov ne‘ydha Bpéju e t , du cpl dé 7"
é kpa s
xvpr bv 16V Kopvqbofi‘
r a t,dr onnfia 6
’
dMs dxmyui5s 7 67
"
l l. iv, 4 2 2 .
I 4 L AND S CA PE IN THE GREEK EP I C CHAP .
Break open to their highest, and all the starsShine, and the Shepherd gladdens in his heart.
1
These l ines are from the I lia d, which is al so richer thanthe companion poem in glimpses of the animal world in itsfie rc ene ss. T o the calmer, more homely atmosphere of theOdyssey belongs naturally the landscape of cultivated spots—flowe r and fruit, and cool streams
,and simple sensuous
happiness . Such are the gardens of King A lc inOu s 2
Without the hall, near the gates, was a vast four- square garden,and a hedge ran round it from both ends. There great treesflourished
,pears and pomegranates and apples of gorgeous fruit,
and sweet figs and vigorous olives . Never dies or fails the irfruitage, winter or summer, the year long ; b u t ever and everZephyr breathing brings some to b u d, some to ripeness . P eargrows o ld on pear, apple on apple, grapes on grapes, fig on fig.
There also are two fountains,one spreading through the
whole garth, whilst the othe r passes toward the lofty palace.
This domestic scene, which also seems to answer to thecharacter of A lcinous himself and his delightful family
,contrasts
curiously with the great natural landscape which we have seen
1 Gas 6’
87"
év ofipa mfida '
r pa goa ew ijv dp.¢ l a ehvjvnv(pa i l/67
"
dpm pe'
lréa,87 6 7
"
{T hem vfiu ep os a i07jp,é‘x 7
"
é‘tpa vev 7r60'
a t O'
Kom a l Ka i 7rpu'
Jox/ es dxpo r
Ka i Vd1 r a l. obpa véfie v 6’
dp'
bweppd‘
ynda ne ‘
r os a lfifip,7rdv7' a dé e l
’
der a l. da ‘
r pa’
yéynfie dé T E ¢ péva 7r ot,u.7ju .
1 1 . vi ii , 5 55 .
Mfin-
00061! 6’
a éhijsMa s 6pxa 7'
os dyxt 014)dT GTpd
‘
YUOS 7repl 6’ ¥pKos éAfiAa -
r a t dugb or épwfiev.
é‘vfia 64} 5év6p e a na kpd WG¢ UKGOL Tnh efiéww a
,
dyxva t Ka i fia ta l Ka i unhé a t dyha éxa pnota vxéa c yl wxepa l [ca l éAa i
‘
a t mksfiéwo a t .w v 015 7ro re KGpfl 'OS dr éAAIn-
a t 066’
dwe f'rr e t
xe i/La r os c ase fiépevs, éne rfio tos dAAd udh’
a le l
Z e c/wpfn7rvelovcm TaMy (Ma,dAAa 66‘ r éa a e t.
dyxvné7r’
w pda xe t, m’
jo 5’
é7r2uvt y,
0.67 d é 7r l a r m/why? a r a gbvl , (I ii/coy 6’
é7r2
év dé 6159) Icpv'
ju a t 73M411 7"
dud. K’
fi‘n' OV (Sina i/Ta.
o xf6va '
r a t,
6’
ér épwfiev fnr’
a éhijs a i5d linen7rpbs 56pm ; btbnMu
Od. VI I , 1 1 2 .
I I L AND S CAP E I N THE GREEK EP I C 1 5
was needed to complete the picture of the camp. But Homer,
as the Greeks said, was equal to everything. In the Odyssey,
again,we have the magnificent boar- hunt of the youthful
Odysseus,1 which in vigour and movement of l i fe and clea rdefinition anticipates Scott’s simila r scene in the B r ide ; whilst,as an example of the idyllic vein which runs through the poem
,
we may take the picture of the land of the Cyclopes
Where are meadows by the sea - downs,watery soft and
the v ines never wither,and level there must the ploughland b e .
z
After the lapse of three thousand years these small landscapes seem as if they might have been written to-day. I t isthe same with the characters—ifwe consider them apart fromthe external circumstances— in the two epics. H omer is themost unaffected of all poets and hence
,more than any other
,I
know not whether even Shakespeare should be excepted, hehas
,in Wordsworth’s useful say ing, “ his eye on his obj ect .”
H ence also this modernness, th is truth for all time.
The (so - called) Homeric Hymn to Apkr odité has a curiouspassage
,which with unusual fullness sets before us the
mythology of the forest. The strange human sympathyshown here for nymph and tree, bound together in one li fe,has
,or seem s to have
,a romantic
,an almost Celtic, touch of
sentiment.
T ogether with the birth of [the mountain Nymphs] are bornp ine trees or tall oaks from the nour ishing earth, fair, flourishingon the lofty mountains of the Immortals : and these
,mortals
never c u t with iron . B u t when the fated death has reachedthem
,fi rst those fair trees dry u p on the ground, and the bark
perishes round them, and the sprays fall, and the sou l [of theNymph] at the same moment quits the sunlight.3
1 0d. xix, 42 8.
2 h i p év yap Ae ra d’
wes clhbs r oAtoi o 7ra p’
dxfia s
I'
Jdpnho lna ha xof'
Eri ka. K’
d¢0tr m diu r ehm elev.
év 6’
dpoa ts A6 17) .
Od. i x , 1 3 2 .
3777m 6
’
din) i) éAdTa t fit Bp ii es vii/ txdpnvocyewouévya
'
w é’cpva a v é 1r l xfiovl Bw'
r ta ve lpy,
1 6 L AND S CAPE I N THE GREEK EP I C CHAP .
Another hymn shows us Pan in his wild career ; perhapsnowhere else in H ellenic poetry are the aspects of h illcountry so freely painted. The Nymphs are following the godwith dance and shout
And he goes hither and thither through the thick bushes , nowallured by the soft - fl ow ing streams, now moving among therocky steeps
,as he climbs to the very highest summit to watch
the flocks . Often he cou rses over the vast shin ing mountainsand, again leaving the chase, he wi ll drive the Sheep into
the cavern,pouring forth from his reeds a sweet melody nor in
songs could he be surpassed by that bird who, among the leavesof many - flow e r ing spring, laments as sh e hu rries o u t her sadsweet music. [And then P an and the Nymphs are soon] in asoft meadow
,where crocus and hyacinth
,odorou s and fl o u rish
ing, are mixed everywhere with the grass . And they sing theblessed gods and great O lympus 1
H esiod’s rude prosaic style and matter are not congenialto the poetic landscape. Yet with what grace are natural
Ka haf, mhefidova a t, eu ot’
fpea w k ol‘
ow
dfia vdxr wv'
r ats 5’adn flpo r ol Ke lpovort a rdfiptp
'
87 6 KW 63]noipa 7ra pe a'
r 7jfcy Oa t/dr aw ,
df‘
dve‘r a c ju év 1 rpw‘
r ou é7rl xdou l dévdpe a Ka hd
¢Ac tos 5’
dagbm ep tgbfiw éfie t, 1 rf7r7' ov0' t 6’d1 r
’
di c t,7 55V 66‘x
’
(mo i) ¢ uxi7 Re ina ¢ dos fieMoLo .
A dH(pow
-
ii 6’
é‘VOa. Ka i é‘vfia 6rd fiwm jaa T WO/d,
dAAO‘r e p év be IOpoww éqbeAIcéyeI/os u a ha fco’
ia w,
dAAO‘r e 3'
a t? 1 ré ‘r p'
g0'
w év fihtfldr ow t dto txve'
t‘
,
cixpor drnv Kopvqh‘
w pnkéa xonou eZa a vafia i I/wv.
r ohhdxt 5’
dp'
yw é ew a dtédpa u ex/ ofip e a p a xpd,rm 6
’
ts antos fiha o e u ala s
dypns ééa wu’
w,dovdxwv ihro ju ofia a v 6.06pm }
vfidv/aou'
o i’
m 1 61! we 7r a pa 6p ci ju01. éV p eMea aw
6pm , fir’
é‘a pos 7r07\va v0éos év ner dhow t
Opijvov ém'
rrp oxéova’cixée t, neM‘
ynpvv dor67ju .
év u a ha mfiAe tIuDI/ t, TOOL xpéxo s fiB’
bdrm /60s
6 130567” Oa héfiwv Ka r a p la'
yer a t akpuru. r a iny.
{Juvefia w dé 06081 9 udxa pa s Ka i p at/( pop"
Ohvmrou .
A d P anem 8 (Ma tthia e ) .H ow the bu oyant he xam eters here p u t the lea ping shepherd -
go d befo re o u reyes I t is a ssu redly the voice ofno sm a ll poet wh ich brea thes through th i slovely hymn.
l l L AND S CAPE IN THE GREEK EP I C 1 7
features veiled or personified, as Humboldt points out,1 undermythical names
,when he enumerates the Ne re id sea-nymphs 2
Kym odoké and Kym a to legé—goddess- spirits of the bays
which receive and calm the restless waves ; Fe ro u sa, she thatcarries the ship Actaea
,the nymph of the Shore ; Eu lim ené ,
she of the fair haven . In this way the whole sea aspect seemsset before us in di st inct images . And by such images i t shouldbe always remembered that the sense of the D ivine in Natureexpressed itself to the H ellenic mind .
In this early time, or earl ier, may also probably be placedthose unhappily lost songs lamenting L inu s or D aphnis orAdonis, with which the country folk deplored the fading ofspring foliage and beauty under the southern sun heat ; i f,indeed, this was their only primitive meaning.
1 Cosmos, vol . 1 1 , ch . i . 2 T/zeogony, 2 3 3 .
CHAPTER I I I
L AND S CAPE I N GR EEK L YR I CA L , I D YL L I C,AND
EP I GR AMMA TI C P OE TR Y
L Y R ICAL poetry,whether i n its fi rst natural use as the ex
pression of personal feel ing,or in the solemn
,national
,and
religious ode,has offered small space for landscape until
modern days . Yet that “ Tenth Muse,Sappho fair ” (Fl. c .
500 as P lato named her,shows her exquisite Aeolian
art and tenderness,
“ very woman ” in everything,in certain
l ittle descriptive fragments,“ more golden than gold,
” survivingstill amongst the lamentable wreck of that consummategenius . Such is the garden vignette
,where the rivulet
m u r m u r s cold a mong tlze app le- tr ee ooug/zs, and sleep str ea ms
downontlze tr emkling lea ves.
1 Or take another, unsurpassablein its utter simplicity : S et a r e m oon and P leia des, and i t is
m zdnzgkt, and ti nkou r is a lr ea dy p a ssing, bu t I sleep a lone.
2
L ast,the lovely bridal song, which I once tried to render
thus
1 amp!dé tbfixpov Kehdde t 5t’
60'd
a a mr , a lfiva a oué k 66 (MAvKa il a Ka r dpp e t.
I h ave som etim es though t tha t we m igh t render the words , the rivu letm u rm u rs through troughs of apple - tree branches . B u t the text here is sa dlyuncerta in.
2 dédvxeMy 6. a ehdvva
Ka i I l hnfa de s, u éa a c déVOKT GS‘, 7ra pa 6’ é‘pxe r ’ (bpa ,é’
yw 6é pfwa Ka r e ifidw.
CHAP . I I I L AND S CAPE I N GREEK L YR I CAL P OE TR Y 1 9
O fair—O sweet 1 1A S the sweet apple blooms high on the bough,H igh on the highest, forgot of the gatherers
S o ThouYet not so nor forgot of the gatherersH igh o’er their reach in the golden air,
0 sweet—O fairA more complete night scene remains for us
,written about
a century earlier by Alkm anof Sardi s (Fl. 670 B .C.)S leep mountain - tops and ravines
,
S leep headland and torrentS leep what dark earth bears on her bosom,
Green leaves and insectsBeasts in the denand bees in the ir familiesMonsters in depths of the violet seaS leeps every bird,Folding the long wings to slumber ?
Upon this we m ight perhaps justly remark that the p er sona lnote of Sappho i s absent. And a fragment may be added,partly because the last words call to mind Tennyson’s S e a
blue bird ofMarch,” which he noticed in north - east L incoln
Shire then coming up inland
Would 0 would I were the kingfisher, as he flies with hismates in his feeble age between wind and water
,the se a - bright
bird of spring.
3
1 65 Katha 63xa plea d a .
ofou To ‘
yhvxifiu a hov épe iifier c u dq : e’
7r’(50597,
akpav é 1 r’
d or ang‘
h ehdfiow o 66‘
ya hoaponfies,of; judo éxhehdfiovr
’
,dAA
’
06K édtfiu a w’
é 7rfx60'0a t.2e ij
'
ao ua w 5’
6péwv Kapu¢ a l T e Ka i ¢ dpaw es,
wpcboués Te Ka i xa pddpa t,(piihha 7
'
s ép 1 r e-
r é. 0’
8001 1 . Tpécpe t'
p éha w a. ya ia ,077s 6pe a xq30£ Ka i yéu os u ehw a av
Ka i Kmbda h'
é u Béufie a a r 7r op¢ vpé77s dhés'
e ildovaw 5’
o iwu c’
bv (p i'
JAa Ta vvr r ep ti'
ywv.
3flake 6h fidAe , myp iiltos c i
’
qu ,8s 7' é7r l mina r os duOos du
’
dAKvéveo a t 7r07'
7'
j7'
a t
unhe 'yés fir op é‘
xwu , dhtr 6p¢ vpos e la pos 6pms.
Parnell, in his interesting Gr e ek Lyr i c P oetfy in a
L AND S CAPE I N GR EEK L YR I CAL , I D YL L I C CHAP .
The bel ief was that the female birds carried the male ontheir wings
,as the poet here longs that the maidens would
favour him in their dances .P indar the D orian (5 2 2 -
44 2 B C .) in a few lines paints whatmight be called a supernatural landscape, describing the soulsin Elysium
Fo r them shines the sun in power all our night long, and ther e d rose meadows about their city are heavy with the shadowyincense - tree and golden fruits, and happ iness about themputs forth all her blossoms . 1
No t less characteristic of P indar’s sharply touched de sc r ipt ive power—and of his deep religious feel ing
,with varied tints
colouring the pictures of Nature—i s the mountain landscapewhich he gives in his first Pythian ode , speaking of
Aetna,the snowy p illar of heaven
,that nurses the sharp
,cold,
never -melting snow ; from whose depths a re vomited forth thepure sulphur fountains of unapproac hable fir e ; whilst by daythose rivers pour forth a stream of dark glowing smoke, butduring the dark hours the ruddy blaze, rolling, carries crashingrocks to the deep - lying ocean plain ?
Kli/Aa TOS ti l/909, li tera lly the flower of the wave, quotes (from B u c hho lz ) theFrench phra se dfle u r d’
e a u , wh ich my pa raphra se h a s tried to render.1 To'
ia' t Adan-
e rMy Itévos deMov r aw éufidde Vilm a. Kci 'r w,
¢ ow u <op650ts 6’
év l Ae tu é ve a m npoda r tou d in-Cm
Ka i Atfidvcp a m a pq’
i Ka i xpva éo rs Ka p7r o i’
s BéflptfievI ra pa Bé a ¢ww COa Ve’l’IS 6i7ra s T éfia kev dhfios.
xlwv 5’
o r’
zpa m’
a a vvéxe t,Vtgbée a a
’Atw a
,WdVGTGS xtévos Ofsfa s T t07jva.
‘
“
r ials épev'
yov'
r a t ju év dwhdr ov 7rvp6s dwér a r a téK u vxcfiu 7r a
‘
ya f'
7ro 1'
a,u.ol 6
’duépaww uév npoxéovn poor tra m / o i)
a lfiwv" dAA’év dpdwa ww 7ré7'
pa s
(po ll/w o o. xvhwdonéva gt)t és B a fie ia v (pe‘
pe t 7rou ‘
r o u wh im 00V wa r dyqo .
Com pa re P inda r' s contem pora ry Aeschylu s, spe a king a l so ofEtnaWhenc e hereafter Sha ll bu rst forth strea m s of fire with fierce jaws devou ring
the level fie lds of fertile S ic i ly :é‘ufie v éxpa
‘
yfia ow a l 7ro7' e
T vpbs Bar row s dypia cswdfiocsT ijs Ka hhtxdpnov t eMa s Aevpo bsWa s.
P rom . Vine t. 367.
2 2 L AND S CAPE I N GREEK L YR I CAL , I D YL L I C CHAP .
human life,has been very sparing of landscape description,
except in those short strokes which place at once before thespectator a background suitable to the action . Yet A eschylus,the earliest preserved to us of the Athenian dramatists,—inmagnificent power the greatest
,as Sophocles has the most
exquisite art,—was naturally led, in his P r om et/zeu s B ound
, tosome attempt at painting the landscape wherein the scenewas presumably laid by ancient legend. And in this
,as more
or less in the passages quoted from the lyric poets, we findthe first great advance made beyond that introduction of Naturesimply by way of di rect comparison with man which H omerso splendidly exhibits . I t i s sti ll
,however
,with reference to
humanity that she appears we have no description for its ownsake
,unless the night scene by Alkm anbe an exception but
that reaches u S only as an isolated quo tation, and we knownot what relatio n it bore to the poem in which it was contained.
The P r om etkeu s l ifts us at once within the moun tain rangeof S cythia, and, in the primitive absence of stage scenery,Aeschylus has driven the landscape into the mind of h ishearers by h is own amaz ing force of language
, de scribing theT i tanic rock - world
,in which he was obviously at home.
Thus, at the opening of the play we find the go d H ephaestusthus threatening the hero
0 bright - thoughted child of right counselling Themis,
against my will must I nail thee unwilling with indissolublebonds of brass to this solitary rock
,where thou shalt perceive
nei ther voice nor form of any man,and scorc hed by the sun ’s
bright flame thy skin shall lose its bloom : B u t, to thy joy, shallthat glare be veiled by night with her Spangled robe, and sun
again disperse the hoar - frost ofmorn ing.
l
1 Tijs dpfiofioéhov Oémdos a l‘n' vjufir a. 7ra 2‘
,
dxovr d o" dxwv 5 1”;m xa hxevua a t
r poana a a a ke tia w ana l/Op ti ma) wdyq) ,YV
’
od're goon/ i)! 067 6 TOU u oq v‘
yv Bpon’
bv
Oil/e r, a r a fiew bs 5’
7'
7Mov ¢ o lj877 cpAo 'yZxpou
’
i s dampe rs dvfios dou évcp 6é
57 wotxth efawu POEdr oxpfix/z e t ¢ dos,d vnl' 0
’
égtia v‘ijAI os oxeaé r dhw .
P r om . Vinc t. 1 8 .
I I I AND EP I GRAMMA TI C POE TR Y 2 3
The poet’s interest in Alpine heights—so unfrequent inancient days—again appears when P rometheus marks outher wide wandering future to the goddess Io
S he must pass a river before thou shalt reach Caucasus himself
,loftiest of mountains, where from his very brow the stream
bubbles out in its strength . But over- climbing the star - neighb o u r ing peaks, thou must take the southward road.
1
Then,in a wild earthquake- volcano convulsion of Nature
that maj estic drama closes
And t ruly [says P rometheus] in deed now,and not in word
any longer, Earth is shaken : a thunder echoing from the deepgrowls near us, fiery wreaths of lightn ing blaze out, whirlwindseddy the dust, and the blasts of all w inds leap forth, each againstthe other blowing discordantly, and sky i s confused w ith ocean .
O holy Mother mine, 0 ethereal heaven circling round, thelight of all things,—ye see what injustice I suffer ?
What a change in tone, in m usic, and in imagery is here, aswith P indar, from the lovely sweet soft lyrics of the earlier dayl ike the contrast between El izabethan love - songs and the
17rp2v 7rpos Ka tixa a ov p éhys, épc
'
bv
ih/a a r ov, 2!a 7r07' a,u.bs éx¢ vofi ju éu os
xpor dcfiwv d7r’
a t’
rr d‘
w ci a ’
r po‘
yefr ou a s 66‘
xpi7xopvpds fir epfidhhova a v é
‘sm anyflptvijv
Bfiva c Kéhe vflov.
Vine t. 7 1 9 .
tom l
,u.7‘
7v é‘
p'
ytpKOt
’
IK 87 1. ytfifiq:
x9dw a eo dh e vr a z
Bpuxla 5’
ijxd) r a pa u vxéir a t
fipovr v’
js, é‘Atfces 6
’
éxhdpa r ova t
m eponfis fo'
wr vpoz,d TpO/J-fiOL 5é Kévw e iMa a ova Lov aprfj. 6
’
dvéuwv r ve éu a r a. 7rdw wv
efs dhhnhaa r da w dvr lr vovv dnoaemvéyeua
v r e r dpa xr a t 6’
a t p 7r év~
r qu
(I) pa rr pos éufis a éfia s, (I : r dvr wva lahp xowbv (pdos e lhla owv,éa opéis p.
’
tbs é‘xdtxa. 7rda’xw.
P r om . Vinc t. 1 080.
L AND S CAPE I N GREEK L YR I CAL , I D YL L I C CHAP .
gloom of H amlet or Macbeth—between Claude and R em
brandt in landscape—the S icilian Bellini and the T eutonicBeethoven .
In the choral lyrics,however
,i t i s that the A thenian play
wrights generally place their references to Nature. Such is thefamous passage in the Oedip u s a t Kolonu s of S o phocles, whenthe aged king
,victim of such fe arful calamities
,i s approaching
his place of final rest by the sacred grove, at the
Gleaming Ko lonu s rock, where the thrilling nightingale mostloves to sing under the green coverts, remain ing constant tothe dark brown ivy
,and the inviolable foliage of the god ; the
wood with its thousand fruits and leaves sun- proof untouchableof any gale .
l
With what obvious beauty is Nature here brought in as thecontrast—the relief—to the human heart ! It is the sameapproach to modern feel ing which we have already found inthe lyrical I byku s. Even when set forth in the inevitablebaldness of prose, this may take us back to the severe styleof A thens in the fifth century.
Another Sophoclean landscape I will also a dd, in D eanP lum p tre
’
s graceful version . After the epic way i t presentsa comparison with the calamitous woes of the House ofL abdacus
A s when a wave, where Thracian blasts blow strongOnthat tempestuous Shore
,
Up surges from the depth beneath the sea,And from the deep abyss
R olls the black w ind - vex’d sand
17 6V rim/737 0. Kohwvéu
,é'ufi
’
d. Alysi a u tvépw a t
Ga u lfova a MdALO’
T’
w pa'
t‘
s inrofida a a w,
7 6V olvé‘
nr’
dvéxo ua a. KLO'
O'OV
Ka i dfia Tov 060i)p vptéxa pr ov dufihtov
dufivea bv T 6 7rdy7 wv
xemu’
wwv
Oed . Col. 670 .
I ” AND EP I GRAMMA TI C P OE TR Y 2 5
And every jutting peak that drives it backR e - echoes with the roar. 1
But such outbursts are only too rare : Euripides and
Aristophanes, so far as I have noted, rarely going beyondsomewhat common phrases
,or turning at once to mytho
logical conventionality. Yet the first Chorus in the Clouds ofAristo phanes has given him the opportunity for a very noblelandscape, sung by the Clouds themselves in person, beforethey rise in view of the spectators
Ever- flow ing Clouds, let u s lift on high our own b right dewyform [956001 ] from o u r father the deep - resounding Ocean
,to the
tree - c rested tops of high mountains, that we may view the farshining peaks and holy ea rth nourishing her fruits, and theroaring of divine rivers and the deep mu rmu ring cry of the seafor the unwear ied Eye of the aether i s flashing w ith its brilliantrays ?
After which the Clouds (as Mr . R uskin has noted) aredescribed with equal truth and beauty, as seen by Socrateson the hillside : “ Coming softly, through the hollows and
the thickets,trail ing aslant in multitudes .” 3
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L AND S CAPE I N GR EEK L YR I CA L , I D YL L I C CHAP .
In the beautiful preface to Mr . Ma c ka il’
s Ant/zology, whenreaching the A lexandrian period— say from 3 00 B .C. onwardshe notes : “ In revulsion from the immense accumulation ofmaterial wealth in this period
,a certain Te fined simplicity
was then the ideal of the best minds , as i t was afterwards inthe early R oman Empire
,as it is in our own day. The
charm of the country was,perhaps for the first time
,fully
real ised ; the l ife of gardens became a passion, and hardlyless so the l ife of the opener air
,of the hil l and meadow,
ofthe shepherd and hunter, the farmer and fi sherman . S ickof cities
,the imagination turned to an A rcadia that thence
forth was to fi ll all poetry with the music of its names,
”
L adon, Erymanthus, Cyllene . What seems conscious sensib ility to nature, in short, now reveal s itself : delight in thelandscape for i ts own sake, yet without rejection of its d ivineimpersonating indwellers Go d, as it were, may I say ? walkingwith man in the lovely paradi se prepared for him.
This more modern cho rd we hear first and perhaps mostexquisitely in the bucolic Idylls of Theocritus . These “ l ittleEpics ” are indeed primarily concerned with man and
woman,an aim which they un i te wi th landscape in its wider
sense,including, that is, the l ife of the country folk. Yet,
though his Idylls, in the phrase of the lovely festival songbreathe of summer
,of frui t and flowers and other
country sights,yet hardly any pure descript ive passages appear.
One such we find in the Idyll just named, painting the scenewhere the rustic feast i s held : how they
R eclined on low couches of the odorous ru sh,rejoicing, and
on fresh - c u t vine leaves and above their heads waved e lm and
poplar, and the holy stream close by went murmuring as it ran
down from the cave of the Nymphs . And meanwhile on theshady b oughs the noi sy husky Cicadas were busy chirp ing, andfar offin thick thorn -bushes the thrush murmured, crested larkand go ldfinc h sang, turtle - dove moaned
,the tawny bees flew
round about the fountains all things breathed of summer, all ofthe sweet - scented fruiting time .
1
1 éfu Te Ba flefa tsMetals 0xfyow xanevvlm ir éxMz/Omu es
I I I AND E P I GR AMAIA TI C P OE TR Y 2 7
As, however, has been observed, the l ingering sentiment ofthis beautiful picture is rather L atin than Greek : and so
perhaps the o ld S icil ian blood, all ied to the I talian , may havemade itself felt in certain earl ier poems which Theocrituspossibly had before him . But I ofl
'
e r such r a cia l hints withdiffidenc e and doubt.Or lastly, take this fragment paraphrased from the Cyclops
’
song to his L ove
Another music then we hear,A c ry from the S ic ilian dell,H ere ’
m id sweet grapes and laurel dwellS lips by from wood -
girt A c tu a’s dome
S now- cold the stream and clearH ither to me, come, Ga la ta e a , come 1
L e t me add a mountain woodside scene,and a pret ty
simile,from the gracious poet
,so loved of Vergil and of
Tennyson .
Castor and Pollux, voyaging in the good sh ip A rgo, havecome ashore and are wandering on the B e b ryc ianhills
And they found an ever- fl ow ing spring brimmingwith purewater under a smooth cliff; the li sp ing pebbles below seemedcrystal or silver. H igh, near them, grew p ines and white poplarsand plane trees
,and the cypress leafy to its summit ; and odorous
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2 8 L AND S CAPE I N GREEK L YR I CAL , I D YL L I C CHA P .
flowe rs,—many as when Spring is ending b reak forth in the
meadows,—where the hairy bees love to haunt . 1
L ike as the swallow swiftly fl ies back to gather fresh morselsfor her little ones in the nest ?
Such, and swifter, says The o c ritu s, fl ies the maid returningto her lover.
I turn now to that miscellaneous gathering, the great GreekAnthology; those blossoms of a ll kinds in form and scent andcolour plucked and bound in garlands through not far from twothousand years—say 700 R C. to 1 000 A .D .
—a truly wonderfulexample of national poetic continuity. H ere
,as before
,Man
largely predominates over Nature. Yet the spiritual quali tyin her—her unity
,however unconsciously—is maintained
through the frequent mythological references . Only bymoments
,glimpses such as we catch from the railway window
,
i s the landscape vis ible. But the vast number of thesebeautiful miniature poems gives opportuni ty for endless naturalhints
,which
,as we have just seen in Theocritus
,are most
frequent at and after the A lexandrian epoch . Indeed, in theAntkology, we see H ellenism in its most charming phase ; it i sa phase of life
,to quote a striking remark from Mommsen
,
with the purity and beauty which it presents in the qu iethomestead
,after which h istory happily does not inquire any
more than i t inquires after h istory.
” 3 And as this collectionis comparatively l ittle known , I will venture upon a few Specimens which may Show the general manner
,though perhaps
even more than in case of the great poets,will translation
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L AND S CAPE I N GR EEK L YR I CAL , I D YL L I C CHAP .
du e feeling for Nature ; i t i s, rather, the exigence underwhich the epigram lies to bind i tself together by a leadingimage .
These pictures might be named real istic. An epigram,
ascribed to P lato, and worthy of his genius, is an example ofthat mythological treatment of the D ivine in nature whichpervaded Greek poetry even long into Christian times.
L e t the Shaggy cliff of the D ryads be s ilent, and the springsof the rock
,and the many-mingled bleating of the ewes : for
P an himself now sounds his musical p ipe, runn ing his supplel ips over the j oined reeds ; and arou nd w ith active feet thenymphs of the water and the nym phs of the oakwood haveformed the ir dance .
1
We have seen the sea - view also translated into mythology asfar back as H esiod, and we may trace i t to Cometas in theninth century of our era . By that time Panand the l ike canhave been hardly more than figures of speech yet, even so, theycarried on the continuity of H ellenic life and l iterature theirrecurrence may have even been an unconscious impulse of thatdesi re to combine what was truly religious i n the o ld P aganthought with Christianity
,or at least to recognise its exi stence
,
which long inspired many of the greatest Eastern theologians,
onward from S t. Paul’s discourse on the Areopagus with hisemphatic quotation from the poetry of A ratus or Cleanthes.But
,indeed
,what God and Nymph and Faun exactly expressed
to earlier Pagan H ellas,when introduced in landscape de sc rip
t ion,we cannot
,I th ink
,more than partially grasp . One
thing only we may hold as certain that the poets looked onNature with eyes keenly al ive to al l her beauty, and thattheir sense of this found expression and was deepened throughsuch religious references.
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I I I AND E P I GRAMMA TI C P OE TR Y 3 1
I t seems,however
,to me highly probable that
, despite theelegance and charm of these p e rsonific a tions—even now,
indeed,fa r from exhausted, and, whilst true culture in education
survives,inexha u stib le—yet Greek poetry was at times hampered
and conventionalised by its mythology ; the clear View ofNature as she is restricted ; a monotony thrown over thelandscape. And the epigrammatic form
,we might add
,lent
itself easi ly to this mode of treatment,and hence to these
results .By Meleager of the Syrian Gadara
,l iving 1 00 B .C.
,the
most richly inventive and Vivid colourist (the word trulyrenders his half-Oriental style) among these fascinating singers,I give a li ttle floral love - song of much grace and tenderness
Now blooms the wh ite violet, now the shower- lovingnarcissus,now th e l ilies that wander over the hills ; and now,
a springflower herself among th e flowers
,the darling Zenoph ilé , that
sweet tempting rose, has b lossomed. Meadows, why laughvainly in your shin ing foliage ? Be tter than sweet breathinggarlands is my maiden .
1
H ear now an invitation to the woods
Come and sit u nder my stone - p ine, sounding sweet as honeyas it bends to the soft western breeze and lo h ere is th e honeydropping fountain, where I b ring sweet slumber, playing on mylonely reeds ?
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L AND S CAPE IN GREEK L YR I CAL , I D YL L I C CHAP .
the only two epigrams by her which time spares us,has a
l ittle Elegy,addressed to Aphrodite of the Golden House,
upon one of those simple religious offerings which constantlymeet us in the Antkology; a poem true womanly in its feel ing,and worthy of Sappho in musical tenderness
O vine - cluster,full of the juice of D ionysus
,thou liest in the
golden portico of Aphrodite : nor ever more shall thy motherv ine
,tw in ing round thee her fair tendril, above thy head put
forth her fragrant leaf. 1
H ow modern is this in its gentle human sentiment ! Yetnot more
,perhaps
,so than a fragment from the gifted and
lost dramatist Menander, which, in its breadth of view,suggesting at the same time a strange likeness in unlikeness to the great H ebrew P salm of Creation, may here finda fi t place in this imperfect notice of the Greek poetry ofNature.
That man I hold happiest who, having without sense ofpain beheld these holy wonders, the common sun, stars,sea
,clou ds
,fire, has gone quickly thither whence he came.
Should he l ive a hundred years, these S ights wi ll never failhim ; or should he live b u t few days, never [elsewhere] will hesee things more wonderful ?
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Gray wa s so deep and delic a te a stu dent , and so given to a dorn h is op e r osac a rm ina with flowers ga thered from a ll ga rdens , tha t I am tem pted to findh e re th e lovely phra se ofh is Vi c issi tu de Ode , pa inting th e deligh t of a S ic km an’s recovery
Tb e c omm onsun, the a ir , the Sk ies ,T o him a r e opening pa ra d ise.
m AND EP I GRAMMA TI C P OE TR y 33
Two gracious li ttle ditties, probably for girls or children,Shall close my Greek specimens . I t i s sad that so few suchsongs have been preserved for u s
Where are my roses, where are my violets, where are mybeautiful parsley le aves ?
Here are your roses, here are your v iolets, here are yourbeautifu l parsley leaves ?
Now the R hodian carol, while the children went aboutbeggi ng nice presents
Here,here i s the swallow, bringing happy hours, happy years
white below is she,black above . B u t if you w ill not give,
we will not p u t u p with it, [we may carry off] the little wife whoi s sitting indoors, little She is
,easily we shall carry her.
Open, open the door to the swallow !2
—But it is time to make the great transition from Hellas toL atium.
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L AND S CA PE I N L UCR E TI US,VER GI L
,AND OTHER
A UGUS TAN P OE TS
I T may here be useful briefly to compare the general tone ofGreek and L atin l iterature, with their remoteness or kin shipto our own
,as i t will be found to have some bearing upon
our special task .
In one sense the Greek is nearer to us than any literaturedating earl ier than the sixteenth century. I lia d and Odyssey,
which we may with probabili ty regard as three or four hundredyears anterior to the epoch 800 B .C. assigned by H erodotus,1
have such a freshness of feel ing,so complete a humanity
,a
force in drawing character or rendering passion so sheer,
direct, and s imple, that they speak with us, face to face as itwere
,even nearer at times than some of our latest poets .
P lato,in prose more perfect and finished than any one S ince
has mastered,shows a depth of reflection
,a penetrative
insight revealing soul to soul,such that we feel it true for all
t ime—in advance, one might almost say, of any to-morrow.
Yet in Greek literature at all times we come occasionallyupon certain elements which divide it more than the L atinfrom modern thought and feeling . These elements
,strangely
al ien from us,cropping out suddenly in myth and image
,
thought and passion, I would venture in some degree to refer
1 T he Greeks , having no h istory or c lea r tra d i tion oftheir own pa s t , na tura lly ha d no t the power to look boldly ba ck , whenda t ing their antiqu i ties a s
th e m o dern wo rld h a s a d iffi c u lty ina c cepting th e fa r - off d a tes now a ssignedto Egyptianor Assyrian m onum ents—not to spea k of pre-
gla c ia l m an.
CHAP . I v L AND S CA PE IN L UCRE TI US AND VER GI L 35
to the fact that,unlike any other Western literatures
,the
sources of H ellenic art and thought, the long centuries ofdevelopment
,the great previous civil isations, are but faintly
known to us . That oriental ideas and beliefs were strongly feltwe do know ; yet they seem to remain inextricably immanentin the Greek mind, despite the labour and the learning whichmythologists have devoted to their special province.I t may
,however
,be feared that a greater bar l ies between
us and Hellenism,especially during its great period, in the
very qualities which give their special charm,thei r magic
,
to Greek art and Greek poetry,—the dominant sensitiveness ,equally delicate and vivid, of the leading H ellenic races ;the inseparable presence in their work of grace
,of flexibility ;
the love,the worship
,the de ific a tionof beauty . The conquest
of the ancient civil isations by the T eutonic races,the c onse
quent infusion,wide and deep, of a temper of mind more
gloomily serious than the Greek, while far less sensitive to orfru itful in art
,—Christianity, with eye and soul set on the
further l ife,—the new interests of physical science
,ever en
la rging, ever more absorbing,—the mechanical tone and waysof the modern world i n every region, —all these th ings areagainst art
,against fru itful repose, against individuality, in a
word,against beauty as the sine qu a non, the final end of poetry.
I t is not meant that these hostile elements can wholly excludea true initiation into the H ellenic spirit, but they narrow thesphere of its influence, but they are a cloud over the sun .
AnA thenian of the P ericlean age, anywhere in modern civilisedlands, would feel the sky as iron above him .
In R oman literature, on the other hand, as in the R omanmind and character, we feel ourselves at once in the atmosphere of a sterner moral ity, of more practical aims, of theR oman gr a vi ta s, of the Imperial majesty ; yet, at the sametime
,of a greater homel iness
,a profounder passion for country
l ife. The beautiful, however, as such, in their poetry i slargely derived, not from unknown sources, but from theGrecian fountains
,happily stil l flowing for those who have the
good sense and good taste to frequent them . Though in somemanner Greek literature in Byzantium really long survived
36 L AND S CAPE I N L UCRE TI US , VER GI L CHAP .
R oman,yet R ome has inevitably become nearer us than A thens ;
has influenced us, if less in regard to poetry and beauty, yetmore deeply—often far more deeply—in la w, politics, ethics .I t will
,
” in fact,“ be generally conceded that the ideas and
institutions of modern Europe are derived by more directfilia tion from those of R ome than of Greece. ” 1
H ence,to turn to our own subject
,the expression of
Nature which appears in L atin poetry is, on the whole, closerto us than the Greek ; it touches the heart more intimately ;i t has even at last, we shall find, a certain accent as if ofromanticism before its time. But the loss of almost all nondramatic R oman verse before L ucretius and Catullus, and therapid declension of poetry after the fifty years (say 44 B .C.
—I 7A .D . ) of Augustan splendour, greatly limits our field when compared with the many centuries ofGreek productivity .
Yet a somewhat earl ier date supplies one l ittle countryvignette. I t is found in a fragment of the Oenom a u s of thedramatist, L . A tt ius (born 1 70 B .C.)
B y chance [it was] before D awn, harbinger of burn ing rays,when husbandmen pac k offthe horned creatures from their S leepto the meadow
,to cleave the r e d dew - sprinkled earth with the
ploughshare, and turn up the clods from th e soft soil?
The fresh breath of an I tal ian—of a D evon—daybreak(note the r ed soil) is truly in these simple rustic l ines .Passing now to that splendid outburst above named, among
the four first - rate poets of the period—Catullus,H orace
,
L ucretius,Vergil3—I shall mainly take the last two for our brief
survey. Indeed, this may be called a prescribed and naturalorder, owing to the peculiar relation of Vergil to L ucretius—a
relation,as we shall see, at once of indebtedness and of protest .
1 Meriva le, H istory ofthe R om ans. And we m ay ju st note tha t i t is thesam e inrega rd to a rch i tec tu re.
2 fo rte ante Auroram , r a d io rum a rdentum ind ic em ,
c um 6 somno insege tem agrestis cornu tos c ient ,u t r o ru lenta s terra s ferro ru fida sp ro sc indant , gle b a squ e a rvo ex m olli exsusc itent.
3 Why not c o rrec t a long- esta blished blunder, and Spell the name a s h e
a ssu redly spelt it—th e sound rem a ining u nchanged ?
L AND S CA PE I N L UCRE TI US , VER GI L CHAP .
ku r rying r iver s and t/ze leafy kom es of Pi r ds and tke gr een
m ea dows ? S o , again, a charming vision, not rejecting a id
from the mythology which the poet disbelieved, p e rsonifie s theapproach of the “ sweet season ” in four lovely l ines, whichremind us of the o ld English song, S um er is i - tum en in
S pring is coming and Venus,and her winged herald [Cupido]
goes before, whilst, close on the footsteps of Zephyr, Flora,mother of flowers
,scatters her blossoms before them
,and fills
all the path with glorious scents and c olours ?
H ow completely i s this in the style of the I talian R enaissance —the words may indeed have been before the mind ofher great artists from Botticell i to Guido.
3
With an insight,broad and subtle and at once, he thus
paints the cave-dwellers of prehistoric man
Finally,the wanderers would make their dwelling in the
familiar woodland haunts of the Nymphs,whence they marked
how the runn ing waters slipp ing over the moistened rockswashed them with liberal overflow
,tric kling over gr een mossy
beds,while part escaped to break forth o ver the level plain .
4
But the terrible side of Nature—figu red as Mavo rs in theopening lines of the poem—i s always also before the soul ofL ucretius
,when he sets forth those natural aspects which
dominated and crushed the early races of mankind
They placed the mansions and temples of the gods in the1 per m a ria a c m ontis fl u v io squ e ra p a c is
frondife ra squ e dom os avium c am p o squ e vir entis.
i . 1 7 ( text of Munro, whose English version has a lso beenbefo re m e , e d .
3 i t ve r e t Venu s , e t Veneri s p ra enuntiu s antep enna tu s gr a ditur , Ze phyr i vestigia propterFlo ra qu ibu s m a ter p r a e sp a rgens ante via ic unc ta c o lo r ib u s egregiis e t o do r ib u s o p p le t. V
, 737 .
3 The edi ti o p r inc eps wa s printed c . 1 473 a t B resc ia .
4 deniqu e nota vagi silve str ia tem pla tene b antNym pha ru m , qu ibu s e sc ib ant um o ri ' flu entalu bric a pro luvie la rga lavere um ida sa xa ,
um ida sa xa , super virid i stillantia m u sco,e t pa rtim plano sc a te re a tqu e e ru m pe r e c am po.
V, 948 .
I V AND OTHER A UGUS TAN P OE TS 39
heavens,bec ause through the heavens night and the moon seem
to revolve,moon and day and night and the stern constellations
of night and the night - roving torches of heaven and flyingflames ; cloud, sun, rain, snow, winds, lightn ing, hail, and therapid rattle
, the huge murmurs of threatening thunder?
Mu rm u r a m agna m ino r um—the electric roll seems to pervade the stern
,sonorous L atin.
But the poet must presently set forth,i n the lines that
follow,the ghastly moral to which his soul compelled him ,
impri soned in the material i stic network of fatal ism
O miserable race of men,when they ascribed such things to
the gods, and coupled them with bitter wrath ! what groaningsfor themselves did they then beget, what wounds for u s, whattears for o u r children’s children 3
The terrors which the aweful spectacle of the skies rouse inthe thoughtful mind, he proceeds, are, not the weakness ofhumanity
,but Tli e fl a r t/za t we m ay kop lyfind the p ow er of
ti ngods to be unlim i ted,and a éle to wkeel t/ze wkite sta r s in
tkei r va r i ed m otion,and so to overthrow this universe .
3
Compare with this—to anticipate for a moment—thewords of the poet D avid
I will consider Thy heavens,Even the work of Thy fingersTh e moon and the starsWh ich Thou hast ordained
1 inc a e lo qu e deum sedes e t templa lo c a runt,p e r c a elum volvi qu ia nox e t luna videtu r ,luna d ies e t nox e t noc tis signa seve rano c tivaga e qu e fa ces c aeli fl a m m a e qu e volantes,nu bila so l im b re s nix venti fu lm ina grando,e t rapid i frem i tu s e t m u rm u ra m agna m ina rum .
V, 1 1 88 .
3 o genu s infe lix hum anum , ta l ia d ivi sc u m tr ib u it fa c ta a tqu e ira s a d iunxit a cerba squ antos tum gem itu s ipsi s ibi , qu anta qu e nobisvo lne ra , qu a s la c r im a s p e p e re re m ino r ib u
’
no str is
V, 1 1 94 .
3 nequ a e forte deum nobis inm ensa potesta ssi t , va rio m otu qu ae c and ida S idera verset .
V , 1 2 09 .
And the son of manThat Thou v isitest him ?
What a gulf is here,between the corrosive gloom of the
proud, hopeless L ucretius,and the consoling, animating humil ityof the rapt theist !Nothing is more characteristic of L ucretius than the move
ment which he everywhere impresses on his descriptive scenestrue
,in thi s
,both to Homer and to poetry itself
,which vindi
cates its place in landscape against painting, confined to asingle moment—nowhere more than in the capacity to rendersu ccessive S i tuations . H is preference, S ellar notes, was for theforce and l ife of Nature
,in contrast to mere form and colour.
This,doubtless, was one reason for the marked interest which
he shows in all the phenomena of cloud and tempest althoughanother reason we may find i n the fact that thi s region liftedthe soul from our small world toward the infinite stellar spacesaround—from Ter r a toMundu s. H ere he stands alone amongclassical poets
,and in literature (our own, at least), we have
to wait for Wordsworth and Shelley before cloud- land i s sofreely and accurately painted.
The first specimen I give may recall Wordsworth’s Splendidlandscape in the Excu r sion,1 with its
Fantastic pomp of structure without name,In fl e e cy clouds voluminous enwr a p p ’d.
L ucretius i s speaking of the ghost- l ike shapes cast off frommaterial things
,which
,in his phi losophy
,frequent space.
Beside them,he says
S ome images there are spontane ously generated and formedby themselves in this lower heaven which is called air ! asat times we see clouds gather togethe r easily into masses onhigh, and blot the calm,
clear sky - face,fanning the air as they
move. Thus often the countenances of G iants are seen flyingalong and carrying after them a broad shadow sometimes great
1 B o ok I I .
I V AND OTHER A UGUS TAN P OE TS 4 x
mountains and rocks torn from the mountains advance and pas sacross the sun
,and then a huge creature in its train will drag on
othe r storm - clouds?
These last grand figures have a parallel in Turner’s splendidUlysses landscape. I n similar style (and with S im i la r Turnerlike power) the formation and burst of a thunderstorm ispainted in Book VI . 1 89, and again 2 5 6 so deep a fascination had these half chaotic scenes over the poet’s m ind, unsympathetic in some degree to the Greek devotion to beauty,although perhaps akin to Aeschylus and P indar. But
,in
fact, every natural phenomenon seized upon L ucretius withone undying passionate interest—A t a ll su c/z, he says, a cer ta in
divine p lea su r e and skudder ing a we p ossesses me?
Yet he could also see the beauty of a calmer landscape.Thus we find him painting how a cloud i s formed ; how
The golden morn ing light of the radiant sun reddens firstover the grass, gemmed with dew,
and the pools and ever- running rivers exhale a mist as the earth herself at times seems tosmoke.
‘
And when these mists are all gathered together above,clouds now joining in a body on high, weave a veil below theheaven .
3
1 sunt et iam qua e sponte su a gignuntu r e t ipsac onstitu untu r inho c c a e lo qu i dic itu r a e r .
u t nu bes fa c ile inte rdum conc rescere ina ltoc e rnim u s e t m und i sp e c iem viola re serenama era m u lc ente s m otu . nam sa e p e Gigantumo r a vola re videntu r e t um b ram du c e re la te,inte rdum m agni m ontes a vo lsa qu e sa xam ontib u s ante ir e e t solem su c cedere pra eter ,inde a l ios trahe re a tque indu cere belu a nim bos .
IV, 1 3 1 .
tohis ibi m e rebu s qu a edam d ivina volupta sp e r c ip it a tqu e horror.
I I I , 2 8 .
a u rea c um prim um gem m antis rore per herba sm a tu tina t u bent ra dia ti lum ina sol isexha lantqu e la c u s ne b u la rnfl u vi iqu e perennes,ip saqu e u t inte rdum tellu s fum a re videtu romnia qu a e su rsum c um c onc iliantu r , ina ltocorpo re conc reto su b texunt nu bila c aelum .
v, 46 1 .
42 L AND S CAPE I N L UCRE TI US , VER GI L CHAP .
Again,speaking of the effect of habit in weakening wonder,
he has a fine passage
How splendid wou ld be,when seen for the first time, the
clear pure c olour of the open sky,and what it contains, the
wandering stars everywhere, and the moon and the sun dazzlingabove all which now man’s satiated eye never cares tolook u p at ?
Even the cultivated landscape of I taly had something ofthe charm for this stern philosopher which it held over thegracious- souled Vergil . H e tells how mankind began to passfrom the state of savagery until land cultivation began
They would force the forests to recede daily higher up themountain s ide and yield the ground below to culture, so that onupland and plain they might have meadows, tanks, streamlets,c o rnfie lds
,and rejoicing vineyards ; and they allowed a gray
green strip of ol ives to runbetween as a bound-mark stretchingover hillock and valley and level as you now may see, how allthe space that the countrymen decorate with sweet fruit - trees inrows
,and all round wall it in by fai r plantations
,i s mapped
o u t with a varied beauty ?
But I must put a limit to illustrations of thi s great landscapepainter
,which might easily be multiplied tenfold
,with one
1su sp ic i to c a eli c la ru m p u rum qu e colo rem ,
qu a e qu e inse c ohib e t, p a lantia S idera pa ssim ,
lunam qu e e t soli s p ra e c lar a ,lu ce nito rem
qu am t ib i iam nem o , fessu s sa tia te vidend i ,su sp ic e re inca eli digna tu r lu c ida templa
I L 1 030 .
inqu e d ies m agis inm ontem su c c edere silva sc oge b ant infra qu e loc um c oncedere c u ltis,pra ta la c us rivos sege te s vine taqu e la c tac o llib u s e t c am pis u t ha b e r ent, a tque o lea ru mc a e ru la distingu ens inter pla ga c u r r e r e possetper tum u lo s e t c onva llis ca m po squ e profusau t nunc esse vides var io d istinc ta lepo reomnia , qu ae p om is inte rsita du lc ib u s ornantar b u stisqu e tenent fe lic ib u s Op sita c irc um .
V , 1 3 70 .
H ow c ha ra c teristic still of the T u sc an landsc ape is th is pic tu re
I v AND OTHER A UGUS TAN POE TS 4 3
passage more,worthy perhaps to be called L ucretius’ Hymn
to Nature
We are all spru ng from heavenly seed : all have that samefathe r, by whom mother earth rendered fruitful, when she hasreceived the rainfall, bears goodly crops and happy trees and
the race of m am—bearing also all kinds of brute creatures ;then supplying the food upon which all are nourished, and leaddear life and continue the ir race : whence with good cause shehas gained the nam e Mother.l
D espite the deserts of weary argument and guess-work intowhich the Epicurean philosophy leads L ucretius
,despite the
blankness of his atomic creed, the iron heaven of fatal ism alwaysabove him
,his poetry has a fascination unique in literature
ancient or modern . Maywe not truly say, that by no poethas Sheer didactic material, and that mainly of plain physicalorder, been so permeated and vital ised by the might of genius ?H is genius—and he would not have disdained the comparison
- i s l ike that electric flame which can subdue platinum . As
it were, indeed, despite himself, he obeys the common lawonce a poet always a poet . The examples I have given inprose, however feebly representing the solemn and determ inedmarch of his verses
,l ike the tramp of the R oman legion
advancing to battle,wi ll, I would hope, have also di splayed hisvast power in the region of landscape the freshness and forceof lines, which once read, can scarce be forgotten .
The attitude of Vergil (70—1 9 B .C. ) toward his great predecessor, I have already noted as one of blended admirationand protest. I t was doubtless the latter feel ing—that of acertain opposition in religion and in philosophy—which le d
u —c a e le sti sum u s omnes sem ine oriund iomnibu s ille idem pa ter est , unde a lm a liqu entisu m o r is gu tta s m a ter c um terra re c e p it,feta pa rit nitida s fruges a r b usta qu e la c tae t genu s h um anu m , pa ri t omnia sa e c la fe ra ru m ,
p a b u la c um p r a e b e t qu ibu s om nes c orpora p a sc unte t du lc em du c unt vi tam p ro lem qu e p ro p agant
qu a p ro p te r m eri to m a te rnum nomena depta est .I I , 99 1 .
44 L AND S CAPE I N L UCRE TI US , VER GI L CHAP .
his exquisite,his almost tremulous delicacy of mind never
once to name the poet whose spell over him must havebeen constantly perceptible to every R oman student. Vastindeed i s the contrast between the two—hardly less than thetransit in imagination from S iberia to I taly. To L ucretiusimpassive feelingless law swayed the world, dead to mankind,who can only accept their fate. Vergil for thi s substitutes avision of P rovidential rule
,which teaches man by its constant
order. Unlike L ucretius,he l ived when the world was at
length “ lapt in universal law. Yet a “ pathetic undertone,”
a “sad earnestness
,
” as Cardinal Newman has beautifully remarked, almost everywhere underl ies h is verse. H e has thenote ofyea rning. This was at least congruous with the Celticsentiment which Vergi l may have inheri ted from parents probably of that race. I t was this sentiment which T ennyson hadbefore him in his noble Hymn
,addressing him as
Maj estic in thy sadness at the doubtful doom of human kind .
Fo r Vergil also recognises the inevitable s truggle for l ifethe common end, which he has set forth in two l ines of terribleforce : Ou r best days fly fi rst ; ikendisea se cr eep s on
,and the
sa dness ofold age, and sufi r ing sw eep s u s of,and tke r u tk/ess
inclem ency ofdea t/z ;1 to him
,with the pre -Christian world in
general (to quote Pascal’s powerful phrase),
“ the last act i sfrightful
,fair as the comedy may have been hitherto through
out.” Man,however
,i s to resist that downward course
of life and of Nature as a duty : T/ze Fa t/ze r of a ll kimselfo rda ins the labour of man : and righteous Earth, he feels,i ustissim a tellus
,will finally repay him . The glorification of
L abour—la bor a r e et or a r e—these phrases have been rightlysuggested as summ ing up the moral of the Georgics.
It is, however, a different mood in which Vergi l’s earliest
work,the pastoral E clogu es, pai nt the landscape. H ere we
find his gracious receptivi ty of mind,“ a great susceptibil ity to
1 —su b e unt m orbi tristisqu e sene c tus
e t labor e t du ra e r a p it inc lem entia m ortis .Georg. I I I , 67 .
Wha t a da rkness tha t m ay be felt is in those la st fou r words
46 L AND S CA PE I N L UCRE TI US , VER GI L CHAP .
And then the happy shepherd himself invites the friendwhose fate is exile
,Africa perhaps
,or S cythia, or the B r iton
skeer ly cu t offr om t/ze wkole wor ld,to suppe r and sleep at
his own restored homeFo r now the farmhouse gables are smoking in th e distance,
and larger shadows fall on th e lofty mountains ?
The magic of their melody in such lines, i f once known, i sl ifelong : the m e gem er e seems to carry one straight intothe heavens the cadence of the last
,i t has been truly said
,i s
soft almost as the falling of the shadows themselves . ” 3 Tlce
long summ er days, as Vergil has it, wkic/z a s a koy I saw go
downwkile singing,3 seem to have moulded his heart and his
verse with it to this exquisite depth of music and sentiment .
Quintilian, the great L atin critic, justly defines a m enity asthe quality of landscape to which his countrymen naturallyturned. Beauty lies in sea- views
,i n plains
,in pleasant
places,—sp ecies m a r i tim is, p lanis, a m oenis. The mountain
sublimity of Alp or Apennine, as often has been noticed, rarelytouched them . And so what the general mood of the E clogu es
renders is the soft sweet freshness of I taly, that fa vou r ingke a ven—ca eli indu lgenti a
—which more northern and moresouthern climates cannot adequately give or compensate.
T hus he shows how the Spring comes on in the happy land
Then wild copses resound w ith the music of the birdsand at the warm breath of the Zephyrs the fields Open theirbosoms
, gentle moisture lies thick over all ; and the birdsventure to trust themselves in safety to sun s unfelt before .
4
h ine t ibi , qu a e semper, vic ino a b lim i te sa e p e sHyb la e is a p ib us fl o rem de p asta sa lic ti
sa e p e levi somnum sua de b it inire su su rrohinc a lta su b ru pe c a net fr onda to r a d a u ra sne c ta m en inte re a ra u c a e , tu a c u ra , p a lum b e s
ne c gem ere a eria c e ssa b it tu rtu r a b u lm o. E e l. i , 5 1 .
1e t iam summ a p ro c u l vi lla rum cu lm ina fum ant ,m a io r e squ e c a dunt al ti s de m ontib u s um brae. E e l. i , 8 2 .
3 P . G . H am erton, L andsc ap e , 1 885 .
3 —sa e p e ego longosc antando p u e ru m m em ini m e c onde re so les. B c l. ix , 5 1 .
4a via tu rn resonant a vi b u s Virgu lta c ano ris
p a r tu r it a lm u s ager , Ze p hyriqu e te pentib u s a u ri s
I V AND OTH ER A UGUS TAN P OE T S 47
I n this style,once more, i s an invitation to the S e a - nymph
who is the shepherd’s love
O hithe r come, Galatea for what delight is there in the sea ?Here is the glowing S pring, here on the rive r - sides the earthpours forth her varied flowers
,here the pale poplar ove rhangs
the cavern,and the tough vines weave thei r shading bower
H ither come : let the m a d waves beat the shore at thei r pleasure?
H e gives us also a little vignette landscape, nam ing a seriesof the natural scenes which most charmed him
Thy song [says one Shepherd to another] delights me mo rethan the c ryof the coming south -west wind
,the sea beach smitten
by the wave,the rivers running down through rocky valleys .3
This comparative temper seems to differ from the Greek ;i t i s more modern . And Vergil here and there appears tothrow himself with pensive emotion into the love of wildNature for her own sake ; unlike the gloom and terror withwhich it inspired L ucretius
,sol itude has a charm for him
,a
personal passion ; the love- lorn Corydon, we hear, wou ld p ou r
fo r t/z kis va inyea rning in unp r em edita ted words to tke woods
and tke m ounta ins,a lone .
3
The human figures in the E clogu es are less di stinct andprominent than in Theocritus and the Ep igr ams ; they seemto lose themselves in Nature . This treatment is remote fromthe social
,the simply human temperament of the Greeks ;
perhaps,as S ellar remarks, we may here again reasonably trace
the romantic,the Celtic influence of Vergil’s blood and his
la xant a rva S inu s su p e ra t tener omnibu s um orinqu e novos soles a u dent se germ ina tu toc redere. Georg. I I
, 3 2 8 .
hu c a des , 0 Ga la tea qu is est nam lu du s inu nd i s ?hic ver pu rpu reum , va rios h ic flum ina c irc umfundit hum u s flo r e s, h ic c and ida popu lu s antroimm ine t e t lenta e texunt um bra c u la vi teshu c a des insani fe riant sine lito ra flu c tu s. Ec l. i x, 39 .
3 nam nequ e m e ta ntum venientis sibilu s a u strine c p e r c u ssa iu vant flu c tu tam lito ra , ne c qu a esaxo sa s inter de c u rrunt flum ina va lles. E c l. v, 8 2 .
3 —haec incond i ta solu sm ontib u s e t S ilvi s stu dio ia c ta b a t inani .
y.‘
48 L AND S CAPE I N L UCRE TI US , VER GI L CHAP .
early associations . Yet here and there he curiously seems torecognise this love for pure Nature as a sentimentalism
,a some
thing no t quite worthy R oman manhood. Su ch a feeling mayunderlie the phrase how inkisyou tk Izis Mu se did not blusk to
dwell in tb c woods ; or that his friend Gallus need not bea ska m ed of b is bu colic ver se . Or, again, we have the impassioned cry to the Muses, sw eet befor e a ll sweetness to him
,
du lces ante omnia , that if he could not rival L ucretius in sc ien
tific knowledge of the universe, then
May the countryside and the racing streamlets in the valleysdelight me : let me be in love w ith rivers and woods, and giveup glory ?
Passing now to Vergil’s later, longer,more important poems,the Georgica (from which I have just quoted) he a r us toanother atmosphere. H ere Vergil had a di stinct eth icalobject—an inspiring patriotic aim . H e wished to hold upto his R oman countrymen the excellence and the charm oftheir o ld S impler, homelier life, to renew the Coloni of Italy, toturn the peace of the Empire to better use than fostering theluxury of the capital . The E clogu es, we may say, he wrote forhis own delight, for the pure love of song, careless of anydirect purpose ; the soul of the rose has gone into his bloodthere is a luxurious sweetness in his hexameter h is mood wasthat which Shakespeare has touched in two exquis ite l ines
The summer’s flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself i t only live and die .
And in th is romantic sentiment he perhaps unconsciouslypreluded to that curious school of R oman poetry which weShall meet with some two centuries later.The more serious purpose of the Georgics has lent to their
landscape a greater detail in facts, a more real isti c character.In the E clogu es it has been remarked how seldom the activelyimaginative use of words is found, l ike that dum osa p ender ede rup e applied to the kids, hanging from the briary rock
,
1 ru ra m ih i e t rigu i p la c e ant inva llibus amnes,flum ina am em silva squ e inglo r iu s. Georg. I I , 485 .
IV AND OTHER A UGUS TAN P OE TS 49
quoted by Wordsworth. The epithets given to trees, flowers,or animals seem now more di stinctive ; they are often ge ographic a l, partly, doubtless, from that delightful inherent sugge stivene ss of names remote in place or famous in song, whichother poets also have felt, partly to a id the reader in realisingthe scene. Other frequent epithets, as kappy, j oyfie l, and theircontraries
,imply a kind of personal life underlying Nature.
These are indeed the natural expression of the sensitive heartor observant mind in all ages from L ucretius to our own daythe most merely materialistic Science has found i t impossibleto describe natural details without recourse to metaphors whichare at variance with her own assumptions .More than elsewhere, Vergil, in the Georgi cs, appears as a
natural ist. H ere he doubtless was indebted for much to theerudite but generally prosaic verse-writers of A lexandriaAr atus or Nic ande r. No poet
,I think
,unless we except
Tennyson,our Vergil
,has united learning
,at once so much
and so varied, with such consummate art, has so completelyabsorbed and then created afresh his material . But Vergi l al soconstantly Shows with what affectionate care he had studiedItalian country scenes and life from L ombardy to S icily . Aboveall, perhaps, his knowledge of trees i s marked ; a charmingmemory from childhood, if we recall that his father was afarmer and a wood-merchant : whence Vergil has been describedto us in antiquity as “ a Venetian [L ombard] reared i na rough woodland country.
” 1 The child was truly father tothe man
,rather
,never died out inhim .
How does Vergil l ift his endless particulars of rural l i fe,his Farmer’s Guide, a subject purely d idactic, into one of thevery most exquisite poems in all l iterature P H e tells u s himself singu la cap i i ci r cumvectam u r am or e—cka rm ed w itk
tbc love ofi t, we linger a r ound everydeta i l. H is success cameprimarily and essentially through his own personal enthusiasmfor woods and rivers, for the common sights of the country, forthe landscape loved in childhood, associat ing them constantlywith human relations
,finding and revealing everywhere the
beautiful in each . Yet the all - pervading sensibil ity which1 Ma c robiu s v, 2 qu oted by Sella r.
E
L AND S CAPE I N L UCR ETI US , VER GI L CHAP .
colours his verse,the sweet persuasiveness of style, the
unerring eye,very rarely lead him to direct landscape
description : he cannot break through the,
classical law ofreserve. H ence it i s hard to offer examples of Vergil
’s skill ;in Juvenal’s phrase
,
“ I ca nnot display it, I only feel it .”
P erhaps when he breaks out into the passionate praise ofI taly—loved by him not less than England by Wordsworth“ as a lover or a child ”—his pictorial power i s seen at itsbest. After an admirable review of the forest scenery of theworld known to him,
he bursts forth exultingly with the cryhow neither Media nor India nor fabled A rabia can vie withI taly
Here i s constant spring and summer in months other than itsown : here trees bear a double harvest. Add the noblecities of Italy
,how many ; how many town s p iled up by man
upon the steep crags, and rivers flowing beneath ancient wall s.S hould I not speak of the sea of Adria, and th e Tuscan ? Or ofthose mighty lakes, Como greatest, and Garda heaving with thevery billows and the roar of ocean ?
The charm of these l ines vanishes indeed, in my meagre prose,as a flower vanishes in a red- hot crucible
,to take Shelley’s
fine phrase upon the translation of poetry ; but their magichas survived, through all the centuries —as we see whenT ennyson sings how he was haunted by the music of
The rich Virgi lian rustic measureOfL ari Maxum e
just as the exquis ite song to his lost brother by Catullus,he
,
theT enderest of R oman poets n ineteen hundred years ago ,
1 h ic ver a dsidu u m a tque al ienis m ensib u s a e stas
bis gravidae p e c u de s, bis p om is u tilis a rbo s .a dde tot egregia s u rbes o pe rum qu e la bo rem ,
tot congesta m anu p ra e ru p tis Oppida sa xisfl um ina qu e antiqu o s su b te rla b entia m u ros .anm a re qu o d supra m em orem , qu odqu e a dlu it infra ?anne la c u s tantos te, L a r i m a xim e, tequ e ,flu c tib u s e t frem itu a dsu rgens B ena c e m a rino —Georg.
I V AND OTHER A UGUS TAN P OE TS 5 1
moved our poet to the lovely l ines on Catullus’ home at S irm ioon Garda
R ow us o u t from D esenzano,to your S i rmione row.
And here I may fitly quote four more verses from Vergilupon the gathering of a storm
Fo rthwith, as the winds rise, the inlets of the sea begin toswel l as they move
,and a dry crashing is heard upon the lofty
mountains, and the shores are confusedly resounding from afar,and the murmur of the woods grows deeper.
Now for the poet himself 1
continuo ventis su rgentib u s aut freta pontiinc ip iunt agitata tum e sc e re e t arida s alti sm ontib u s andi ri fragor, a u t r e sonantia longelito ra m isc e r i e t nemorum inc r e b r e sc e r e murmur.
I quote these l ines,remembering how T ennyson would
read them to me in the days that are no more,saying that
from the magnificent music of the Vergilian hexameter,as here
exemplified,he believed Milton caught (or recognised) his own
splendid blank verse movement in the P a r a dise .
To sum up this imperfect criticism,whilst L ucretius
scientifically interrogates Nature, Vergil, though longing toinvestigate, embraces her. L ucretius was sensitive to landscape in its vastness, H orace (as we shall presently see) in itshome scenes Vergil unites both aspects .The A eneid may be briefly dismissed. Natural de sc rip
tion can have but little p la c e in an epic . That of Vergil,
when brought in as background to the human figures,i s treated
with his usual art,but cannot be parted from his story. When
he employs nature in the way of simile,whilst imitating H omer
,
he often falls below him . But he has introduced two brightpictures from insect life the bees whose toil i s compared withthat of the builders from Carthage, and the ants as they storegrain for winter.Briefer notice must sufl
‘
I c e for the remaining L atin singers1 Georg. I , 3 56 .
52 L AND S CA PE I N L UCRE TI US , VER GI L CHAP .
of the Augustan age. L yrical poetry until modern days hasnot been fertile in landscape. Yet
,to revert to the earlier
period, Catullus (c . 8 7—c . 54 beside tha t lovely R etu rn
to S i rm io which inspired Tennyson’s lines already alluded to,and which may be said to unite perfect human feeling withperfect painting of nature
,in an idyll has left us one admirable
sea- piece,worthy of Venetian art in its brilliant colouring
Zephyr with morn ing breath ruffl ing the calm sea drives thewaves into slanting slopes, as dawn upri ses to the threshold ofthe roving sun; smitten at first with gentle stroke, the wavesslowly move onward
,ripple and laugh as they softly plash then
as the gust increases, they too more and more come thicker oneupon another
,and as they sail far off reflect a brightness from
the glowing light ?
The poetical gifts in which Catullus has found few rivalsmay be felt here the exquisitely vivid pictorial treatment
,the
fresh first- hand rendering of the scene, the sincerity of vis ion,the seem ingly effortless power.H orace (65—8 with an art even more perfect
, does notalways command th is simplicity, this poetry of the first“ intention .
” H is was truly a felicity of phrase,resting on
supreme painstaking—cu r iosa , and with it,an undying
charm,and a command over his readers, from century to
century,not otherwise attainable. H orace
,also
,m or e m a ior u m
,
paints for us but few landscapes . Yet this was from no wantof du e love—far from it ; it was his feel ing, not less thanVergil’s
,that country l ife was essential to true poetical work.
H e has not Vergil’s sympathy with Nature in her m anifoldl ife
,nor with L ucretius in her gloom and magnificence. I t i s
the landscape—largely yet not exclusively the landscape ofcultivation—endeared to his heart of hearts by intimacy and
1 —fl a tu p la c idum m a re m a tu tinoho rr ific ans Ze phyru s p ro c livas inc ita t unda s ,Au rora e xo ri ente vagi su b l im ina So li squ a e ta rde prim um c lem enti flam ine p u lsa ep ro c e dunt,—leni resonant p lango re c a ch inni ,post vento c rescente m agi s m agi s inc r e b r e sc untp u rp u re a qu e p ro c u l nantes a lu ce refu lgent .
Ep i t/za l. P e l. e t Tli e t. 2 69 .
54 L AND S CAPE I N L UCRE TI US , VER GI L CHAP .
I give the bare words but the magical choice of each,the
skill and beauty and music of the metre,the bloom and
consecration of poetry, only the“ happiness ” of th is great art ist
can render.Often as the elegiac poets, T ibullus (c . 54
—c . 1 8
P ropert ius (c. 5 1—1 6 Ovid (4 3 B .C.—1 8 naturally
deal with the country, their distinct landscape painting is rar eand apt to run upon commonplace. T ibullus has indeedmuch amenity ; his delight, as H orace said of him,
was “ tostray in S ilence through the healthy woodland.
” But not lesswas his pleasure in trim garden and vineyard
,united with
cottagers and the peaceful life of the farm, and the thought
of D eli a the beloved underlying all.I n marked contrast with T ibullus and the poets of his
period i s the gloomy and powerful P ropertius. The devouringpassion of his l ife for a faithless woman seems to colour hiswhole mind. The fair landscape affords him no comfort orrefuge ; he fl ies to the desert, but only to pour forth histears for Cynthia
,not
,l ike L ucretius
,to adore Nature In her
wild magnificence . H e also dwells much after the commonfashion of the ancients on the terrors and fury of the sea
,
as encountered in their clumsy vessels, and no compass toguide them . H is was a great gift misused ; P ropertius,whether in his own life or poetry, failed to beat out hisharmony ; although, had his years been prolonged, the nobleElegy on Cornelia which concludes the book Shows that hemight have come not far below the peculiar R oman gravityand grandeur of L ucretius or Tacitus .Ovid, amongst world- famous poets
,perhaps the least true
to the soul of poetry,has left us landscape description indeed,
but commonly so a rtific ia lised that i t reca lls only the manneredand now lifeless mythological fashions of the later ItalianR enaissance. I t was “ the beauty of colour rather than ofform
,
”S ellar notes
,
“ that Ovid recognises.” Exuberant as
ve r u b i longum te p idasqu e p ra eb e t
I u p p ite r bru m a s e t am i c u s Au lonfertil i B a c c ho m inim u m Fa le rnis
invide t u vis. 0d. I I , vi , 5 .
IV AND OTHER A UGUS TAN P OE TS 55
was his fancy,the sensuous loveliness of Nature
,wholly apart
from i ts inner charm for m ind or heart,was all that he could
feel or reproduce. Even in the first book of theMeta m orp koses—ofall over- praised poems, i t seems to me, over- praised themost 1—the romantic events of the new created world cannotlift him into any phrase of true feeling or picturesqueness .Even when Proserpina herself is seen gather ing flowers withher comrade girls in Enna, nothing but a gardener’s cataloguepresents itself to Ovid’s prosaic ingenuity ; and Guido’s onedeeply inspired work, the justly famous R o sp iglio si A u r or a ,
owes nothing of its poetry to the verses which are supposedto have been the painter’s text.
1 AS poetry, tha t i s . Ovid 's imm ense p roflu enc e of va ried ta les , the
m aga zine for I ta lian pa inters and Sc u lptors du ring som e two centu ries , withhis A m or es, wa s wha t gave the poet his now faded suprem a cy.
CHA PT ER V
L AND S CAP E I N L A TER R OMAN EP I C AND THE
EL OCUTI O NOVEL L A
THE Augustan age,after flourishing
,l ike our Eliz abethan
,for
about s ixty years, dwindled after Ovid
’s death ( 1 8 thoughprolonged t il l Nero’s time, the middle of the first century.
The latter half of thi s may be named from the imperialfamily, the Flavian period, and is often called the S i lver Agethe most noteworthy poets here being S tatius, S il ius I ta lic u s,and Martial. This last l ively worldly poet—the earl iestR oman known to us who made literature his profession and
his l ivelihood (not without that degradation of wri ter, book,and reader
,which too often follows) —yields nothing for our
purpose ; although his poem on the Baian Vi lla of a friendsuppl ied hints to Ben Jonson in his P ens/zu r st
,and to
H errick in his beautiful Sweet Country L ife .
S tat ius has left his vast I 7zeba id, founded upon Vergil andpublished about 9 2 AD A lthough not an inspired work
,
this has much scattered merit in graphic and picturesquetouches
,
” 1and often shows true poetical feeling. I will quote
from one of the minor poems a Visit which he paid to thevi lla of his friend Vo p isc u s at T ivoli
0 day to be long remembered how gracious the naturalquality of the soil ! What disp o si tIongiven by art of hand tothe happy place ! Nowhere has Natu re delighted herself moreliberally. L ofty woodlands overhang the rapid current ; an
1 J . Conington (Essays, who c ha ra c teri ses the po ets of th i s perioda s having po int and terseness , b u t defic ient in sim plic i ty and repo se.
CHAP . V R OMAN EP I C AND THE EL OCU TI O NOVEL L A 57
answering deceptive image is often given back to the foliage,and one stream runs through a length of shadow?
Very inferior is the immense Epic of S il ius, longer than theOdyssey,
upon the Punic War. Ma cka il describes him as an“ incorrigible amateur
,
”and the poem is indeed but a peda nt’s
copy of the traditional commonplaces of the ancient epic.
Yet I can give one quotation from a beautifully wri ttensimile with which he surprises u s
,when describ ing the weari
ness of Hannibal ’s troops at the monotonous glare of thesnow and ice upon the summit of an A lpine pass
A S a sailor in m id ocean, when h e h a s left afar the sweet firmland
,and the empty sails find no breezes
,and the mast is stead
fast,looks o u t upon the measureless sea
,and overcome by the
watery depths, wearied, refreshes hi s eyes u pon the openheavens ?
What we commonly think of as L atin literature now rapidlynears its extinction . Under H adrian’s principate ( 1 3 8—1 6 1A .D . ) the S ilver Age was followed by a period when Greek wasfamiliarly adopted as their language by L atin wr iters
,whilst
,
at the same time,a new school appeared which, under the
name of E locu tio N ovella , created a style strangely diverseboth in sentiment and i n d iction from the preceding classicalL atin.
These changes,as Ma c ka il points out
,in each case had a
traceable cause . Classical L atin,with its unique gift of
weighty splendour, we should always recollect, was, in truth, a
1 0 longum m emoranda d iesingenium qu a m m i te solo qu a e form a b e a tis
a rte m anu s concessa loc is nonla rgi us u squ am
indu lsit N a tu ra sibi mem ora a lta c ita tis
inc u b u e r e va d is falla x r e sp onsa t im agofrond ib u s, e t longa s ea dem fugi t u nda per um bra s .
S ta tiu s, Sylv . I .2 —m edio S ic na vita pontoc um du lces liqu i t terra s , e t inania nu llosinveniunt ventos sec u ro c a rb a sa m a lo,im m ensa s p ro sp e c ta t a qua s , a c , vie ta profund isa e qu o r ib u s, fessu s r eno va t su a lum ina c a c lo .
P uni c a I I I , 5 3 5 .
58 L AND S CAPE I N L A TER R OMAN EPI C CHAP.
highly artificial language,gradually formed and polished by
suffusion of Greek influence. The stages of the li terature, to review them roughly
,are from Ennius about 2 00 B .C. to L ucretius
about 50 B .C., after which comes the Supreme Augustan age,
say to 2 0 AD The invigorating freshness of Greek culturehad then done its work and was exhausted, whence the longperiod of decline begins . D uring this time also, the peaceof the early Empire had broken up, and l i terature found nolonger powerful patrons as of o ld, whilst the cla s sical dialecthad parted widely from tha t in common use. H ence thenatural direction to Greek literature on one hand, on theother the attempt to create a new mode of speech ?This Elocu tio N ovella , beginning apparently with the prose
writers,Fronto and Appu le iu s—both African by birth—and
both living towards the close of the second century, representednot merely a fresh refinement in the artificial management of thought and language
,but the appearance on the
surface of certain native qual ities in L a tin,” latent but long
suppressed by the Grac co -R oman fashion ; although, meanwhile,that style itself was developing into a subtlety
,an analytic
and subjective manner,in the hands of P liny the younger and
Tacitus ? Quintil ian had gone back to Cicero’s language ;1 Mom m sen, inh is a dm irablework on the P r ov inces oftlze Emp i r e (B k . VI I I ,
c hap. xii i ) , spea k ing ofthe first L a tinversions of th e B ible, rem a rks tha t theset ra nsla tions were m a de, not into the la ngu age ofthe c u lt iva ted c irc les oftheWest , wh ic h ea rly d i sappea red from com m onlife, and in the im peria l agewa s everywhere a m a tter of schola stic a tta inm ent , b u t into the decomposedL a tin al rea dy prepa ring the wayfor the stru c tu re of the Rom ance langu agesthe L a tinof comm on intercou rse a t tha t tim e fam ilia r to the grea t m a sses. ”
B u t of the Africa n style of Fronto and Ap p u le iu s and tha t c irc le h e speakswi th gr ea t c ontem pt , seem ingly trea ting i t a s a degenera te language wh ich ha sfal len away from the ea rnest a u steri ty inna te in L a t in,
" strange and inc on
gru o u s, with “ i ts d iffu seness of petty deta i l ” ; whenc e th i s “ whole field ofAfricano- L a tin a u thorsh ip does not offer a S ingle po et who deserves to beso m u ch a s nam ed . Wi th th e h ighest respec t fo r th is grea t h i storian, I
wou ld ventu re to a dd tha t in th i s perhaps som ewha t too a c adem ica l ju dgfm ent Momm senpa sses over the interest—som etimes the cha rm—oftha t qua sirom antic ism tra ceable inthe style inqu estion, with a ll i ts wea ker side.
3 Whether in sent im ent or in style T a c i tu s i s so strangely unlike hispredecessors , ha s anappea l so d irec t to m odern though t , tha t th e theory oncep u t forwa rd a ssigning his h istoric a l work to a m ed iaeva l forger—a ltho ugh evenm ore a bsu r d , if po ssible, than tha t theory wh ich a ssigns Shakespea re' s D ra m a
to L ord Veru lam—ha s a certa inp r im a fa c i e proba bi li ty. Y e t , in fa c t , the
AND THE EL OCUTI O N OVEL L A 59
Fronto and App u le iu s aimed at uniting elements in the L atinof the second century B .C. and in the popula r d iction of theirownday, with a romantic, highly coloured style, which we, looking back over theMiddle Ages, are d i sposed (though figurativelyrather than with strict accuracy) to call mediaeval. Perhapsalso
,I would conjecture, something of the graceful di rect
conversational manner possible in Greek literature,together
with the tender sentiment of its later stages, such as theEpigrams Show, came in through the Greek impulse, alreadynoticed, of the period before us.I have dwelt at some length on this subj ect, partly as so
curious in itself,and yet so often slurred over by our literary
historians,partly because its effect on landscape poetry i s
especial ly perceptible ? We have, indeed, these p oeta e novel/i,as the Grammarians call them,
in scattered fragments, the datesuncertain
,the texts corrupt . And we are ignorant how
numerous may have been the writers who worked i n this newstyle
,—classical literature everywhere reflecting the gaps and
imperfections of the “ geological record —and the movementapparently ended early in the fourth century at the advent ofChristian verse
,with its new ideas, new diction, new colour ;
whilst the o ld classical manner, as we shal l see, meanwhilesurvived
,though in a feeble im itative condition .
Turning now to the E locu tio N ovella i tself in stil l extantl i terature
,we may note that with App u le iu s, especially in his
beautiful Cupid and P syché romance,his prose approaches
in manner what i s known as assonant verse. P robably to themiddle of the second century AD may be assigned the singularfragmentary Vigil of Venu s
,written in long trochaics—a re
version to very early L atin usage—but here so treated thataccent tends to coincide with quantity. The song opensthus
T o -morrow let him love who has never loved yet, and he who
has loved let him love to -morrow.
very pec u lia ri ties wh ic h suggest th i s idea , looked a t c losely, a re i t s a bsolu terefu ta t ion.
1 Fo r a fu ller sta tem ent rea ders a re referred to Mr . Ma cka il'
s L a tin
L i te r a tu r e , to wh ich I am here deeply indebted .
60 L AND S CAPE I N L A TER R OMAN E P I C CHAP .
(A l ine which, employed in true romantic fashion as a refrain,recurs throughout . )
S pring i s fresh, S pring now is musical, S pring is the world bornagain
In Spr ing lovers agree, in spring the birds w e d,And the wood lets loose its t resses as it i s married by theshowers .
To -morrow let him love who h a s never loved yet,and he who
has loved let him love to -morrow.
Then the rose,that typical flower of love
,in romance
,
appears
Formed of the blood of Venus, and the k is s of Amor,And of gems and of flames, and the crimson wh ich the sun brings
o u t
T o -morrow she,her virgin zone once loosed, will not blush to
unve fl
The ruby which lay within he r outer robe of fir e .
But the text i s here so uncertain that only the scatteredhints of the poet are discernible. I t i s with a love - sigh thatthe song ends
The bird sings, we are sile nt when will my spring come ? 1
We who have mediaeval ism to look back upon can hardlyhelp finding in these l ines an anticipation of later sentiment. And thi s i s true in some sense . H ow deeply thepassion shown here and the style differ from the tone of the
1c ra s am et qu i nunqu am a m a vit , qu iqu e am a vit c ra s a m etver novu m , ver iam c ano ru m ,
ver r ena tu s orbis estvere concordant am ores , vere nu b unt a l i tese t nem u s com am re so lvit de m ar i tis im b r ib u s
c ra s a m et qu i nunqu a m a m a vit, qu iqu e am a vi t c ra s am et .fa c ta Cyp r idis de c ru ore dequ e Am o ris osc u lodequ e gem m is dequ e flam m is dequ e solis p u rp u r is,c ra s ru b o r em qu i la te b a t veste te c tu s igneaunico m a ri ta nodo nonp u de b it solvere.
illa c anta t , nos ta c em us qu a ndo ver veni t m eumuni co : th e uni co ga u dens m u li e r m a r i to of Hora c e (0d . I I I , xiv) seem shere to have been inth e poet ’s m ind .
62 L AND S CAPE I N L A TER R OMAN EP I C CHAP .
This may not be exactly landscape ; but under cover of theP er vigi li um I have allowed myself the pleasure of admitt ing it.The four B u colica
,recognised by J . Conington as the work
of Nem e sianu s of Carthage (close of th ird century), echoingVergil
,have something of his grace but the style and thoughts
are marked by a curious simpl icity,found at times in later
L atin poets . The Shepherds ( though our specimen does notexhibit thi s feature) offer love with a directness al ien from theMa ster’s delicacy.
A brief specimen, with a pretty refrain, may suffice.Mopsus invokes hi s cruel love Mo ro é
H ither,O fair Moroe come I summer calls thee to the shade ;
already have the flocks moved beneath the wood, now no birdsings with its vocal throat, the scaly snake does not mark theground with her winding t rac k. A lone I sing, the whole woodSpeaks of me
,nor do I yield in song to the cicadas of summer.
L e t c a ck sing kis lov e songs a lso lightenp a in?
Yet Nem e sianu s also shows some S ign of par ticipating in theromantic movement, as a passage quoted byMr . Ma cka il proves .I t is, indeed, but
“ a little touch of the modern tone, pa rtlyimitated from Virgil, but partly natural to the new L atin .
”
The rosebu sh loses the rose,nor are the lilies alway snow - bright,
nor does the vine long retain her leafy tresses, nor the poplar itsshade : Beauty i s a brief gi ft, nor c anmake itself at home inage
?
T ib e rianu s, Count of Africa in 3 2 6 AD ,and holder of
other high offi ces,continues the E locu tio N ovella even into the
fourth century,although with less affectation or artifice of
1 hu c , Moroe’ form osa , veni voc a t a estu s inum b ram
iam p e c u de s su b ie re nem u s iam nu lla c anorogu ttu r e c anta t avis , torto non squa m ea tra c tu
S igna t hum u m serpens . solu s c ano m e sona t omnis
silva , ne c a e stivis c antu c onc edo c ica dis.
c ante i , a m e t qu ad qu i squ e levant e t c a rm ina c u r a s.
B u c . IV, 3 8 .
3 perd i t Spina rosa s ne c sem pe r lil ia c andent ,ne c longum tenet u va com a s ne c popu lu s u m bra sdonum form a breve est , ne c se qu od c om m o de t annis .
AND THE EL OCUTI O NOVE L L A 63
diction,and also with less metrical accuracy . The o ld laborious
rules of L atin verse imported from the Greek were now rapidlybreaking down—a change which was doubtless populari sed bythe Christian hymns and poetry freely produced after theconversion of Consta ntine. The little fragment by T ibe r ianu ssupplies one of the most detailed, of the completest la ndsca pedescriptions known to me in L atin poetry . I owe my copyof it to Mr . Ma c ka il
,who sta tes that the single known text
“ i s corrupt and badly spelled, so that one cannot be at allsure of the reading in several l ines .”
The stream was moving through herbage as it poured downa chill valley
,smiling with brilliant pebbles, coloured with the
flowers of the meadow. Overhead a breeze softly stirred thedark green laurel and myr tle thickets with a c aressing rustle .
But beneath, soft gr ass was dense with sweet flowers, the lawnwas reddened by crocus and glitteringwith lilies, while the wholegrove was sweet with the breath of violets. Among those giftsof spring, j ewelled beauties, —Queen of all odours and leaderamong the splendid hues, with h e r golden blossom—the R ose,D ione’s flower, stood forth eminent. The grove was crisp withdew throughout its moi st herbage ; here and there murmuredrivulets from an abundant source. Moss and flourishing [ivy]within fga rlande d the caves, where the oozing streams ran inshining drops .Among these shades every bird, more tuneful than one could
bel ieve,sounded songs of spring and sweet chuckling laughter
Here the mu rmur of the babbling stream sang in concert withthe leaves
,stirred by the melody of the vocal breeze, the music of
the western wind. Thus any one who went by the green spaces,fair
,odorous, songful,—bird, stream, breeze, grove, flower, and
shade delighted him ?
1amnis iba t inter herba s val le fu su s frigida ,
lu ce ridens c a lc u lo ru m , fl o re pic tu s h e rb ido .
c a e ru las superne la u ru s e t vi re c ta myrtealenite r m o ta b a t a u ra b land iente sibilo.
su b te r a u tem m olle gram enflo re du lc i c re ve ra te t c roco solum ru b e b a t e t lu c e b a t li liis
tum nem u s fragra b a t omne vio la rum spiri tu .
inter ista dona veri s gemm ea squ e gra tia somnium regina odorum e t c oloru m lu c ifer
64 L AND S CAPE I N L A TER R OMAN EP I C CHAP .
There is a strange charm in this picture,free as i t i s from
mythological intrusion,careless in rhythm and order, missal
l ike in its simple contrasted colours. Although Tasso canhardly have seen i t
,the symphony of Nature contained in the
last l ines “ consort ing ” with the human v isite r m
p e rha ps supposed a lover—i s s ingularly like the song in A rm ida’s wood,1with its “ melodies unheard, sweeter than vocal ; or, again,with that Garden of Acrasia (as noted by Ma cka il), in whichSpenser, whilst following, almost rivals the I tal ian himself
A ll that pleasing i s to living earWas there consorted in one harmony
B i rds,voices
,instruments
,winds
,waters, all agree
The joyous birds, shrouded in cheerful shade,Their notes unto the voice a ttem p e r’d sweetThe angelical soft trembling voices madeT o the instruments divine respondence meetThe silver- sounding instruments d id meetWith the base murmur of the waters’ fallThe waters’ fall with difference discreet,N ow soft
,now loud
,unto the wind did call
The gentle warblingwind low answered to all.
But what a wide and striking difference is there betweenthe fairy woodland of T ib e rianu s and the T itanic landscape ofL ucretius, full of horror and wildness—the perfect modulation,the celestial beauty
,the deep
,deep humanity of Vergil ! With
a u ro a flore p ra em ineb a t flo s D iona e us rosa .
ro sc idum nem u s r ige b a t inter u da gram inafonte c rebro m urm u ra b ant h inc e t inde r ivu liantra m u sons e t vi rente s intu s [he de ra e b ] v inxe rant,qua e 0 fl u enta la b ib unda gu ttis ib ant lnc id is .
h as p e r umbra s omnis a les plu s c anora qu am pu tesc antib u s vernis stre p e b a t e t su su rris du lc ib u sh ic loqu entis m u rm u r amnis c onc ine b a t frond ib us
qu a s m elos voc al is a u ra e, m u sa Ze p hyr i , m o ve ra t
sic e untem per vire c ta pu lc ra odora e t m u sic aa les am mi s a u ra lu c u s flos e t u m bra iu ve ra t.
1 Ge r u sa lemme , Canto xvi , 1 2 .
P rob a b ly sync opa te d fo r a u r e o .
b Conje c tu re d : a ga p h e re In the MS . (H a r l. 3685 , B M. )0 R efe rs to a ntr a . The se no te s, w ith o the r sugge stions, a r e du e to Mr . Ma cka il S k indne ss.
AND THE EL OCUTI O N o VEL L A 65
a true affection the later poet does indeed feel for and withNature ; but the landscape breadth of the older style, therecognition of a D ivine something in all we see, i s narrowedhere to the subjective delight like that wh ich our own Marvellexpressed through his lovely verses, I n a Ga r den.
H ere,however
,my examples end. The new style seems
to have been‘
but an undercurrent that which we think of asthe Classical resumes its appearance (though with much of thelater feel ing for landscape) in our next poet, Ausonius ofBordeaux. H is poem on the Moselle—“ the most beautifu lof purely descriptive L atin poems,
” saysMa c ka il—was writtenabout 3 70 AD a t T réve s
,where he was P rofessor of Grammar
and R hetoric. To this latter study we may perhaps ascribesome false ingenuities in theMosella but
,on the whole
,
“ i t i sunique in the felicity with which i t unites Virgil ian rhythmand diction with the new romantic sense of the beauties ofnature —nor, perhaps, i s i t less noteworthy as our onlyexample of a Transalpine northern landscape.A lthough a Christian in faith
,Ausonius pretends to see
Na iade s, fauns, and satyrs celebrating their mysterious gamesthese he may not tell
L e t these secrets be hidden : let the worship,the r ev e r enti a
entrusted to the river- side lie concealed : B u t that beauty [ofthe landscape] may be openly enjoyed, when the gray streamrepe ats the shady hill the river waters seem to bu rst into leaf,to be themselves p lanted with the v ine - bough. What colour i sthat upon the shallows wh en H esperus at evening has le d forththe twilight, and pours the green mountain over the Moselle ?All the crags of the sharply outlined hills are swimming there,and the vine - spray is waving in its image, the whole vintageburgeons in the glassy waves ?
Claudian is in many ways a singular figure in L a tin l iterature . By his short historical epics—written between 3 9 5 and
1 —Sec reta tega tu r le t com m issa su is la te a t r e ve rentia r ip is. ]i lla fru enda pal am spec ies , c um gla u c u s opa c ore sp onde t coll i flu vius fronde re videntu r
flum ine i la tices , e t pa lm i te c onsitu s am a is .F
66 L AND S CA PE I N L A TER R OMAN EP I C CHAP .
405 A .D .—he ranks as the last of the genuinely R oman poets
,
being also “ the last eminent man of letters who was a professedpagan .
”A lthough bred and dwelling long in Al exandria
,
his L atin,” Ma c ka il remarks
,
“ is as pure a s that of the bestpoets of the S i lver Age
”
; and he was gifted also with wealthof language and fertil ity of imagination . But these epics arepurely li terary ; Claudian had the complete A lexandrianculture yet by his time that (with his religion) was
“ not only“ artificial but unnatural his poetry might have belongedto “ the R enaissance in i ts narrower aspect. I n a word
,i t i s
impersonal,wholly wanting the subj ective qual ity of the
“ new poets .” H ence one reads with di sappointment theelegant description of the Vale of H enna in his R ap e ofP r oserp ine . H enna has indeed summoned Zephyr to preparethe spot for P roserpina and her companions ; yet it i s but acold
,artificial picture. We think of Shakespeare, with his
O P roserp ina,Fo r the flowers now,
that,frighted, thou le t’st fall
From D is’s waggon daffodils,That c ome befo re the swallow dares, and takeTh e w inds ofMarch with beauty violets dim
,
B u t sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes,O r Cytherea’s breath
or Mi lton,when he sings of
That fair fieldOfEr ma, where P roserp ine, gathering flowers
,
Herself a fai rer flower,by gloomy D is
Was ga th e r’d
or his impassioned address in Lycia’
a s to the S ici lianand the floral catalogue of r a tke p r im r ose, p a le j essa m ine,fr ea k
’
d w it/z j et,
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,And every flower that sa d emb ro idery wears .
qu i s colo r ille va d is , sera s c um p ro tu lit u m bra sHesperu s , e t virid i p e rfund it m onte Mo se llam
to ta na tant c r isp is iuga m ontib u s, e t tr em it a b sens
p am p inu s, e t v itr e is vindem ia tu rge t inund i s.
AND THE EL OCUTI O N OVEL L A 67
Now turn to the skilful and learned L atin poet
The beauty of the place excels the flowers the plain curvinginto a slight eminence, grew into a hill by gentle slopes : fountains that sprang into the living rock, were caressing the moi stened grasses with thei r running waters : a wood tempers withthe freshness of its branches the blazing sun , and claims foritself a winter in m id - summer?
Then follow the flowersThe pride of the meadows i s despoiled one goddess inweaves
lil ies with dusky violets : soft marj oram adorns another : onemoves brilliant with roses another i s white with p rivet. Theetoo
,Hyacinth , lamenting with thy inscribed sorrows
,and
Narc issus,do they gather. .
3
The description then passes offinto mere di splay of learn ingand mythology . No r do es P roserpine drop her flowers whencarried offto the under world. I t i s Vergil, without his vitalcharm
,without his magic. Will it not be enough simply to
compare with Claudian’s these lines P
H ither,fair boy ! L o , for thee the Nymphs bring l ilies in
heaped - u p baskets ; Fo r thee the fair Nais, gathering th e paleyellow Violet and the poppy blossom,
j oins them to narcissus andthe flower of aromatic fennel then, interweavingcasia and othe rodorous p lants
,picks out the dark hyacinth with the golden
marigold.
3
1 form a loc i su p e ra t flores c u rva ta tum orepa rvo p lanitie s, e t m o llib u s ed i ta c livisc re ve ra t incollem vivo d e pum ice fontesrosc ida m o b ilib u s lam b e b ant gr a m ina rivi sS ilva qu e torrentes ram o ru m fr igo re solestem p e ra t, e t m ed io b rum am sibi vindic a t a e stu .
R ap t. P r os. 1 0 1 .
p ra to ru m sp o lia tu r honos haec l il ia fusc isintexit v io lis h anc m ollis am a ra c u s orna tha ec gr a ditu r stella ta rosis haec a lba ligu str is.
te qu oque fl e b Ilib u s m o e rens, Hya c inthe, figu r is,N a r c issu m qu e m e tunt. R ap t. P r os. 1 2 8 .
hu c a des , o form ose puer tibi li lia p lenisec ce fe runt nym pha e c a la th is t ibi c a nd ida N a is ,
p a llentis viola s e t summ a p a p a ve ra c a r p ens,
N
O:
68 L AND S CAPE I N L A TER R OMAN EP I C CHAP .
T o conclude. I t i s interesting to note how the ri singtide of romanticism has here
,as elsewhere, left Claudian
wholly untouched. The passage,though elaborately ornate,
“ i s executed in the clear,hard manner of the A lexandrian
school ; it has not a trace of that sensitiveness to Naturewhich vibrates in the P er vzgi lzum Vener is.
” 1
R u tiliu s Nam a tianu s, a southern Gaul, in the (imperfectly
preserved) narrative of a voyage from R ome (4 1 6 A .D .) to hisnative land, describes his voyage along the I talian coast, withlittle attempt
,indeed, at poetical handling, but in a S imple
naturalistic vein ; it is truly an I tiner a ry in our sense. The
coast- l ine is briefly sketched with clear,plain language ; the
ru ins of Cosa,the Pharos of Populonia
,the harbour of P i sa
,
the Corsican mountains. And touches,brief but true
,of
Nature are scattered Such glimpses may b e
D ewy twilight shone in the purple r e d Sky
The calm sea smiles under the tremulous sun - rays ?
But two slight pictures from the voyage will give a fullernotion of this interesting poem. The first i s a twilightscene
As rest for the night we take up our quarters on the sea sand.
A myrtle th icket supplies o u r evening fire we build little tentssupported by the oars the quant thrown across formed an ex
temporary roof- tree.
3
The j ourney is afterwards resumed
We now urge on the course by sail, as the North wind hadshifted when first the Morn ing S tar shone forth on his rosy
na r c issum e t florem iungit bene o lentis ane th i ,tum , c a sia a tqu e a li is intexens su a vi b u s h e rb is,
m ollia lu teola pingi t va c c inia c a l tha . B u c . I I , 45 .
1 W. J . Ma cka il , L a tinL i te r a tu r e .
3 rosc ida pu niceo fu lse r e c re pu sc u la ca e lo .
a rr ide t p la c idum ra d I Is c r isp antib u s a equor.3 lito r e a noc ti s requ iem m e tam u r a rena
da t vespertinos m yrtea S ilva focospa rvu la su b ie c tis fa c im u s tento ria rem is ,tra nsversu s su bito c u lm ine c ontus era t .
CH A P T ER VI
L AND S CAPE I N THE HEB R EW P OE TR Y
THUS far the landscape, as seen in the Greek and R omanpoetry, has been before us . I t i s a scarcely disputable commonplace to add, that these two great l iteratures have been emiu ently the most powerful models in moulding modern verse ;they form, in fact, the magnificent inevitable ante - room
,the
P ropylaea,to the story of European song
,of English more
emphatically. Yet though the subject be trite,a few words
may be added in explanation,so far as I am able
,of the pre
ci se grounds upon which this high place i s claimed.
I t is a famil iar,though often ignored canon, that perfect
poetry demands a perfect equipoise,a perfect equivalence
,
between subject and treatment, matter and form —and thatthe art must be the more absolute the higher the themechosen : whilst we have at once to confess that imperfectionattends all human attempts at the perfect. I t i s i n the regionof form and treatment that the largest debt of Modern poetryprobably lies to Classical ; to H ellas we all owe the eternalmodels of diction, of metre, in Short, of style : and, hardlyless important, the separation of poetry under definite formsthe eternal models, also, of clearness and of sanity, of unityand climax in the whole. R ome
,receiving this Splendid in
heritance,l ike a bridge uniting two worlds, carried i t on to us
with modifications which adapted H ellenic master- works tolater thought and language. The Greek, in a word, generallyspeaking
,taught us Beauty ; the R oman, D ignity.
This bequest belongs to the formal side, the side of art, as
CHAP . v 1 L AND S CAPE I N THE HEB REW P OE TR Y
above defined. While i t is in this field that we have gainedmost in a direct way from classical treasures
,i t would be
ungrateful—it would be criminal—to ignore our immensedebt to the noble thought, the penetrating insight into humancharacter and l ife
,the profound and exquisite
,i f l imited, feeling
for Nature (to touch our own province) which mark classicalpoetry from Homer onwards . We owe also to the ancientsthat constantly exhibited preference for objective over sub
je c tive treatment of theme which, as Goethe urged, i s alwaysthe mark of the highest poetry. And i f we are dwelling hereupon both style and subject, this i s because, although, forcriticism
,form and matter have been necessari ly separated
,
yet the two are interwoven as warp and woof in the finetapestry of verse
,or rather
,intimately combined everywhere
as if by chemical union .
I f,however
,here the metaphor of body and soul naturally
occurs to the mind, i t should recall al so at once that vitalelement from which modern poetry can hardly dissever itselfwithout suicide—that which, in its profoundest sense, theo ld pre - Christian world inevitably wanted. One ancientli terature
,however
,remains by which the spiritual element
was conferred upon human ity,and thus on human song.
Palestine and H ellas, A thens and Jerusalem,these unquestion
ably are the two fountains of whatever i s deepest in humanthought
,human emotion
,human art—fountains which
,l ike
those fabled ones of
Eros and Anteros at Gadara,
answer and complete each other by their immense contrast.And this contrast, running through every region of man
’sinterest, everywhere appears in the presentation of L andscape inPoetry.
Under its highest aspect the H ebrew treatment has beenadmirably set forth by H umboldt i n his Cosm os 1
1 Physic a l sc ienc e ha s a dvanc ed with m agnificent m ovement S ince tha t workwa s written. Y e t the a u thor enjoyed a range ofknowledge , the fru i t a like ofstu dy and ofexperience—a width , and a t the sam e tim e a refinem ent ofta ste—a
la rge-m inded gra sp of l ife in pa st and present tim es , wh ic h render Cosmosworthy of ana ttentionnow—it m ay be fe a red—seldom given.
72 L AND S CAPE I N THE HEB REW P OE TR Y CHAP .
I t is characteristic of H ebrew poetry in reference tonature
,that
,as a reflex of monotheism
,i t always embraces
the whole world in its unity,comprehending the life of the
terrestrial globe as well as the Shining regions of space. I tdwells less on details of phenomena
,and loves to con
template great masses . Nature i s pourtrayed, not as selfsubsisting
,or glorious in her own beauty
,but ever in relation
to a higher,an over- rul ing
,a spiritual power. The H ebrew
bard ever sees in her the l iving expression of the omnipresence of God in the works of the visible creation . Thus,the lyrical poetry of the H ebrews in its descriptions ofnature is essentially
,in i ts very subject
,grand and solemn
,
and,when touching on the earthly condit ion of man, full of
a yearning pensiveness .The landscape of P alestine is of course that mainly pre
sented the climate,the seasons in their order ; the skies and
cloud- region in particular,occupy a large place in the Book of
Job . But the sea is also described with a breadth and animation
,a sense of l ife and of wonder
,which classical poets do
not approach .
We may begin with the blessing of Joseph,as thi s gives a
brief but most poetically felt sketch of the landscape in itslargest sense
B lessed of the L ord be his land, for the precious things of heaven,for the dew,
and for the deep that coucheth beneath,
And for the precious fruits brought forth by the sun, and for theprecious things p u t forth by the moon,
And for the chief things of the ancient mountains, and for theprecious things of the lastinghills,
And for the p recious things of the earth and fulness thereof ?
The hundred and fourth P salm,in our version
,i s perhaps
the noblest example of the H ebrew panorama of Nature ;though no word analogous to Nature
,we should note, ever
occurs,either as a brief synonym for the external aspect of
things,or
,as we commonly use it
,for a kind of abstract
medium between God and the universe. This S ong of theWorld begins with the H eavens, the Clouds, the Ear th, the
1 D ent. xxxi i , 1 3 .
VI L AND S CAPE I N THE HE B REW P OE TR Y 73
rivers,grass and herbs for animals ; wine and bread for man .
Follow details of the landscape the trees of the L ord, cedarswith nestling birds ; the stork on the fir - tree hills and rocksfor goats and conies .L e t me quote here a few stanzas from the magnificent ren
dering of this psalm by that deep - souled neglected poet,H enry Vaughan . H e is speaking of the brooks which runfrom hil l to valley
These to the beasts of every field give drinkThere the wild asses swallow the cold spring
And birds amongst the branches on the ir brinkTheir dwellings have, and sing.
Thou giv’st the trees the ir greenness, ev’n to those,Cedars in L ebanon, in whose th ick boughs
The birds the ir nests build though the stork doth chooseTh e fir trees for her hou se .
T o the wild goats the h igh hills serve for folds,Th e rocks give con ies a reti ring place
Above them the cool moon her known cou rse holds,
And the sun runs his race .
Then the poet turns to night and i ts terrors of wild beasts,until the human figure has its place
Mangoeth forth to his work and to his labour,until the even ing.
O L ord, h ow manifold are Thy works ; in wisdom hast Thoumade them all the earth i s fu ll of Thy riches .
But as the picture of l ife and of God’s power is not exhausted,the song proceeds to the sea and its innumerable indwellers,all dependent upon H im for their sustenance and creation
,as
H e renews the face of the earth : until, summing up all thesewonders in the glory of their Maker
,the royal poet strikes a
note unknown to A thens or to R ome,as he tells of the God
who r ej oi ces inH is works.
S imilar, though more dramatic, i s the picture given in thehundred and seventh P salm
,telling of God’s goodness to
man, and ending with that vivid scene of the ship at sea,
74 L AND S CAPE I N THE HEB REW P OE TR Y CHAP .
which,like numerous passages in classical poetry
,sets the
sailor’s life before us as the most perilous,the most helpless
position in which man can place himself,until brought “ unto
the haven where he would be ” ; again“ to praise the L ord
for H is goodness,”and exalt H is works as proofs and witnesses
of A lmighty power. And with these psalms we may join the
(doubtless later) S ong of tbc Tkr ee Cki ldr en that exhaustivecatalogue of Nature—which may be compared with the panorama from D euteronomy already quoted—animate and inanimate, yet raised into lofty poetry by the directness of i ts detail,and more, by the intensi ty with which it i s throughout vital isedby union with the Creator’s glory
,thus proclaiming everywhere
the universal R eign of L aw.
More wild and powerful are the delineations—marvellousin their force and truth—ofthe wonders of Creation in the Bookof Job . No poetry can be found more vividly impressivethan that which puts the horse before us in h is nat ive maj esty ;nor do even the astonish ing revelations of modern astronomysound more mysterious and magical than the very names ofthe great stars
,as placed in the mouth of theirMaker—P leiades,
Orion, Maz zaroth, and Arcturus .We may compare with the psalms of devotion and thankful
reverence,the sad tones ascribed to Solomon in his day of
disi llusion—that preacher whose moral i s the Vanita s Vani tatum of all human l ife
One generation passeth away, and another generation comethbut the earth abideth for ever.
Th e sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth toh is plac e where he arose.
Th e wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about u nto thenorth it whi rleth about continually and the wind returnethagain ac cording to his c ircuits .
A ll the rivers r un into the sea yet the sea is not fu ll unto theplace from whence the rivers come
,thither they return again .
I n contrast then to the dark desolate pensiveness of E cclesi
a stes, let us place the picture of faith and religious confidence,
drawn by Habakkuk in words of singular beauty
V I L AND S CAPE IN THE HE B REW P OE TR Y 75
A lthough the fig tree shall not blossom,
Neither shall fruit be in the v inesThe labour of the o live shall fail,And the fields shall yield no meatThe flock shall be cut offfrom the fold,And th ere shall be no herd in the stallsYet I will rejo ice in the L ord
,
I will joy in the God of my salvation .
Such are the main characteristics of the landscape in theOld Testament. But another
,a rarer aspect
,appears in the
two idyllic poems, as they may be justly named, R a i l: and
S olomon’
s S ong. I n R u t/z i t i s the atmosphere of the harvestfield, the young reapers at their work, the fair girl amidst thealien corn
,
” which we see. The S ong goes more into detail
Mybeloved spake, and said unto me, R ise up, my love, myfair one
, and c ome awayFo r, 10, the winter i s past, the rain i s over and goneThe flowers appear on the earth ; the time of the singing of
birds is come, and the vo ice of the tu rtle i s heard in o u r landTh e fig t ree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with
the tender grape give a good smell. A rise, my love,my fair one,and come away.
Or again
Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field let us lodgein th e villages .L e t us ge t u p early to the v ineyards : let u s see if the vine
flourish , whether the tender grape appear, and the pomegranatesb u d forth There will I give thee my loves .
H ere we have a tenderness of sentiment uniting the humanlovers with the charm of Nature
,not indeed unknown to
Theocritus and to Vergil (H u e a des, O Ga la tea , see p. butmore modern, more intim e . And both here and in the P salmsalready quoted, observe also how the landscape i s treated asa di rect source of gladness to the heart ; the poet, as i t were,rejoices with the Creator’s rejoicing over the beauty or grandeurof H is own works . This feeling of delight
,again
,i s not
76 L AND S CAPE I N THE HEB REW P OE TR Y CHAP .
wholly wanting in the Antkology. But a sentiment which wasdoubtless implicit in the H ellenic mind, finds a more dist inctand overt utterance in the H ebrew.
Again, poets in Greece, writing always with Greek reserve,loved most the cultivated landscape, for the pleasure of theeye
,and for physical comfort ; in Italy, they spoke out more
freely, fond of parkl ike scenery and mountains for meditativerepose
0 were there one to place me in the cool hill -gi rt valleys ofHaemus, and shelter with a giant Shade of branches !1
The H ebrew threw his heart more deeply into the landscape ;loving it more passionately as the Creator’s own immediatework
,and hence
,nearer also to H is creatures . But it m ight
carry us too far,were we to pursue these contrasts into more
detail .R eturning, lastly, to Solomon
’s Song, a unique kind ofpanorama is there set before u s
Come w ith me from L ebanon,my Spouse
,with me from
L ebanon : look from the top of Amana, from the top of Shen irand Hermon
,from the lions’ dens
,from the mountains of th e
leopards .
I f the landscape of the Old T estament differs from theGreek in its constant use of details to enforce a m oral lessonupon man
,i t hardly difl
'
e rs less i f we reflect on this suggestivescene
,which recalls in miniature those more elaborate by
Milton in both his P a r a d ises,or the mountain pictures of
Wordsworth . Compared with classical verse, the Hebrewhere vindicates to itself a world-wide view. In this respect,as in i ts deep introspective tone, i ts constant reference to firstcauses
,and the presence of God in H is creation, i t preludes,
rather,prepares and lays down the way to modern thought
and feeling.
The H ebrew poetry, regarded strictly, closes here. But Imust add, with the reverence du e , a few words from the
1 —o qu i m e ge lid is c onva llib u s H aem isista t, e t ingenti ram orum p ro tega t u m bra —Georg. I I , 488 .
L AND S CAP E I N EAR L Y I TA L I AN P OE TR Y
WE now reach the immense gap—the gap of near one thousandyears—which parts the literatures of Greece and R ome in theirlarge
,their l iving sense
,from modern literature in i ts firs t
mediaeval form . Ou r own country, indeed, and ours almostalone
,does supply a few invaluable fragments, Celtic and
Anglo - Saxon, midway. These, however, I propose to takepresently as part of our main and final subj ect
,when English
poetry,which
,l ike English art
,i s so exceptionally rich in land
scape,comes before us . Meanwhile, as in my general sketch
was noticed, Nature, hitherto mainly regarded by the classicalwriters as external to Man
, not yet loved and described forher own sake
,or thought to entreasure moral lessons for u s
Nature,as culture recommenced with the earl ier R enaissance
,
was henceforth felt to be sympathetic with humanity,and
shared in the passion of the poet. The o ld world, we mightsay
,loved her the modern feels her love.This great advance may be traced to two causes . First
,
the Celtic and the T eutonic blood, which now overcame theR oman in Western Europe, seems fashioned to a more selfconscious
,a more emotional
,or (to sum up in common
phrase) a more romantic temperament . That quality placedMan in closer union with what he saw about him his heartopened freely to the heart of Nature. But
,secondly
,this in
born impulse was immensely vivified,as the result of that
great gu lf which lies between Christianity and the ethnic re
ligions in general . No true personal love to God or the gods,
CHAP . VI I L AND S CAPE I N EAR L Y I TAL I AN P OE TR Y 79
I think we may broadly say, was fel t by Greek or R oman .
They admired, they revered, they believed, more perhaps thanis commonly acknowledged. But genuine love to the D ivineBeings
,bel ief in whom and reliance is of the absolute essence
of Christianity ; and with this, loving remembrance of thoserather departed than dead these are the special
,the dist inctive
marks of Christian faith . And into that faith the whole H ebrewtheism was absorbed. H ence the poetry of the Old T estament
,always sublime
,often symbolical
,greatly influenced
mediaeval writers. The Bible held the same place of power asdid H omer among his countrymen. And hence too
,with this
personal love to God, came love for the work in which H e
shows H imself throughout Nature . There has been indeed attimes
,to digress for a moment, even a certain tinge of that
Pantheistic feel ing which is hardly separable from such lovealthough in this i t should be hardly needful to add that allreference to anything of the nature of sin
,was wholly excluded .
H ere we touch Wordsworth ’s celebrated lines
The Being, that i s in the clouds and air,That is in the green leaves among the groves,Maintains a deep and reve rential careFo r the unoffending creatures whom he loves .
But this peculiar sentiment seems to have been unknown tomediaeval feeling about Nature, and hence did not overtlyaffect the landscape of poetry in that region which is nowbefore us .Before
,however
,turning to this, I must, half reluctantly
yet inevitably,once more limit the field of my essay. P ro
vengal poetry, the first clear exhibition of mediaeval song ;then that of Northern France and of England under Normaninfluence ; last, that of early Germany, must be here passed by .
It i s indeed only among the once famous Minnesinger schoolof the twelfth and th irteenth centuries, so far as my limitedknowledge goes, that a distinctive landscape element i sfound.
I t is the I taly of mediaeval and later days which will beour proper prologue to England ; her l iterary forms effected
80 L AND S CAPE I N EARL Y I TAL I AN P OE TR Y CHAP.
the true, the cardinal, transition from the o ld world to thenew ; i t was by Italy also that Englishmen, earliest at onceand most deeply, have been moved. We see this in studyingthe R enaissance
,both in its earlier Cosmopolitan
,and its later
specifically I talian movement . Indeed, our present concernis,as it were
,a small chapter in that great subj ect—a detailed
and magnified section of the story of the R enaissance powerover English “Makers . ”
A lthough Italian poetry, dating from the S icil ian Ciullod’Alc am o about had already fixed i ts main lines before
D ante ( 1 2 65 yet with him,for three reasons
,I begin.
D ante raised his art conspicuously from the narrow,the mainly
amorous,range of the South -French lyrics hitherto prevalent
in I taly,to poetry capable of dealing with every great problem
of l ife and nature. H e also,as I have said, i s the one a bso l
u te ly Imperial poet in all the centuries between Vergil andShakespeare ; the Comm edia stands as the milestone dividingthe long road between the finest flower of classical and of modernpoetry—itself equal in rank with the finest. L astly
,i t is a
special pride to remember that in England his power as poetwas earliest recognised beyond his own country . We
,too
,by
the admirable essay of D ean Church may claim a first- rateappreciation
,worthy the subj ect, of D ante
’s genius. Fromthis I quote a few words . The main mark and lead ingimpulse was that “ upon all wisdom, beauty, and excellence,the Church had taught him to see
,in various and duly dis
tingu ished degrees, the seal of the one Creator. D ante’seye was free and open to external nature in a degree newamong poets certainly in a far greater degree than amongthe L atins
,even including L ucretius
,whom he probably had
never read.
”And his supreme gift in poetry intensified to
the highest h is vignettes from Nature ; with him“ words cut
deeper than is their wont .” Fo r many of these pictures thegroundwork was suppl ied by the frequent journeys of the poet’swandering, tempest - tossed l ife ; and, as in I taly mountain
1 S o Nannu c c i , in h is excellent Manu a le There is a lso a la tered i tion. T h is book m ay be strongly com m ended to a ll lovers of the fa i r landand h e r deligh tfu l poets .
V I I L AND S CAPE I N EARL Y I TAL I AN P OE TR Y 8 1
ranges are never out of sight,i t i s mountain scenery which he
paints with special interest . Yet, so wealthy and varied washis imaginative power
,that L andscape forms only a small part
of those details drawn from every aspect of real life in whichthe Comm ea’i a
,I believe
,surpasses every other poem.
We begin with what D ean Plum p tre , in his very closetranslation of the Commedia ,l describes as
“ among the longestand most vivid of [the landscapes] in the poem the typicalexample of the union of the power that observes the phaenomena of external nature with insight into human feelings asaffected by them . I t i s a day in early spring, j ust as thehoar- frost disappears before the sun . The passage opens thetwenty- fourth Canto of the I nferno ; and I shall use the D ean’sfaithful rendering, l ine for l ine, of the original text.
In that first season of the youthful year,
When the sun’s locks the chill Aquarius Shakes,And now the nights to half the day draw nea r,
When on the ground the hoar - frost semblance makesOfthe fair image of her S ister white,2B u t soon her brush its colour tru e forsakes,
The peasant churl,whose store i s emptied quite,
R ises and looks around, and sees the plainsAll wh iten’d, and for grief his hip does smite,
Turns to his house,and u p and down complains,
L ike the poor wretch who knows not what to doThen back he turns
,and all h is hope regains,
S ee ing the world present an a lte r’d hu e ,
In l ittle time,and takes his shepherd’s crook,
And drives his lambs to roam through pastu res new.
3
1 The Com m edi a and (com plete) Canz oni e r e of D ante Aligh ieri , N ew
T ransla tion, by E . H . Plum p tre , D ean ofWells, 1 886 - 87—another book
wh ich I ventu re strongly to rec om m end to tru e lovers of poetry. I t is a
trea su ry ofD antesqu e sc ience. In th e quota tions , the text ofA . J . B u tler ' sexcellent ed i t ionofthe Comm edi a (where i t i s a c com panied by a l itera l proseversion) ha s beenhere followed .
3 The snow.
3 Inqu ella pa rte de l giovinetto anno,Che i l sole i c rinsotto l ’ Aqu a rio tempra ,E girl 16 notti a l m ezzo dl senvanno
G
82 L AND S CAPE I N EAR L Y I TAL I AN P OE TR Y CHAP .
With what refinement does D ante here contrast hoar- frostwith snow —I t i s l ike the exquisite delicacy with which a T it ianor a R embrandt vary their subtle passages of white drapery.
Taking now the living creatures of the~
l andsca pe,some
vignettes of the Greek Anthology are here recalled
A S are the goats that on the mountain height,E r e they are fed, fu ll wild, and wanton bound,Then
,tame and still
,to chew the c ud delight,
Hu sh’d in the shade
,while all i s glare around,
Wa tch’d by the shepherd
,who upon his r od
L eans,and
,so lean ing, keeps them safe and sound?
D ante’s p ictures of the birds are frequent and exquisite
As bird, within the leafy home it loves,U pon the nest its sweet young fl edglings Share,R esting, while night h ides all that lives and moves,
Who,to behold the objects of her care
,
And find the food that may thei r hunger stay,Task in which all hard labours grateful are,
P revents the dawn, and, on an Open Spray,
With keen desire awaits the sun’s bright rays,And wistful look till gleams the new - born day
Qu ando la brina insu lla terra a sse m p ra
L' im agine d i su a sorella bianc a ,
Ma po co du ra a lla su a penna tempraL o villanello, a c u i la roba m anc a ,
S i leva e gu a rda , e vede la c am pagnaB ianc heggia r tu tta , ond
'
e i S i ba tte l' ancaR i torna inc a sa , e qu a e la S i lagna ,
Com e il tapinc he nonsa ch e S i fa c c ia ;Po i riede , e la speranza ringavagna ,
Veggendo il m ondo aver c angia ta fa c c iaInpoco d '
o ra , e prende su o vinc a stro ,
E fu ot le pec orelle a p a sc e r c a c c ia .
1Qu a l i s i fanno rum inando m anse
L e c a pre, sta te rapide e proterveS opra le c im e, avant i c he sienp ranse ,
T a c i te a ll' om bra m entre c he il S o l ferve,Gu ar da te da l pa stor, ch e insu la vergaPoggia to S
’
e, e lor poggi a to serve.
[P u rg. xxvii ,
V I I L AND S CAPE I N EAR L Y I TA L I AN P OE TR Y 83
S o did my L ady then, with fixéd gaze,S tand upright 1
Again,when Paolo and Francesca are summoned, as they
glide circling in their fated penal course, to speak with thepoet
E’enas doves, when love its call has given,With open
,steady w ings to their sweet nest
Fly, by the ir will borne onward through the heaven,3
they come to tell their sad story. Compare now with this thesouls of the righteous resting in their supreme happinessabove ; they are
As i s a lark that cleaves at will the sky,
First s inging loud, then silent and c ontent,
With that last sweetness that doth satisfy.
But here I must give the exquisite original,beyond even
Shelley, beyond even Wordsworth
Qual lodoletta, che in aere S i spaz iaP rima cantando, e po i tace contentaD ell’ ultima dolcezza
,che la sazia.
3
And to complete D ante’s bird- pictures,take this one WI th
its heavenly landscape
1 Com e l' a ugello intra l’ a m a te fronde,Posa to a l nido de i suoi dolc i na ti ,L a notte c h e le cose Ci na sconde,
Che per veder gli a spett i desia ti ,E per trova r lo c ibo onde gli pa sc a ,
In c he i gravi labo r gli sono aggra ti ,Previene il tempo insu 1
'
a perta fra sc a ,
E c on a rdente affetto il sole a spetta .
Fiso gu a rdando, p u r che l'
a lba na sc aCosi la Donna m ia s i stava eretta ,
Ed a ttentaxxi ii , 1 - 1 1 .
Qu a l i c olom be da l d isio c h iam a te,ConI ’ a h a lza te e ferm e
, a l dolce nidoVolanper 1 ' a e r da l voler porta te.
I nf. v, 8 2 .
3 xx, 73 . B u tler reads Qu a le a llodetta , b u t gives a lso th e form Ihave here preferred.
L AND S CAPE I N EAR L Y I TAL I AN P OE TR Y CHAP .
A sweet breeze towards me then did blowWith calm unvarying course upon my face,N o t with more force than gentlest wind doth Show.
Thereat the leaves, set trembling all apace‘
,
Bent themselves, one and all, towards the sideWhere its first Shade the H oly H i ll doth trace
Yet from the upright swerved they not asideS o far that any birds upon the sprayCeased by their wonted taskwork to abide
,
B u t, w ith fu ll heart of joy, the breeze of dayThey welcomed now w ithin their leafy bower
,
Which to their songs made music deep to play,L ike that which through the p ine -wood runs each hour
,
From branch to branch,upon Ch ia ssi’s shore
,
When A eolus lets loose S irocco’s power ?
Two other admirable vignettes may here be added, rendering effects of sun and sea
Bethink thee,R eader
,if on A lp ine he ight
A cloud hath wrapt thee, through which thou hast seen,As the mole through its membrane sees the light,
How when the vapours moist and dense beginThemselves to scatter, then the sun’s bright SphereAll feebly enters in the clouds between ?
1 Um’
a u ra dolce , senza m u tam entoAvere in 56, m i feria per la fronte,N ondi p i I
‘
I c olpo c h e soave ventoPe r c u i le fronde trem olando pronte
T u tte qu ante piegavano a lla pa rteU
'
1a prim ' om bra gi t ta il santo m onteNonp e rO dal lor esser d ri tto spa rte
T anto c he gli a ugellett i p e r le c im eL a sc iasse r d
’ ope ra re ogni lor a rteMa c onpiena letizia l ' ore prim e
Cantando r ic e vieno intra le fogl ie,Che tene vanbo rdone a lle su e rim e
T a l, qu a l di ram o in ram o S i ra c cogl ie,P e r la pineta insul li to d i Ch ia ssi ,Quand
’
Eolo S c iroc c o fu o r d i sc iogl ie.
xxviii , 7 .
3 R ic o rd iti , le tto r , 5 6 m a i nell ' a lpeT i colse nebbia , per la qu a l vedess iN ona ltrim enti c h e per pelle ta lpe
86 L AND S CAPE I N EARL Y I TAL I AN P OE TR Y CHAP .
wall of Flanders between Bruges and Wissant (Guiz zante), andto the embankment made in the A lps along the Brenta by thePaduans ? Above all
,we have that passionate remembrance
,
placed in the mouth of a s inner sunk in the tenth pit of H ell,
of the li ttle str ea ms tha t fl ow downfr om the gr een hi lls ofCa sentino to A rno
,m a king thei r beds cool and soft ?
Other recollections of Ital ian travel presented at somelength will be found in the description of the course of theriver Ac qu aqu e ta (I nf xvi . 94 - 1 0 2 ) and of the L ago di Gardaand the Mincio (I nf xx. 6 1 R . W. Church enumeratesalso : The fa i r r iver tha t fl ows am ong the p op la r s between
Chia ver i and S estr i ; the r ough and deser t ways betw eenL e r i ci
and Tu r bi a,and those towery cliffs going sheer into the deep
sea at Nol i .” But before qu itting this fascinating poem,we
must have a singular short vignette of flowers,as viewed in the
sunlight by a spectator standing without it. D ante,led by
Beatrice,i s looking on a crowd of Shining Ones. H e sees
them
As oft mine eyes have lo ok’d on flowery plain,Themselves o ’e rshadow’d, whilst clear sunlight b e am ’
d
Through rift in cloud - banks,brighter a fter rain .
3
Small as thi s picture i s, I would venture to say that no suchsubtle scene c an be found in any classical poet : none whereinthe impression on the soul raised by the contrast of light anddark so forms the poet’s picture.
L a stly,I wil l add a beautiful example of D ante
’s refinedtreatment of Nature, from the E dinbu rgh R eview of Apri l1 895 . D ante has often followed Vergil yet not as a mere
1Qua le i Fiam m ingh i tra Gu izzante e B ruggiaE qu ale i Pa do vanlungo la B renta
I nf. xv, 4 .
3 L i ru scelletti , c he de i verd i colliD e l Ca sentindisc endongiu so inArno,Fa cendo i lor c anal i fredd i e m olli .
I nf. xxx, 64 .
3 Come a raggio di sol , c he pu ro m e i
Pe r fra tta nu be, gia pra to di fio riV ider c operti d ’ om bra gli oc ch i m iei .
P a r . xxi i i , 79 .
VI I L AND S CAPE IN EAR L Y I TAL I AN P OE TR Y 87
copyist,but working on the text of the great L atin poet in his
own exquisite style. Thus from A en. vi, 309 , he takes
quam multa in silvis autumni frigo re primolapsa c a dunt fo lia
where Vergil’s comparison is simply between the numbers ofthe leaves and of the souls preparing to enter Charon’s boat .D ante adds to thi s a larger, a more picturesque, an almostsubjective treatment —As in a u tumn the lea ves lift themselvesof one after the other
,until the br anch s ees on the ea r th a ll its
sp o ils1
Note the gentle fluttering down of the leaves expressed by silevan “ The most perfect image possible, R uskin remarks, ofthe utter lightness [of the spirits], feebleness, passivenessnext
,the continuousness of the Shower
,til l the branch is left
bare ; last, the pathetic touch
infinche il ramoVede alla terra tutte le su e spoglie
as though the bare bough looked wistfully at its own leafagestrewn below ?
After D ante, the modern world frankly begins . L a ndscape,
with him,has now become no longer the mere background,
but is pointedly united with human emotion . And this conc e p tion (though not always expressed) yet rarely henceforthfails to make itself fel t in poetry. I t i s blended with D ante’ssoul and verse
,not perhaps more delicately and accurately
than with Wordsworth’s,but as intimately
,as lovingly. This
aspect,this marriage of Nature and Man, as Blake might
have called i t,this gentle pensiveness, appears in the lyrics
of Petrarch ( 1 3 04 - 1 3 74 ) even more m arkedly than in the
1 Com e d '
a u tunno S i levanle foglieL
’
una appresso dell ' a ltra , infin che il ra m oVede a l la terra tu tte le su e spogl ie. I nf. i i i , 1 1 2 .
3 Compa re with th is , KebleS e e the c a lm leaves floa t
Ea c h to h is rest benea th their pa rent sha deHow l ike dec aying life they seem to glide
88 L AND S CAPE I N EAR L Y I TA L I AN P OE TR Y CHAP .
Comm edia—a result which we might natural ly expect fromhim
,who more truly than any other since Sappho
,may be
named Poet of L ove . Thus,in an early sonnet
,the poet
,
wandering through wild places, such as abound about Vaucluse,ends i t thus
I think now that mountains and river- banks,streams and
woods know of what natural temperament hidden from others ismy life yet cannot I find ways
,paths so rugged and so wild, that
L ove does not always come speaking w ith me, and I with him ?
H ow modern,how sentimental i s this
,compared even with
D ante ! P erhaps some reminiscence of Vergil’s style tingesthe following evening scene
When the shepherd sees the rays of the great P lanet ebb towards the nest in which he houses himself
,and the eastern regions
darken,
- h e rises, and leav inggrass and fountains and beech trees,w ith his familiar crook gently moves his flock then
,far from the
crowd,patches u p with green leaves a little home or cavern , and
there without thought he takes his leisure and sleep s ?
But the sense of sympathy received from Nature predominates with Petrarch
From thought to thought, from mountain to mountain, L oveguides me . If by some solitary Shore [be] river, or fountain,
1 I o m i c redo om a i che m ont i e piaggeE hum i e selve sa p p iandi c he tem preS ia la m ia vi ta , c h
’
6 c ela ta a l tru i .Ma p u r si a spre vie né S i selvaggeCerc a r non so, c h ’
Am or nonvenga sem preR agionando c onm eco , e d io c onlu i .
S on. xxi I , I n Vi ta a’i Ma donna L a u r a (Felice L e Monnier,
3Qu ando vede '
l pa stor c a la re i raggiD e l gran pianeta a l nido o v
' egli a lberga ,
E’
m b runir le contra de d ’ oriente,D r iz z a si inpied i , e c on1 ' u sa ta verga ,
L a ssando l' erba e le fontane e i faggi ,Move la sch iera su a soavem enteP o i lontanda lla gente,O c a setta o Spelunc aD i verd i frond i ingiuncaI vi senza pensier S '
a dagia e dorm e.
Cane . iv,
90 L AND S CAPE I N EAR L Y I TAL I AN P OE TR Y CHAP .
Yet even this delightful poet,the magic of whose charm
must disappear,whether prose or verse be chosen to
translate him,has not the absolute closeness to natural fact
,
the certain aim,which never seem to fail D ante. Some
portion of that conventionality which later seiz ed uponand fettered I tal ian poetry is traceable. I give one instance.
Vi r tu e,he says
,as She walks
,goes out of L aura’s tender
feet,which op ens and r enews the fl ower s a r ound her ? Com
pare this with the perfect truth,and hence the greater
beauty, of such floral poems as Wordsworth’s D afi'
odils, orhow Maud’s feet
,in T ennyson’s lyric
,to u c h
’
d the meadows,And left the daisies rosy.
”
I t is, indeed, another vast interval which parts these twogreat singers from their successors of the fifteenth and s ixteenthcenturies : the I talian R enaissance has come between ; theL atin poets have been embraced as countrymen, and lovedonly too well. We have
,hence
,now neither the force and
i nsight of the mediaeval mind, nor the Greek straightforwardv i s ion of Nature. From Poliz iano ( 1 4 54 through Ariostoto T asso
,she mainly appears in conventional or imitative colours ;
rather as stage scenery than as the pictorial background, resp onsive to human interests.Such is the elaborate prettiness
,the ideal and the natural
curiously united, of the landscape in Po liz iano ’s once celeb ra ted Giostr a
How i t pleases to look upon the goats hanging from a crag,and feeding on this or that shrub to see the earth coveredwith fruits, every tree as it were hidden in its own produceand the little country girl standing ungirt and barefoot amongthe geese to Sp in beneath a rock ?
1 Ve r tI‘
I c h'
nto rno i fio r apra e r innoveDelle tene re piante su e p a r eh ' esc a .
S on. c xiv, I n Vi ta .
3 Qu anto giova a m i ra r pender da un' erta
L e c apre, e p asc e r questo e quel Vi rgu ltoVeder 1a terra di pom i Coperta ,Ogni a rbo r da ’
su o' fru tti qu a si oc c u lto
Or la c onta d inella sc inta e sc a lzaS ta r c on1 ’ oche a fila r sotto una ba lza .
—S tan. xvi i i , xix .
VI I L AND S CAPE IN EAR L Y I TAL I AN P OE TR Y 9 I
Even his exquisitely graceful song of the Mountain G irlshas no reference to the landscape all they have to say is howcontent they are
D i star nell’ alpe cosi poverelle.
I n L e Selve a”Am or e
, an idyl l of Po liz iano’s rival poet ,
L orenzo de’ Medici ( 1 448 we find the same merely
enumerative picturing of country scenes as in the Giostr a nofresh natural landscape ; the same unreal mythological treatment . No r, despite i ts rustic dialect, are we any nearer Naturein L orenzo’s once famous pastoral celebrating the fair IVenc i ada B a r be r ino . The canzone namedMay tells only of gi rl s andlovers
,at whose sports L ove com es la ughing, r oses and li lies on
his hea d
Amor ne v ien ridendoConrose e gigl i in testa
while the H appy Violets of his sonnet, we are told, owe al ltheir colour and scent to Beauty’s hand that gathered them .
In the Giostr a we have also a Garden of Venus,precursor
probably of the sim ilar fancy pieces by A riosto,Tasso, Spenser,
Marini, and Camoens
A wall of gold crowns the outer banks and a shady valley oflow shru bs, where beneath boughs among fresh le aves sweetbirds sing the ir love 1
the idea almost nothing, the music how perfect
Corona unmuro d’ or 1’ estreme spondeConvalle ombrosa di schietti arboscelli
,
Ove Insu’ rami fra novelle fronde
Cantan gli loro amor soavi augelli .
L e t me here anticipate for a moment, and compare withthis lovely extravaganza the picture of Paradise yet unlost,where
Over - head u p-
grewInsuperable height of loftiest Shade,Cedar, and p ine, and fir, and branching palm,
1 S tan. lxxi .
9 2 L AND S CAPE IN EAR L Y I TAL I AN P OE TR Y CHAP .
A Sylvan scene and,as the ranks ascend
Shade above shade, a woody theatreOfstate liest view. Yet higher than their topsThe verdurous wall of Paradise u p - sprung.
where,presently
—palmy hillock,or the flowery lap
Ofsome irrigu ous valley spread her store,Flowers of all hu e , and without thorn the rose .
The E clogu es of Sannaz zaro ( 1 4 5 8 1 5 3 0 ) repeat the sameartificial character ; although in some of his lyrics is a real ityof passion very rare in that age. But we need not furtherexamine these T itianic landscapes . Full as they are of charm
,
i t i s not the charm of Nature in her S implicity l ike Browning’sP a tr iot in his hour of triumph
,it i s “ roses
,roses all the way
—the florid moment of an expiring style.Now
,when quitting I taly
,that the most melodious of her
many melodists may not be wholly passed over,take from one
of his Canz oni Tasso’s L ament for Corinna
The white privet flower falls and rises again and blossomsanew
,and the purple rose when plucked i s born again from her
thorns and opens her odorou s bosom to the sweet sun- rays P inesand beeches shed thei r leaves on earth, and the boughs then r e
clothe themselves w ith the ir green spo il s The star of love S etsand rises -Ayme Corinna, thou hast set, to ri se no more?
Ip sa m ollities—sweet tenderness i tself—we might say withH . Wotton when writing of Milton’s early lyrics but how
1 Ca de il bianc o ligu stro, e poi ri sorge ,E di nuovo germ ogliaE da lle Spine ancor pu rpur ea rosaCOI I a rina sce, e spiegaL
’ odora to su o grem bo a i dolc i raggiSpa rgono i pini e i faggiL e fr ond i a terra , e di lor verde spogl iaPo i rivestono i ra m iCa de e risorge l ’ am orosa stellaT u c a desti , Corinna (ahi du ro c a so l ) ,Pe r nonr iso rge r m a i .
R ime S ce lte di Torqu a to Ta sso
L AND S CAP E I N CEL TI C AND GAEL I C P OE TR Y
WE now qui t, for English poetry, transmarine Europe ; neitherspace nor knowledge suffi ce to examine the poetical li teraturesof France or Ge rmany, Spain or Portugal . S o far as I amaware
,the R enaissance conventional ities largely rule them
until,or near, the nineteenth century . From this da te,
French, German, and I tal ian poetry at least are more or lessassimilated in landscape treatment to our own . Goethe,H eine
,L amartine
,L eopardi
,are here names which may
suggest how wide and how attractive the field i s, and alsohow much beyond my present compass . Yet i t must beallowed that any influ enc e—ifany—these literatures have heldover Engl ish Nature poetry is singularly S l ight. Fo r the landscape ofpainting and of poetry in i ts fullness
,in i ts imaginative
quality,may be claimed specially as our own . Fi eld and
forest,moisture and mist and greenery
,bring it within the
range of pictorial art in a degree not,I think
,found elsewhere
through continental Europe. But,above all
,that R oman
love of the country and of country life has reproduced i tselfamong Engl ishmen with a unique and abiding power : and thisreacts upon and inspires song. L e t us therefore turn henceforth to England.
Great almost as the contrast between the classical and theH ebrew poetry, i s that between the late I ta lian and theprimit ive and mediaeval Celtic—between Tasso in thesixteenth century and Taliesin in the seventh. The specialqualit ies of the Celtic genius in poetry were set forth byMatthew A rnold with a true poet’s insight and grace, and in
c u . vm L AND S CAPE IN CE L TI C AND GAEL I C P OE TR Y 95
specifying them I cannot do better than follow, in some degree,my di stinguished predecessor at Oxford. I t i s
,I think
, im
possible to avoid agreeing with him that Celtic verse, comparedwith the classical and the English, fails alike in constructivefaculty
,i n architectonic power
,in sense of proportion
,and in
width of range. No S ign seems to exist that either the Gaelor the Cymry ever created a true Epic poem . To France,Germany, England, the Arthurian legends owe, so far as i texists
,their poetic unity ? The “ penetrating pass ion and
melancholy,
” as Arnold names i t,of the Celt
,found i ts
natural,its inevitable expression in the L yric : that poetical
form which has ever been consecrated,though not confined,
to the relief of personal feel ing, the overflow of the oppressed,the yearning
,or the exultant heart . To that passion the race
added a singular insight and happiness in rendering the magicalcharm
,the inner intimate l ife of Nature
,the world of fairy
which atmospheres the material world. This gift,this mode
of ideality we may name i t, i s something beyond the S implebeauty perceived with such delicate clearness by the Greek,the dignity and the sentiment by which the R oman was penetra ted. And all was moulded by the Celtic bards into anadmirable and rarely failing perfection of style, which we canonly th ink of as an innate gift of the race from the seventhcentury onward.
Arnold’s bold but hazardous deduction is well known thatthe Celtic blood, beyond question largely interfused with theEnglish
,throughout all Western England at least
,has given our
poetry much of its characteristic,its most subtle
,magical
, and
passionate notes . This is a dangerously attractive doctrine i t
1 Ma cpherson’s a ttempt to give Epic form to the fragm enta ry Ga elic layswh ic h i t m u st be fu lly a dm i tted were known to him , wa s the rea son tha t ,when h is onc e fam ou s Ossi an a ppea red , justifie dic r itic s l ike Johnsonin hold ingi t a forgery. N o schola rs , we m u st rem em ber , a t tha t da te ha d seriou slyexa m ined the tra d i t iona ry songs of the Gael . Hence a lso tha t real veinof
sa d so lemnity, tha t pa thetic c ry, tha t su blim i ty of w ild m oor and m ounta in,wh ich underlie the decora t ive d isgu ise thrown over them by Ma cpherson, wereunfelt by h is English contem pora ries , with the single b u t empha tic exceptionof Gray. A c ross the Channel these tru e Ossianic qu a l i ties were betterrecognised—the m odernism s , pa lpable to u s, being na tu ra lly less perceptibleinFrance or Germ any.
96 L AND S CAPE I N CEL TI C AND GAEL I C P OE TR Y CHAP .
has reached a rapid acceptance,fall ing in with that search
after Or igines which i s so popular—in many ways I wil lventure to add
,so misleading—inour day. Yet it seems to
me, thus far at any rate, rather assumed upon plausible generalgrounds as a great underlying influence
,than proven in and
by the detailed instances which A rnold has brought forward.
Whether thi s sceptici sm,however
,be justified or not, in our
i slands, almost solely, Celtic poetry yet l ives on this account,
and not less for its own merits,the Celtic landscape
,so far as
I can make it intelligible through the translations which I shallborrow, demands a place in our essay.
From the seventh century I have said—for to that earlydate
,as Sharon Turner ( 1 80 3 ) and Skene 1 more recently
have shown,above the reach of reasonable doubt—we must
ascribe certain of those rhapsodies, wild and strange as the yetolder hymns of the Vedas, which have reached us fromT aliesin
,Aneurin
,and L lywa rc h the Old. These are mingled
indeed, as they have come down to us, with later poems,sheltering under those great mystic names, and doubtless,though in a degr ee which now defies analysis
,modern ised in
the earl iest MSS . that preserve them : the B la ck B ook ofCaermarthen
,
2and the R ed B ook of H ergest (now in Jesus
College L ibrary), compiled in the fourteenth and fifteenthcenturies—names themselves how mystical and remote to ourears ! But these primitive poems contain few references toNature. A long list of native trees; indeed, i s given byTal iesin in the B a ttle of Godeu
,when A rthur was defeated
by Medra u t ; but they seem to be only symbolical of thewarriors engaged ? In the poems assigned upon fair groundsto L lywa rc h H en, i t i s that Nature plays a notable part .These singular lyrics are wr i tten in triplet form ,
beginning oftenwith a brief gl impse of some landscape feature, and sometimesadding to it a moral or personal reflection
,visibly connected
or not,with the first l ines . Curious that this should be similar
1 The Fou r Anc i ent B ooks ofWa les, W. F. S kene3 In the H engwrt Collec tion belonging to Mr . Wynne of P eniar th
written 1 1 54 - 89 .
3 T h is m etaphor reappea rs in those strange and bea u tifu l idylli c s ta nza s ,som e of wh ich see m to belong to the ea rly c entu ries , the Afa llena u .
98 L AND S CAPE I N CEL TI C AND GAEL I C P OE TR Y CHAP .
Bright the tops of the broom let th e lover arrange meetingsVery yellow are the c lu ste r’d branchesShallow ford the contented i s apt to enjoy sleep .
And so forth ; Bright, he sings, are the tops of the apple- tree,
of the clover,haz el
,reed
,oak
,hawthorn
,meadow- sweet.
T o what recurrent play of human fancy,what passion or
thought drawn forth by flower and tree, to what similar strain,as i f of ancestral blood
,are these identities between the seventh
century and the nineteenth,between Wales and Tuscany
,once
Celtic, du e ? To the devotees of folk- lore or heredity Igladly remit the perilous—often the vain—task of conj ecture .
But L lywa rc h has left also a very striking song addressedto his crutch
,when himself o ld and feeble, which A rnold
selected as an example of the Celt’s characteri stic sadness“ struggling
,fierce
,passionate . D eeply passionate
,deeply
sad i t assuredly i s ; but to me it has rather the note of Jobnay
,the note of the broken heart from the beginning—a
despair beyond struggle and revolt.
0 S taff i s it not the time of harvest,
When the fern i s brown,and the reeds are yellow
Have I not once hated what I now loveO S ta fl is not this winter
,
When men are clamorous over what they drink ?I s not my bedside void of vi sitors to greet meO S taff i s it not the spring,When the cuckoos are brown ish
,when the foam is bright ?
I am destitute of a maiden’s love.
0 S taff! thou hardy branchThat bearest with me—God protect theeThou art justly called the tree of wandering.
Wretched was the fate decreed to L lywa rc hOnthe night h e was bornL ong pain w ithout deliverance from his load of trouble .
I have spoken of these poems as Celtic rather than Welsh,because there i s no reasonable doubt that they are true fragments from the literature of the great Celtic kingdom of the
V I I I L AND S CAPE IN CE L TI C AND GAEL I C P OE TR Y 99
North , the kingdom of Cumbria,the S cottish border
,and
S trathclyde, and presumably carried south into Wales byimmigration during or after the Saxon overthrow of that realm,
completed by 946. Their Northern origin seems to havepassed out of memory as the three ancient kingdoms of Walesfo rmed themselves and we now only have them written downduring the second period of bardic brilliancy but with whatdegree, belike, of modernisation (as I have noticed) i s nowuntraceable .
This second period, S tephens, in his valuable though un
equal L i te r a tu r e of the Kym ry,
l dates from 1 080,when for a
time Wales regained prosperity under native rulers,while the
national spirit was stirred by the frequent wars with Englandwhich ended i n the death of L lewelyn in 1 2 8 2
,and the final
conquest of the country . A l though the heroic war- songs ofthe seventh century were now frequently imitated
,yet many
poems remain unmistakably d ifferent in style and range ofthemes from the o ld. The advance of civilisation in theland, to which the influence of the I talian R enaissance (aswe find in D afydd a p Gwilym ,
of whom more anon), gradually penetrated, brought in a new, an unconsciously modernatmosphere? shown in fully developed systems of rhyme, infreshness of touch, variety in subject, peculiar tenderness offeeling ; whilst there is also an abundance of allusion toNature, hitherto unfamiliar not only to Welsh poetry, but tothat of contemporary Europe. A pretty example of thisappears in the frequent poetical comparison of a young beautyto the spray of the sea waves or again
,her face is like “ the
“ pearly dew on Eryr i (Snowdon) . But the point will be bestillustrated by a few quotations .Ou r first example i s from Gwalchmai (ci r . 1 1 50 one
of the best earl ier poets of this period. H e describes himselfwatching as a l ion on the English border at the B re iddinH ill s, near Shrewsbury
1 L ondon , 1 876 , 2 nd ed .
3 To tra c e the va st c hange here indic a ted i s beyond mypower. I t wou ldform an exc ellent su bjec t fo r na tive resea rc h , wh ic h I ventu re to suggest totho se who a rrange the E isteddfoda u .
1 00 L AND S CAPE I N CEL TI C AND GAEL I C P OE TR Y CHAP .
Where the untrodden grass was surpassingly green, the waterlimp id,
And most fluent of speech the n ightingale, well skilled in odesAnd where the sea mews were playing on a bed of streams,Inlove - united grou ps with glittering plumage .
I love the n ightingale ofMay, w ith his long white face,A t the break of day, and at evening’s closeI love the sweet musicians
,who so fondly dwell
Onclear plaintive murmurs, and the pain of loveI love the birds
,and their sweet voices
Inthe soothing lay of the wood.
R ightly did the poet, rejoicing thus in the charm of Nature,name his song
,The D elight ofGwa lchm a i .
A fter the English conquest the Cymric Muse for a whilelanguished. An artificial style of elaborate and wearisomerhythmic alliteration 1 ere long establ ished i tself. Th e heroicsong now gradually fades, replaced by lyrics of peace and
love and Nature—motives less national indeed, but nearerto the common human heart . Thus in the fourteenthcentury poetry reasserts itself in certain Ver ses of the Months
,
whence I give,from S tephens
,the stanza allotted to
MarchMarch B i rds are fu ll of boldness,B itter blows the cold blast o’er the furrows
,
The fair weather will outlive the foul,Anger lasts longer than grief,B u t every terror will disappearEve ry bird knows its mate,And all things will come through the earth,S ave the dead—long i s his imprisonment.
H ow novel in idea is this poetical calendar ! how characteristicof the Celtic spiri t thi s union of Nature and Man! S imilarly
,
the wild birds of wood and field are often named not, indeed,frequently studied by and for themselves, as by Wordsworth ;yet addressed as sympathis ing with human feel ing—a mode ofsubjective emotion widely diverging from classical treatment.
1 Cynghanedd.
1 02 L AND S CAPE I N CEL TI C AND GAEL I C P OE TR Y CHA P.
A green steeple in the airAnd
,below
,a glorious hall,
Made of golden tre foils all
D afydd, who, i t may be noticed by the way, was a readerof Ovid, has been named the P etrarch of Wales. H is endlesssongs to his L aura give him some title to this honour. As
poet,the faint echo of his verse which my imperfect know
ledge affords, does not qualify me for an opinion upon hisstyle or his choice of words, though their high lyrical qualityi s easi ly perceptible. But his range of motive i s widerthan Petrarch’s—i s more real ; he does not follow models,nor analyse his passion. There is, in fine
,a wonderful
alacrity about him,unlike the dreamy grace of the I tal ian
,
as Wales i s to Va lc hiu sa . Thus the swan, the thrush, thewind
,the thunder
,the mist
,the snow
,the summer
,and
many more aspects of Nature are vividly personified and
painted.
From the S ong of the Thr u sh I give a few lines, againfrom Mr . S tephens
S peckled was his breast Among the green leaves(Appear ing) on the branches As a thousand flowers .Onthe edge of the b rook A ll hear him,
S ingingwith the dawn As a S ilver bell .
From the branches of the hazel Ofbroad green leaves,H e S ings an o de T o God the CreatorWith a carol of love From the green gladeT o all in the hollow Ofthe glen, who love himBalm of the heart T o those who love .
I know not if a picture l ike this be found in any verse hi thertocomposed in Europe ; whether any Greek, L atin, or Englishpoet ; whether even Chaucer and his followers, have anything somodern in its sweet sentiment. But if lyrics of this kind seemrather akin to the poetry of England in the s ixteenth or ninete enth centuries than to Wales in the fourteenth, D afydd
’sespousal to Mo rfydd i s shown in tru e mediaeval allegorical
V I I I L AND S CAPE IN CEL TI C AND GAEL I C P OE TR Y 1 03
vision,wherein the Church service by poetic l icense i s rendered,
we might say,in the terms of the wild wood
I II a place of ecstasy I was to - day,
Unde r th e mantles of the splendid green hazels,Where I listen’d, at the dawning,T o the song of the thrush , skilful in music?
The bell now rings ; Mo rfydd has sent the thrush as priest ;his surplice is of flowers
,his cassock the “ flapping wind
I heard him in brilliant languageP rophesy without c easing,And read to the parishThe gospel without stammeringAnd the beautiful nightingale, slender and tall,From the corner of the glen near him,
P riest of the dingle sang to a thousandAnd the bells of the mass continually did ring,And raised the HostT o the sky
,above the thicket
,
And sang stanzas to o u r L ord and Creator,With sylvan ecstasy and love
H ere,indeed, if anywhere, are the magical Celtic charm,
thefairy fancy
,the deep del icate rapture of passion. D afydd
merits well the motto from one of the Tr ia ds of the B a rds,
prefixed to the translat ion here followed
Th e three indispensable att ributes of genius : an eye to seenature—a heart to feel natu re—and boldness and energy to follownature .
My doubts have been already expressed how far we arejustified in trying to trace definitely by examples the influence of the Celtic genius on English l iterature
,probable as the
general fact may be. But the too common neglect of Welshpoetry? i ts originality, its peculiar freshness, charm of senti
1 Th is transla tion, with the Ode to Dyddgu , I ta ke from the bea u tifu l l ittlevolum e by the R e v. Va ughan Jones , B a rdi ce, Ma elog (L ondon,
3 On th i s a c count a lso I have not though t i t worth wh ile to print the
1 04 L AND S CAPE IN CE L TI C AND GAEL I C P OE TR Y CHAP .
ment,the intimate love of Nature
,in her sublime or lovely
dress, with its national faithfulness to“Wild Wales
,
” whichis always before u s—these gifts have led me to dwell on thesub j ect more perhaps than for the sake of my readers I should,but less than I have wished.
The ancient Erse poetry, whether of Ireland or of Scotland,running more or less a parallel course
,must now also be too
scantily and imperfectly dwelt on . The Gael ic field wasindeed excel lently touched by my patriotic fri end
, J. C . Sha irp ,whose lectures were published in his Asp ects ofP oetryAnd I will quote from the translations which he gives a fewexamples of the landscape
,Erse or Gaelic .
We have first a true undecorated fragment of the Ossianiclays a warrior meets and addresses a maiden on thehillside
Morna,most lovely amongwomen,
Graceful daughter of Cormac,Why by thyself in the circ le of stones,In hollow of the rock
,on th e hill alone ?
S t reams are sounding around theeTh e aged tree i s moaning in the windT rouble i s on yonder lochClou ds darken round the mountain topsThyself art like snow on the h illThy waving hair like mist of Cr om laCurling upwa rds on the Ben,1’N eath gleam ing of the sunfrom the westThy soft bosom like the white rockOnbank of Brano of foaming streams .
To the same Ossianic class belongs the Splendid address tothe S un
O thou that tra ve lle st on high,R ound as the warrior’s hard fu ll shield
,
Whence thy brightness without gloom,
origina l words of o u r Welsh examples . The Hebrew, Erse, and S a xon textshave a lso beenom i tted.
1 Mounta in- top.
1 06 L AND S CAPE I N CEL TI C AND GAEL I C P OE TR Y CHAP .
L e t the swan of the snowy bosom glide on the top of thewaves . When Sh e soars on high among the clouds she will beunencumbered .
Oh,place me within hearing of th e great waterfall, where it
descends from th e rock.
Compare this with the lament of L lywa rc h H en. The
differences in style and passion between the Gaelic and Welshpoetry we may feel ; but only a scholar versed in bothlanguages could define them . The exquisite sensibility ofthe Celt
,however
,his pensive melancholy
,his power of
penetrating the soul of the landscape and of tracing its affinityto the human soul
,as Sha irp notes, assuredly thrill through
these beautiful lyrics .The foregoing poems have been grouped in connection
with Scotland under the general name Gael ic . Yet severalmust have originated in that earlier S cotia which we knowas I reland. Such are the song to Morna, the lament ofD eidre ; whatever, in brief, has a reasonable claim to betermed Ossianic . But all that early history
,I rish or S cottish,
i s too thickly veiled in the mists of vague tradi tion —toonebulous
,—to bear strict analysis . Ou r examples, however,
make it clear that the prevail ing note of the ea rly Erselandscape verse breathes sadness : the eternal sigh overhuman life ; or the dirge of a race gifted and unhappythat never has done itself justice, and hence, has rarelyreceived i t .L e t me then conclude this sketch by a hymn in a sweeter,
healthier tone,with great probability assignable to Columba,
the Irish saint who brought Christianity to Western S cotland,settl ing in the island H i i or Ia (corrupted to Iona), aboutthe middle of the sixth century. The delicate pensiveness,the yearning intimate love of Nature which characterisethe Celt are nowhere more beautifully breathed forth .
The saint i s standing on the rocky range which forms thesouth -west corner of the island, where,
“ on the highest pointoverlooking the expanse of the western sea i s the cairnwhich marks the spot where he is Said to have ascended forthe purpose of ascertaining if he could di scern from it the
V I I I L AND S CA PE IN CEL TI C AND GAEL I C P OE TR Y 1 07
di stant shores of h is beloved Erin .
” 1 I t would be delightful, says Columba, to be
Onthe pinnacle of a rock,That I might often seeThe face of oc ean
That I might see its heavingwavesOver the wide ocean,When they chant music to the i r FatherUpon the world’s course
That I might hear the song of the wonderful birds,S ource of happiness
That I might hear the thunder of the crowding wavesUpon the rocks
That I might hear the roar by the S ide of the ChurchOfthe surrounding sea
That I might see the sea -monsters,The greatest of all wonders
That I might see its ebb and floodIn their career.
That I might bless the L ordWho preserves all,
Heaven with its countless bright orders,L and
,st rand, and flood.
1 W. F. S kene, Ce lti c S cotland , vol . i i
L AND S CA P E I N ANGL O- S A XON P OE TR Y
B UT I must now resolutely turn my face to our own languagein our own land. Yet the Saxon literature (as for convenienceI shall name it) i s but the prelude and ante - chamber to theEnglish . And the English
,indeed (if we do not concern our
selves with philology), regarded simply as li terature, must inreason date from language intelligible to us all
,without more
at most than a glossary and a few notes . In a word, i t must,mainly and practically, date from H enry VI I I rather thanfrom Edward I I I . But this by the way.
We may claim,it is stated
,
1 that the German tribes whoseconquests created England were before the other T eutonsin poetical work . Th e H ero - epic was developed by our peoplein the S ixth century . Yet the Saxon poetry does not go far ;to the contemporary Cymric or Gaelic at least, in point ofstyle and art
,it seems to me decidedly inferior. As Mr . Earle
has noted, it is strongly rhetorical . The distinctly imaginativeelement is mainly to be found in the frequent and variedmetaphors ; sometimes in the passion pervading the wholescheme of the song. I n style
,in metre
,so far as I can judge,
i t must he confessed rarely or barely to rise above prose diction .
L ooking to our own province,seldom do we find complete
similes ; the landscape is scarcely described ; the scene isindicated, rather than painted, by i solated touches. In this itmay resemble the Greek poetry of Nature, but with a deeperand a sadder tone, a more personal quality. The H ellenic
1 B . T enB rink , E a r ly English L i te r a tu r e , 1 883 .
1 I O L AND S CAPE I N AN GL O- SAXON P OE TR Y CHAP .
moment of the brilliant landscapes left us by Theocritus andthe Anthology,
so laughing,so brightly coloured ; haunted by
Nymphs and Oreades in their beauty—landscapes in which theheart of man sang for joy. Or think of the landscapes of thegreat P salmist
,where indeed the terrible side of Nature i s fully
acknowledged,while yet all i s imaged as God’s immediate
work, as lying in H is hand, ready to protect man in thedangers of the sea . No more vivid contrast can be imaginednone which speaks more powerfu lly of the vast difl
'
e renc e inrace, in temperament, in bias of thought, between North and
South .
The great Northumbria n Caedmon,the cow- herd
,whose
romantic story is recorded by Bede, i s the first S axon poetwhose individuality i s clear to us. H e died in 680 A .D .,
and
left a number of hymns mingled with legendary matter, paraphrasing parts of the Old and New T estament ; but, according to the best authori ties
,largely interpolated in later Saxon
days. From this collection I will quote a beautiful de sc ription of the “ gray- blue dove sent forth from the Ark
Fa r and wide She went, her own will she sought,All around she flew,
nowhere rest She found,Fo r the flood she might not with her flying feetPerch upon the la nd.
Then the w i ld bi rd wentFo r the ark a - seeking, in the even - tide
,
Over the wan wave wearily to sink,Hungry, to the hands of the holy man [Noah].
From the same poem I quote a striking bit of wider celestial landscape
Ou the Heaven gaze, count its glorious gems,Count the sta rs of A ethe r that in Space so pureEver -glorious fairness, now so far are dealingO
’e r the billows broad see them brightly gl immer.
The second great name in Saxon poetry is that of Cynewulf
,also a Northumbrian of uncertain date, between the eighth
and the eleventh centuries . H is verse is partly secular, partlyreligious . H e thus describes the fen land in which the R eed
Ix L AND S CA PE I N AN GL O- S AXON P OE TR Y I I I
Flute,as he calls i t
,grows . The R eed i s personified, and
speaks
O II the sand I stay’d , by the S e a - wall near,
All beside the su rge inflow ing, fir m I sojo u rn’d thereWhe re I first was fa sh ion’d .
The brown - b a c k’d billow at each b reak of day
With its watery arms enwrapt me
l ittle dreaming then,as the poem goes on
,that in time some
lover would take the R eed and pipe music on it to his maiden .
This pretty,natural thought may remind us of Epigrams in
the Greek Anthology.
We have also a vivid description of the Badger
White of throat I am,fallow gray my head
and how
Through the mountain steep I make myself a streetBy a hidden way
,through the hole of the hills ide
L ead my precious ones,my children .
I t i s a true,a modern feeling for the wild creature that we
surely have here.
The Andr ea s,a religious poem
,based on a L atin original
,
and belonging apparently either to Cynewulf or his school,has
a very finely felt picture of our L ord on Gennesaret as toldby S . Andrew on his mission to Me rm edonia
S o of yore it befell that on sea -boat weO’e r the war of waves ventured (ocean’s ) fords,
R iding on the floodB il low answe r’d billow,
Wave replied to wave and at times u proseFrom the bosom of the foam to the bosom of the boatT e r ror o’er the Wave - ship .
Then the L ord arises from H is sleep
H e rebuked th e windsS ank the S e a to rest S trength of ocean - streamsS oon d id smooth become Then o u r sp i rit la ugh’d,
I 1 2 L AND S CAPE I N ANGL O- S AXON P OE TR Y CHAP .
And th e water- fearFull of fear became
,for th e fear of God th e L ord ?
L astly,a winter scene from the same
S now d id bind the earthWith the whi rling winter - fl ake s, and the weathers grewCold with savage sc ours of hail
Frozen hard were landsWith the chilly icicles Shrunk the cou rage of the waterO
’e r the running waters ic e upraised the b ridge,
And the S e a - road shone .
The metre of these poems is similar ; they have Short, u hrhymed lines, the number of syllables apparently governed byaccent
,alliteration used for emphasi s
,and as a kind of link to
the stru cture of the poem : and Mr . Brooke in his versions hasattempted in some degree to preserve these peculiari ties . A
certain directness of style,a dee p earnestness pervades them .
The tendency to Ino ra lise,always characteristic of the English
Muses,is very conspicuous ; and, its natural consequence,
then and now,i t easi ly led the poets into what always lies so
near to the didactic,the prosaic style . P rose writing
,we
must remember,as in early Greece
,was hardly formed as
yet . D estined as we were to be nearest the Greeks in poeticall iterature
,we, l ike them ,
sang before we spoke . Poetry,in
fact,to Saxon England—gradually yet rapidly learning to take
her place in the civi lised European Church and Commonwealth
,and to assimilate L atin culture—poetry for her main
function had to teach : religion,in the widest sense, first ;
next,to celebrate heroes of o ld or great actions of the day in
a word,to keep al ive the past and to prepare men for the
future . D oubtless many rude songs of common life and
pleasure existed ; but these were either never written down orhave perished.
1 Th e sense ofth i s pa ssa ge seem s to be tha t the na tu ra l terror felt by m an
fo r th e se a i s i tself terrified by the fea r ofGo d . The S a xon po etry no t un
frequently fa lls into c onceits a nd c onto rtions of th is c ha ra c ter i t i s a pha se ofm ind wh ic h appea rs c ongenia l a like to a rt in its you th , and a rt in i ts dec a dence.
3 i . e . frost stopped i t from running.
CH AP T ER X
L AND S CAP E I N ENGL I SH MED I AEVA L P OE TR Y—CHA UCER AND
H I S S UCCES S OR S
THE period of conquest, of dis integration, of transition, of renewed national unity which follows, supplies little to theL andscape of P oetry. The work then done
,whilst the
“Middle English ” was slowly forming itself,enormous as it
i s,may be hence passed over. L ayamon and Orm in; the
A lexander, the T ristram,the Have lok Mannyng, R olle
,
Minot go by like great shadows. No r shall I here attemptto sketch the part played by our national history in developingour poetry—a subject which, however interesting, l ies outsideour present attempt .I t i s wellnigh another English
,another literature
,that the
thirteenth century begins to present. Songs of that date,devoted mainly to love or to religion, frequently open with alyrical reference to the seasons and their characteristic birdsor flowers
,but hardly offer the landscape as such . H ere
,
however,we have that early and well -known carol
S ummer is y- comen in,
L oud sing c uckooG roweth seed and blowe th meadAnd springeth the wood nowS ing cuckoo cuckoo
Ew e b le a te th afte r lamb,L oweth c ow afte r calf
Bullock sta r te th , buck v e rte th 1
1 Goes to ha rbou r a m ong the greenery , the fern. Th i s i s the c u rrent explana t ion. I wou ld hum bly suggest tha t ve rfefb m ay be the verb ve rde , a s
CHAP . x CHA UCER AND H I S S UCCES S OR S 1 1 5
Merry sing cuckooCuc koo ! c uckoo !
Well sings thou, CuckooNo r cease thou never now .
S ing cuckoo now,
S ing cuckoo
Another lyric sets forth the good e fl'
e c ts of the Spring. I quoteone stanza
L ent is come with L ove to town,With blossoms and with b irde s r o une ,l
Th at all this bliss bringethD aisies in these dales,Notes sweet of nightingales,
Each fowl song singeth .
Ou r next example, which carries us to about 1 3 60, differsgreatly from the landscape specimens just quoted, both in itslength and i ts highly developed style—points wherein the poemnamed s imply P ea r l, testifies gloriously to the great advanceof our l iterature in the later Middle Ages . I t i s written inWest Midland dialect, and endeavours to unite the o ld all ite ra tive measure with complex romance metres .P ea r l i s the visionary lament of a father over his lost
daughter_Margaret, dead i n early childhood, and found
.
byhim in glory within a P aradise described i n the Opening stanzas .Mr . I . Gollancz , of Christ
’s College, Cambridge, to whom weowe an admirable edition of the poem (printed from the uniqueMS . in the British Museum),
2 justly compares it to T ennyson’s [n Mem or z
’
am— an [n Mem on’
a m of the fourteenthcentury
,and for its singular feel ing and beauty
,well deserving
the prelusive quatrain written for this edition by T ennysonhimself. The nameless author who was apparently born1 3 30 in North -West England, may, i t has been suggested,have been R alph S trode, the
“ Philosophical,to whom and
to Gower, Chaucer dedicated his Tr oz'
lu s.
u sed by L ayam on inh is versionofWa c e’
s H isto ry, written before 1 2 00 , and
m eaning simplyfa r ed , w ent (Ell is , Sp ec im ens), and the sense will sim ply be,The bu ll sta rts , the bu c k runs .
1 R o und , c a tch .
2 Pu blished by D . Nu tt
1 1 6 L AND S CAPE I N ENGL I SH MED I AE VAL P OE TR Y CHAP .
The supernatural landscape i s that mainly painted in P ea r l,
which thus forms a kind of parallel to the Gardens of L ove,
which we noticed under I talian poetry ; i t i s not simple Natureon which the writer’s eye was fixed. Yet the
'
poem has suchfreshness and charm—it so truly li fts the landscape of earthto the scenery of heaven—as to claim a place in this essay.
The Vi sion begins thus, apparently over the child’s l ittle
grave
T o that spot which I in words set forthI ente r’d
,within an arbour green,
When August’s season was in height,And corn i s cut with sickles keenThere where my pea rl erewhile h a d slid,Shaded with herbs of fairest sheen,G illyflowe r , ginge r, and gromwell - se ed,IAnd peon ies p owde r’d all between .
B u t though so seemly was the scene,A fairer fragrance blest the spotWhere dwells that worthy one
,I ween
,
My precious P earl w ithou t a spot.
In this case I have roughly tried to give some notion ofthe poet’s singular and graceful metre
,with justice compared
by Mr . Gollancz to the sonnet form in its effect . But my fourrhymeless l ines rhyme together in the original . We will nowfollow the editor’s own skilful modern version
My sp i ri t thence sped forth into space,My body lay there entranced on that mound,My soul, by grace of God, ha d faredIn quest of adventu re, where marvels be .
I knew not where that region wasI was borne, iwis, where the cliffs rose sheerToward a forest I set my face,Where rocks so radiant were to see,
That none can trow how rich was the ligh tTh e gleamingglory that glinted therefrom,
1 Chosenbeca u se i ts ha rd , round seed m igh t be com pa red to a pea rl .
1 1 8 L AND S CAPE IN EN GL I SH MED I AE VA L P OE TR Y CHA P .
slight perhaps in themselves,yet revealing the sure
,swift
,ever
m elodious handl ing of this Chorus - leader of English poetry .
Ou r first example is very characteri stic, not only of thetone of classical poetry
,but of our own up to a very recent
period. I t i s taken from the Fr a nklin’s Ta le,and put in the
mouth of the heroine D o r igen
Eternal God that through thy purveyanceL eadest the world by certain governance,In idle
,
1 as men say, ye nothingmakeB u t
,L ord
,these grisly fiendly rockes blake,
That seem rather a foul confusionOfwork, than any fair creationOfsuch a perfect wise God and a stable,Whyhave ye wrought this work unreasonable ?Fo r by this work
,north
,south
,nor west, nor east,
There is not fo ste r’d man, nor bird, nor beastIt doth no good, to my wit, b u t annoye th .
2
S e e ye not, L ord, how mankind it destroyeth P
D o r igengoes on to speak of the hundred thousand whom shefancies have been dashed against rocks and slain . This i sthe general aspect of the sea in our poetry til l modern days .H e r friends then lead her for comfort to a garden
-May h a d painted with his softe showersThis garden fu ll of leaves and of flowersAnd craft of mann '
e’s hand so curiously
A rrayed ha d this garden tru é ly,That never was there garden of such price,3But- ifit were the very Paradise .
Th’ odour of flowers, and the fr e sh e sight,Would have m aked any h e a r té l ightThat e’er was born
,but - iftoo great sickness
Or too gr e a t'
so rr ow held it in distressS o full it was of beauty with pleasance .
Next I take a wood- scene from the great T emple ofMars inT hrace
,thus forcibly described in then /zt
’s Ta le
1 Inva in.
2 Works m i sch ief.3 Ofso m u ch va lu e unless i t were
CHA (I CE /6 AND I I I S S UCCES S OR S 1 1 9
Fi rst on the wall wa s painted a forest,Inwhich there dwelleth neither man nor beast,With knotty gna r ry barren tree
' s o ldOfstu b b es sha rp and hideous to beholdIn which there ran a rumble and a so ugh ,lA s though a storm should bursten every bough .
Another forest,o bvio u sly b efo re Spenser’s mind,2 occurs
the P a r lem em‘e ofFou les, with a garden landscape
The builder oak ; 3 and eke th e hardy ashThe pillar elm
,
1 the coffer 5 unto carraiuTh e boxtree p iper ; 6 the holm to wh ipp é ’s lash ;7The sailing fir 8 the cyp ress death to plainThe shooter yew the aspe 9 fo r sh afté s plainTh’ olive of peace
,and eke the dru nken vine
The v ictor palm the laurel to divine .
1 0
A garden saw I,full of blosmy boughes,
Upon a river, in a gr e ené mead,Where as that sweetness evermore enow is
,
With flowers white,blue
,yellow
,and r e d,
And c o ldé w e llé str e am é s, nothing dead,That swam m é fu l l of smalle fishes light,With finné s r e d, and scales silver bright.
Onevery bough the b irdes hea rd I sing,With voice of angel, in their harmony,That busied them thei r b irdes forth to bring ;The little conies to the i r play ganh ieAnd fu rther all about I ganespyThe dreadful 1 1 roe, the buck, the hart, and hind,S quirrels, and heastes small, of gentle kind.
L astly,let us examine the passage from the P rologue to the
L egend ofGood Wom en,often quoted as a proof of Chaucer’s
1 Groaningnoise .
2 Fa e r i e Qu eene , B . i , C. i .3 U sed thencom m only fo r bu ild ing.
4 P e rhaps a s prop to the vine or from i ts m o de of growth .
Co flinfo r th e dea d .
6 As u sed fo r wind instru m ents .7 Holly u sed fo r wh ip handles. 11 U sed fo r m a sts and spa rs.9 Aspen.
10 Fo r prophecy.
1 1 T im id .
1 20 L AND S CA PE IN EN GL I SH MED I AE VAL P OE TR Y CHAP .
love for Nature. H e says his delight in books was such thathe could only quit them on a few solemn days .
—Whan that the month of May
I s comen,and that I hear the foules sing,
And that the fl owr e s ginnenfor to spring,Farwell my booke
,and my devotion .
N ow have I than 1 such a condition,
That of all the fl ow r e s in the mede,
Than love I most these flow r e s white and rede,S oc h that men callen daisies in o u r tounT o hem I have so great affe c tio un,A s I sayd erst
,whan comen i s the May,
That in my bedde there daw e th 2 me no day,That I nam 3
u p and walking in the mede,T o seen this flowre age inthe Sunne
'
sp r ede ,
Whan it u p riseth early by the morrow,
That b lissfu ll sight softene th all my sorrowS o glad am I, whan that I have presenceOfi t
,to doon 4 all maner reverence
And she that is of all flowres the flowre,
Fu lfilled of vertue and of all hono u re ,And ever y- like 5 fai re
,and fresh of hewe
,
And I love it, and eve r y- like newe
,
And ever sha ll,till that mine h e rté die
Al swe r e I nat,
6 of this I wol not l ie,
There lo v éd no Wight better in his life .
This is indeed a charming picture ; we seem to have the daisynot only loved for its own sake
,but loved so deeply that i t
attracts the poet beyond all other interests . Observe,however
,
that in the seventh line from the last the gender of the flowerchanges from if to size . Now the date of the poem liesbetween 1 3 85 and 1 3 86 and i t i s in a high degree probablethat the D aisy so honoured and loved i s here (at any rate, concurrently) none other than the good Queen Anne (secondwife to R ichard I I), who had at that very time befriended thepoet. And Chaucer himself seems clearly to intimate this when
1 Then.
2 D awne th .
3 Am no t. 4 D o i t .5 Alike fa i r. 6 Al though I will no t swea r.
1 2 2 L AND S CAPE IN EN GL I SH MED I AE VA L P OE TP Y CHAP .
S ome sange loud as they ha d p la in’d,And some in other manner voice fe ign’d,And some all o u t with th e full throat.
The feeling for Nature is admirable yet no proper landscapei s shown and i t i s a duet between the two birds which formsthe poet’s main subject.
Tb e Flower and tlze L e a], a most graceful and delicatelyrendered pageant of knights and ladies
,has been a u tho ri
ta tive ly assigned to some date about 1 4 50, and i s probablyby a lady’s hand. A lthough
‘
not equal to Chaucer’s workin power
,yet there is a tender refineme nt of feel ing, a
chivalrous note in this poem,which is less frequent in the
great writer than one might wish ; Chaucer lacks p er sona lloyalty to womanhood ; how unl ike Spenser and ShakespeareThere is a curious monotony or conventionality of inventionin the writers of thi s period and here
,again
,the writer feigns
that sleeplessness tempted her to a grove
In which were oakes great, straight as a line,U nder the which the grass, so fresh of hu e ,Wa s newly spru ng and an eight foot or n ineEvery tree well from his fellow grew,
With branches broad,laden w ith leaves new
,
That sprangen o u t against the sunne sheenS ome ve ry r e d and some a glad light green
Which, as me thought, was right a pleasant sight.And eke the b ird '
é s’songé s for to hear
Would have rejo ic ed any earthly wightAnd I
,that could not yet, in no m anné r e
,
H eare the nightinga le of 1 all the year,Full busy hearkened with heart and ear,If I her voice perc e ive cou ld anywhere .
We then reach a “ right pleasant arbour
That benched wa s,and with tu rfes new
Freshly y- tu rf’d
,whereof the green
'
e grass,S o small
,so thick
,so short
,so fresh of hu e ,
1 Had not yet hea rd he r du ring a ll the yea r.
CHA UCER AND H I S S UCCES SOR S 1 2 3
That most like to green wool, I wot, it wasThe hedge also, that ye den in compass,1And closed in all the greene herbere,zWith syc amore was set and eglatere,3
Wreathe’d in fere,4 so well and cunn ingly,That every branc h and leaf grew by measure .
The go ldfinc h and the nightingale,birds symbolical of the
flower that fades and the evergreen leaf, now appear ; and
the nightingale i s presently found
At the last I ganfu ll well espyWhere she sat in a fresh gr een lau rel tree,Onth e fu rther side, even right by m e
,
That gave so passing a delicious smell,A c c ording to 5 the eglanté r e full wel l.
The touches of nature here,l ike the song
,are sweet and
fresh and melodious ; l ike missal- i lluminations, as the poetryof that age so constantly i s
,i n their gay tints and foreground
character. And i n this style we may possibly trace somebreath of the earlier I talian R enaissance
,perhaps wafted
through France to England. Note also how the poet clearlyprefers the cultivated landscape to the Wi ld—a well knownalmost universal preference of the mediaeval mind.
In The Comp la int cy‘t/ze B la ck m gr/a, L ydgate (air . 1 3 75
cz'
r . who has rarely received his du e as a poet frommodern critics
,
6 presents a fuller,a more diffuse landscape
than his predecessors,though it i s still a landscape of the
home-keeping character. The poet,yet again conventionally
wakeful,rises to enter a wood
Whan that the misty vapour was agone,And claire and fai r '
e was th e morning,Th e dewe also like silver in shiningU pon th e leaves
,as any baum ‘
e swete,1 Went a ll round .
2 Arbou r . 3 Sweet - bria r.4 T ogether . 5 Agreeingwith .
6 Gray, however, whose pra ise is glory, ha s done ju stice to L ydga te in ana dm ira ble essay (vol . v, Aldine Ed .
1 24 L AND S CAPE I N ENGL I SH MED I AE VA L P OE TR Y CHAP .
T ill firyT itan 1 w ith his persant 2 heteH a d dried u p the lusty lic our new,
Upon the herbé s in the grene mede
whence he presently reaches “ a parke,enclosed with a wall
And in I went to heare the b irde s song,Whic h on the b ranches
,both in plaine and vale,
S o loud sang, that all the wood rong,3L ike as it shou ld shiver in peec es smale
,
And as me though t, that th e nightingaleWith so great might, her voice gano u t wrestR ight as her herte for love would brest.4
This stanza,among the many praises of the nightingale in
poetry,seems to me matchless in pure passion .
L ydgate has many descriptions in a style picturesque, sweet,and fluent
,i f not powerful ; we may say that he carried out
landscape painting in words more fully than any of his Englishcontemporaries . Such is this forest scene he reaches abowery glade
Fu ll smooth and plain and lu sty for to sene,And soft as velvet was the yonge greenWhere from my horse I did alight as fast,And on a bough aloft hi s re iné cast .S o faint and mate 5 of weariness I was,That I me laid adown upon the grass,Upon a b r incké
,sho rtly for to tell,
Beside the river of a crystal wel lAnd the water
,as I rehearse can
,
L ike qu ickésilve r in his streams y- ran,Ofwhich the gravel and the b r ighté stone,As any gold, against the suny- shone .
The brill iancy of I tali an poetry, as Warton notes, may befelt in these latter l ines .
I t i s remarkable that the S cotch poetry of the fifteenth
1 The sun. P ierc ing.
3 R ung.
4 B u rst. 5 S a d .
1 2 6 L AND S CA PE I N ENGL I SH MED I AE VA L P OE TP Y CHAP .
to me to dist ingu ish the Scotch Chaucerians from their Engl ishcontemporaries .The poem
,however, presently turns to allegory : that
unhappy fashion in poetry which has rendered so muchmediaeval verse now unreadable
,despite the true feeling
which may underl ie it .William D unbar (e ir . 1 4 65
—e ir . 1 5 3 0) has a wealth inwords, a fullness of meaning, a direct force in poetry, in short,which raise him above his contemporaries
,and exp lain why
he was rated by S ir W. Scott as highest among the poets ofhis country
,the “ darling of the Scottish Muse .
”H e deals so
with the then ordinary materials of song—the classical allusions which had now become common property—that theyseem to regain their first freshness . Yet his command overmetrical structure
,his accentuation
,is inferior whether to
Chaucer or to James . H is devout admiration of Chaucer i seloquently expressed : R ever end Cnaneer , D unbar calls him,
the imperial flower of our language,who had won a royal
triumph in poetry,far above others
,as May over midnight.
1
I will quote the opening stanzas of Tne T/zistle ana’
tfie
R ose,the poem which celebrates the marriage of James IV
with Margaret T udor
When March was with varyingwindes past,And April ha d, with her silver showers,Ta’en leave at Nature, w ith an or ient blast,And lusty May, that mother is of flowe rs,Ha d made the b irdé s to begin their hou rs 2Among the tender odours r e d and wh i te
,
Whose harmony it was to her delightIn b ed at morrow sleep ing as I lay,Methought Aurora, with her Chrystal eyneIn at the window looked by the day,And ha iléd me
,with visage pale and green,
Onwhose hand a lark sang from th e spleen,3Awake
,lovers
,out of your slumbering,
S e e how the lusty mor row does u p - spring
1 At the end of h is Go lden Te rge .
2 Ma tins . 2 I ts hea rt .
CHA UCEA’AND 11 1 5 5 000125 5 05 5 1 2 7
Methought fresh Maybefore my b ed upstood,l n weed ‘depaint ofmany divers hu e ,S obe r
,benign, and full ofmansuetude,
Inbright atti re of flowers forged new,
Heavenly of colou r, white, r e d, brown, and b lue,Balmed in dew, and gilt with Phoebus’ beamsWhile all th e house illumined of her leams . 2
From a May D ay D r ea m I am tempted to add a brightpicture
,with its graceful classical allusion, perhaps a little
sentimentalised
Full angel - like these b irdés sang their hours 3Within their curtains green, into thei r bowersApp a re ll
’d white and r e d with b lo om é s sweetEna m e ll
’d was the field with all colours
The pearly droppé s shook in silve r showers,
While all in balm did branch and leaves fleetT o part from Phoebus d id Au rora greetH e r Chrystal tears I saw hang on the flowers,Which he
,for love
,all drank u p with his heat .
Gawin Douglas (e ir . 1 4 75—1 in the P rologues to his
very remarkable version of the A ene id (said to have beenexecuted in went beyond any other poet of the age inhis power of rendering a true landscape, in regard to wealth ofdetail, varied imagery, and singularly spiri ted execution. Thisearly art
,however
,has not yet always mastered the sense of
proportion or of wholeness the details of a May scene in thecountry are here catalogued in words rather than arranged orselected. H ence
,and even more from the extreme rudeness
or obscurity of the dialect employed, i t i s difficult to give afair notion of the poet’s great merit . But I will quote a fewlines from a somewhat modernised version .
6
D ouglas,i t will be observed, reaches a new, a modern,
manner in his accentuation of words and metrical rhythms .
1 Ga rm ent . R ays .
3 Ma tins .4 Flow .
5 Weep.
6 E a r ly Eng/is}: P oe try , selec ted , with notes , by H . M. Fi tzgibbon, 1 887
a u sefu l l i t tle volume .
1 2 8 L AND S CAPE I N ENGL I SH MED I AE VA L P OE TP Y CHAP .
The final e is now mute but the words taken over frompreserve the original adj ectival accent
,e .g. noctu rnal.
We begin with sunrise
A s fresh Aurore, to mighty T ithon spouse,Issued from her saffron b ed and ivory house
,
In crimson clad and grained violet,With sanguine c ape, the selvage purpurate,U nshut the windows of her large hallS pread all with roses and full of balm royalAnd eke the heavenly portals c hrysta lineUpwa rp és
1 broad,the world to illumine .
The twinkling streamers of the orientS pread purple streaks with gold and azure ment
,
2
P iercing the sable rampart nocturnalBeat down 3 the skye’s cloudy mantle -wall .
himself,the great sun
,now ri ses in his chariot
Th e aureate vanes 4 of his throne sove ra inWith glitteringglance o ’
e rsp re ad the ocean,Th e large flo o dé s gleaming all of ligh tB u t with one blink of his supernal sight .Fo r to behold it was a glor(y) to seeThe s tabled 5 windes and the calmed sea,Th e soft se a soun, the firrnam ent serene,Th e calm illumined air, and fir th amene .
6
And lusty Flora did her b lo om és spreadU nder the feet of Phoebus’ gl ittering steed,Th e swarded soil em b ro ide r ’d with strange hue s,Woods and forest o dum b ra t 7 with their bough s,Where blissful b ranches, p o rtray’d on the grou ndWith shadows sheen, shew rockes rubicund,8T owers
,turrets
,kirna ls,
9 p innacles highOfkirks, castles, and ilk fai r city,
2 Mixed .
3 D ispersed the da rk c lou ds.5Qu ieted .
6 Th e be a u tifu l se a .
6 R ed inthe ea rly sunligh t . 9 B a ttlem ents.
L AND S CAP E I N E L I ZA B E THAN P OE TR Y
T HAT Wyatt ( 1 503 - 1 54 2 ) and Surrey (e . 1 5 1 5- 1 54 7) are the
direct ancestors of our modern poetry has been a truism fromthe Elizabethan time onwards . This h igh place they owe lessto simple force and inspiration than to the style and matterof the I tal ian R enaissance
,with some measure of i ts charm
,
which they were the first to naturalise in England : forChaucer’s brave attempt in that direction proved premature .
T hey are Ma ke r s,to give them once more the o ld rightful
name,by virtue of manner in a wide sense ; by parting from
mediaevalism,to speak generally
,in metres
,in choice of sub
je c t, and by a style less purely national . T hey are also modernin choice of words no change in the langu age even a p proxi
mately like those great changes during the four hundred yearsbefore their date—the death of S axon
,the growth of the
mixed English—having developed itself during the sameperiod since the s ixteenth began .
Wyatt,however
,really adds nothing to our own subject.
H is was not a mind attuned to Nature, her sweet sights androundelays . Surrey’s soul
,more gentle and more musical
,has
left us a charming sonnet,full of true if obvious natural fact
the title is, D escr ip tion of Sp r ing, wke r ein everytking r enews,
sa ve only tke L over
Th e soote 1 season,that b u d and bloom forth brings,
With gre en hath clad the hill, and eke the vale .
1 Swee t.
CHAP . xl L AND S CAPE IN EL I ZA B E THAN P OE TR Y 1 3 1
The nightingale wi th feathers new she singsThe turtle to her make 1 hath told her tale.S ummer is come , for every spray now springs,The hart hath hunghis o c head 2 on the paleThe buck in brake his winter coat he fl ingsThe fishes fle te 3 Wi th new repaired scale
The adder all her slough away she slingsThe swift swallow pursueth the flies smale ;4The busy bee her honey now she mings ; 6Winter is worn that was the flowers ’ bale .
6
And thus I see among these pleasant thingsEach care decays, and yet my sorrow springs
These lines, in their simple elegance, probably recordSurrey’s study of Petrarch . But he also j ustly claims a lyric inwhich the poetical advance, whereof he was our chief leader andprotagonist
,clearly and beautifully reveals itself. The sweet,
spontaneous melody, the natural images not only varied butgrouped as wholes, the l ife we are made to feel in the creaturesof Natu re, and how it is parallel while opposed to humanitya ll these are new, and all are distinct advances . And thelandscape i s unconsciously cla ssica l also. I t shows Nature, notin the allusive
,allegorical style of the Middle Ages
,but looked
at and painted as she is ; and in that sense truly follows theI talian poets of what might be termed the middle R enaissance
,
L orenz o or Pol iz iano . T his piece i s named A D escr ip tion oft/ze r estless S ta te ofllze L over wken a ksent fr om t/ze Mi str ess ofhis H ea r t : 7 I quote the opening lines
The S un,when he hath spread his rays
,
And show’d his fac e ten thousand ways
1 Ma te.
2 S hed h is horns . 3 Floa t .4 Sm a ll . 5 Mingles . 6 Sorrow.
7 I t wa s printed by T o tte l in the sam e ra re book wh ich ,in 1 5 57 ,
first gave England th e avowed poem s by Wya tt and S u rrey, b u t a s byan Uncerta inAu tho r. After long hesita tion, however, on compa ri sonwiththe lyric s of th a t tim e, I cord ia lly agree with those c ri tic s who a sc ri be it toL o rd S u rrey. Y e t even wi thou t the nam e of Howa rd i t wou ld “ smell a ssweet .
1 32 L AND S CAPE I N EL I ZAB E THAN P OE TR Y CHAP .
T enthousand things do then b eginT o show the life that they are in .
Th e h eaven shows lively art and hu e ,Ofsundry shapes and c olours new,
And laughs upon the earth a non,Th e earth, as cold as any stone,We t in th e tears of her own kind
,
’G ins then to take a joyfu l mind.
Fo r well she feels that o u t and o u t
Th e sundoth warm her round about,And d ries her child ren tenderlyAnd shows them forth full orderly.
The mountains high, and how they stand,The valleys
,and the great main land
T he trees,the herbs
,the towers strong,
The castles,and the rivers long
Earth also sends forth her children, compared by Surrey toyoung choristers
T o mount and fly up in the ai rWhere then they sing in order fair,And tell in song fu ll merrily,How they have slept full quietlyThat n ight, about thei r mother’s sides .And when they have sungmore besides,1Then fall they to the i r mother’s b reast,Whereas 2 they feed
,or take thei r rest.
Then everything doth pleasu re findIn that
,that comforts all their kind.
N o dreams do drench them of the n ightOffoes
,that would them slay
,or bite
,
As hounds, to hunt them at th e tailO r men force them th rough hill and dale .
Th e sheep then dreams not of the wolf :Th e shipman forces not the gu lf
1 S u rrey here fo llows the ra t iona l I ta lian pra c tic e, u sing as rhym es wo rdsidentic a l in spelling b u t d iverse in sense—a pra c t ice wh i ch Mr . Swinbu rne ha sju stly revived for o u r benefi t . 2 Whe re.
1 34 L AND S CAPE I N EL I ZA B E THAN P OE TR Y CHAP .
are the Cave of D espair,the H ouse of S leep, Aurora quitting
T i thonus : the Garden of P roserpine,with its golden apples
the Wandering I slands,the Bower of Cym o c hle s, the Forest
where T imias is cured. One or two examples I wil l quote.The first i s from Cym o chle s
’
s voyage with the wanton Pha edriaover the Idle L ake in her “ Gondo lay to an island ofpleasure
I t was a chosen plot of fertile land,
Amongst wide waves set, like a little nest,As if it ha d by Nature’s cunninghandBeen cho icely picked o u t from all the rest,And laid forth for ensample of the bestN o dainty flower or herb that grows on ground,No a rboret with painted blossoms d restAnd smelling sweet, b u t there i t might be found
To b u d o u t fair,and throw her sweet smells all around.
1
And this is followed by a song of Pha edr ia , more sweetthan any bird on bough
Behold,0 man I that toilsome pains dost take,
The flowers,the fields
,and all that pleasant grows,
H ow they themselves do thine ensample make,Whiles nothing- envious natu re them forth throwsOu t of her fruitfu l lap how no man knows ,They spring, they b u d, they blossom fresh and fai r
,
And deck the world with th eir rich pompous showsYet no man for them taketh pains or care,Yet no man to them can hi s careful pains compare .
Even more alluring is the bower of Acrasia (Intemperance)herself ; Spenser
’s Ga r denofL ove, i n which not only the veryspirit of the R enaissance is embodied, but some of Tasso
’smost musical Armida verses are introduced, with hardly a notelost of the I tal ian “ l inke
’
d sweetness long drawn out
The Whiles some one did chant this lovely layAh 1 see, whoso fair thing dost fain§2 to see,
1 Spenser 's pecu l ia r fanc ies inspelling—eyesores evenfrom h is own age
a re here om i tted .
2 Wish .
x1 L AND S CAPE I N EL I ZAB E THAN P OE TR Y 1 35
In Springing flower the image of thy day.
Ah see the Virgin R ose, how sweetly sheD oth first peep forth with bashfu l modesty,That fairer seems the less ye see he r may.
L o see soon after how more bold and freeHe r b a réd bosom she doth broad display
L o see soon after how she fades and falls away.
1
Famous as the Skep /ze rd’s Ca lender , when published, at
once became,i t has but a vague
,and often unreal
,pastoral
character. No r does D ap lzna ida , though an elegy unsu r
passed even by Tasso in its exquisi tely sustained melody and
tenderness of feeling, supply anything to our subject. ButSpenser’s paraphrase of the Vergilian poem,
the Gna t,supplies
a pastoral scene,which may be taken as an example of his
style at its best in this mode of poetry
Th e very nature of the place, resoundingWith gentle murmu r of the breathing air,A p leasant bower with all delight aboundingInthe fresh shadow did fo r them prepare
,
To rest thei r limbs with weariness redounding.
Fo r first the high Palm trees, with branches fair,Ou t of the lowly valleys did arise
,
And high shoot u p thei r heads into the skies .
B u t the small B irds, in the ir wide boughs embowering,Chanted the ir sundr y tunes with sweet consentAnd under them a silver S pring forth pouringH is trickling streams, a gentle murmur sent
1 T a sso is now so neglec ted , not inEngland only, tha t I c annot resist do ingh im the ju stice to set one of h is stanza s by Spenser ' s
Co sl trapa ssa a l tra p a ssa r d'
ungiornoD e la vita m orta le il
,fio re e '
l ver deNe perc he fa c c ia ind ietro April ritorno,S i r infio r a ella m a i , né si rinve rde .
Cogliam la rosa in su’
1 m a ttino a dornoD i questo d l, c h e tosto il seren perdeCogliam d
’
Am or la rosa , am iam o ho r , qu andoEsser si puote riam a to am ando .
I t is no good sign fo r a c ountry' s a rt—poet ica l or pic toria l—when the
worsh ip of B ea u ty i s sneered a t a s a su persti tion.
1 36 L AND S CAPE I N EL I ZAB E THAN P OE TR Y CHAP .
Thereto the frogs, bred in the slimy sc owr ingOfthe mo ist moors, the ir jarring vo ices bent,And shrill grasshoppers chi rped them aroundAll which the airy Echo did resound.
Spenser, in his Mu iop o trnos, has admirably drawn theButterfly itself who forms the hero of that entangled story ;but the natural details, flowers especially, are sti ll given byway of catalogue
,l ike the l ist of birds in the Ep i t/za lanzion
a fashion which only the genius of Shakespeare or Miltoncould inspire with poetical charm .
In Colin Clou t, as a piece from real life the ablest andmost interesting poem which Spenser has left u s, the placeof landscape is fi l led in high allegorical style by a recordof the L oves of the R ivers around hi s I rish home. But whenhe has to describe his voyage to England, all the poet awakes,and we have a picture of the sea, and of a vast royal ship ofthe day, which has never been surpassed i n English literature.
Yet even here it is not the o ld national love of ocean,but the
o ld classic terror which prevails
S o to the sea we came the sea,that is
A world of waters heaped u p on high,R olling l ike mountains in wide wilderness,Horrible, hideous, roaringwith hoarse c ry.
“ And i s the sea ” (quoth Coridon) so fearful ? ”Fearful much more ” (quoth he) “ than heart can fear
Thousand wild beasts with deep mouths gap ing di refu lThe re in still wait poor passengers to tear.Who life doth loathe, and longs death to behold,Before he die , al ready dead with fear,And yet would l ive with heart half stony co ld,L e t him to sea, and he shall see it there .
”
Yet bold men dare to embark
Fo r,as we stood there waiting on the strand
Behold I an huge great vessel to us c ame,D ancing upon the waters back to land,As if it sc o rn’d the danger of the sameYet was it b u t a wooden frame and frail,
1 38 L AND S CAPE I N EL I ZA B E THAN P OE TR Y CHAP .
Huge, massive stones, that hang by tic kle 1 stay,S till threaten foul
,and seem to hang in fear
S ome w ithe r’d trees,ashamed of thei r decay,
Beset with green, are forced gray coats to wear.To plain ing thoughts the vale a rest may be,T o which from worldly joys they may retire
,
Where S orrow Springs from water, stone, and tree,Where every thingwi th mourners doth conspi re .
The delightful El iz abethan songs for music present us withthose sweet gl impses of English landscape—that scenery, whichour lays of love or country l ife
,as i t were necessarily demand.
This was an age when art in poetry was with us at its highest,
in its most in stinctive phase when it seemed hardly possiblefor the humblest song writer not to give melody and simplegrace to his lyric
,—unconsciously
,as the birds themselves in
England. A parallel period,with similar results
,i s familiar to
us in the Florentine painters of the fi fteenth century—L ippi,Angelico
,Botticelli
,Credi, R aphael in his
“ heaven taught ”
youth. T hus,in our El izabethan pictures, the Spring, the
flowers,the song- birds
,D ay and Night, flocks and fountains,
shade and sunshine, each is sure to be given in its right key,each adds its note of freshness and suggestive charm . Butthese vignettes
,redolent of “ pure deliciousness,
” must be readin their place
,subordinate to that human interest which, just
as in the Greek Ant/zo logy,is always dominant.
Yet the temptation to give a few of these enim entlyEngl ishEpigrams must not be denied . Thus
,with a beautiful
“Asclepiad refrain from the A r ca dia,
2 sadly sings a hermit
You woods, in you th e fairest Nymphs have walk’d,Nymph s at whose sights all hearts did yield to loveY o u woods
,in whom dear lovers oft have talk’d,
H ow do yo u now a place ofmourn ing prove ?Wanstead my Mi stress saith thi s is the doom
1 S ligh t , wavering.
2 The prose of S idney’s A r c ad i a , despite its wea rying euphu ism , ha s som echa rm ing scenes from N a tu re. B u t the verse sc a ttered through the bookoffers li ttle fo r o ur pu rpose, and i s genera lly d i sa ppoint ing.
x1 L AND S CAPE I N EL I ZAB E THAN P OE TR Y 1 39
Thou art love’s c hild - b ed, nursery, and tomb .
0 sweet woods the delight of solitariness0 how mu c h do I love your solitariness
This melancholy key is however comparatively rare theEngl ish Arcady is bright and joyous with (one would fain say)an almost I talian sunshine . I t has always fewer refusals thankisses
L ady,the birds right fairly
A r e singing ever earlyThe lark
,the thrush, the n ightingale,
The make - sport cuckoo and the quail .These sing of L ove then why sleep yeTo love your sleep it may not be .
Whither so fast ? see how the kindly flowersP erfume the ai r
,and all to m ake thee stay
The climbing wood - bine,clipp ing1 all these bowers
Clips thee likewi se fo r fear thou pass away ;Fortune o u r friend
,o u r foe w ill not gainsay.
S tay but awhile,Phoebe 2 no tell - tale i s
She he r Endymion,I’ll my Phoebe kiss .
Coming now to the lyrics interspersed through the greatdrama of that age
,we have Nash’s familiar song
S pring, the sweet S pring, i s the year’s pleasant kingThen blooms eac h thing, then maids dance in a ring,Cold doth not sting, the pretty bi rds do sing,Cuckoo, jug, jug, p u -w e , to -witta -woo.
In a more learned style, yet permeated as i t were by the veryspirit of the moonlight
,is Ben Jonson’s ( 1 5 74 - 1 63 7) noble
Hymn to D iana
Queen, and huntress, chaste and fair,N ow the sun i s laid to sleep
,
S eated in thy silver chai r,
S tate in wonted manner keepHesperus ent reats thy light,Goddess excellently bright .
1 Em bra c ing.
2 T he Moon.
1 40 L AND S CAPE I N EL I ZAB E THAN POE TR Y CHAP .
In Fletcher’s ( 1 5 76 - 1 6 2 5) Fa i tkfu l S kep /zerdess we find afew sweet pastoral lines
,fresh and musical, and free from the
common conventionality of the style . Such is an eveningscene
S hepherds all,and maidens fair,
Fold your flocks u p , for the air’Gins to thicken
,and the sun
A lready his great cou rse hath r un.
S e e the dew - drops how they kissEvery little flower that is,H anging on the ir velvet heads,L ike a rope of crystal beadsS e e the h eavy clouds low falling,And bright H esperus down callingThe dead N ight from under groundAt whose risingmists unsou nd,D amps and vapours fly apace,Hovering o’er the wanton faceOfthese pastures
,whe re they come
,
S triking dead both b u d and bloomTherefore
,from such danger lock
Every one his lo véd flock.
A river- god’s charm - song to Amoret has always seemed tome a singularly perfect specimen of the equably balancedmusic attainable
,yet rarely attained, by the difli c u lt trochaic
metre ( tetrameter catalectic), mixed with iambic l ines, commonat that period
D o not fear to put thy feetNaked in the rive r sweetThink not leech
,or newt, or toad,
Will bite thy foot,when thou hast trod
Nor let the water ri sing high,A s thou wa d’st in
,make thee cry
And sob but ever live with me,
And not a wave shall trouble thee
I t i s a sadder note we hear in another song by Fletcher,wherein he welcomes
1 42 L AND S CAPE I N EL I ZAB E THAN P OE TR Y CHAP .
natural beauty of the language than in novelty of insightin to the phenomena described. As examples, I will simplyname
L o in the orient when th e gracious light;
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day(S . xvrrr. )
Full many a glorious morn ing have I seen(S . xxxru . )
With the group on Winter, Spring, and Flowers, S . xc vrr-xc ix.
Two quotations only will I allow myself. In the first Shakespeare has used Nature as a counterpart to human passion thesecond i s noteworthy as published when he was only in hisforty- fourth year
,and probably written some time earlier
Th e summer’s flower is to th e summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and dieBut if that flower with base infection meet
,
The basest weed outbraves his dignityFo r sweetest things turn sourest by their deedsL ilies that fester smell far worse than weeds .
That time of year thou mayst in me beholdWhen yellow leaves, o r none, or few, do hangUpon those boughs which shake against the cold,Bare ru in’d cho i rs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such dayAs after sunset fadeth in the west,Wh ich by and by blac k n ight doth take away,D eath’s second self, that seals u p all in rest.In me thou see’st the glowing of such fireThat on th e ashes of his youth doth lie,As the death - b e d whe reon it must exp ireConsumed with that whic h it was no u r ish ’d by.
This thou p e r c e iv st, which makes thy love more strong,T o love that well which thou must leave e re long.
May I allow myself to say, - the world’s l iterature has l ittle toshow equalling these l ines for their united force and delicacy.
x1 L AND S CAPE I N EL I ZAB E THAN P OE TR Y 1 43
S hakespeare’s drama, l ike the first- class drama at all t imes,can offer but small scope for landscape. The p laywr ite rs ofthat date fi l l this blank by imagination ; we by scenery.
H ere,however
,we find what was Shakespeare’s contribution
to Nature in poetry . We m ight define th is as the absoluteunion between the human emotions of the moment and thelandscape, together with the astonishing power of suggestingit at once by “ j ewels five words long. This union of thefigures with the ground, if I may apply to poetry the phraseof S ir J . R eynolds on painting, is one of the rarest of al lachievements . I t will be enough to recal l the respectivecomments by L ady Macbeth and by D uncan
,as the fated
king enters the treacherous Thane’s castle ; the crowing of thecock and the sunrise in the opening scene of H a m let ; thewild storm - beaten heath in L e a r ; the wounded stag in A rdenthe flowers that P roserpina let fall and those which garlandedOphelia, as she wandered where the willow grew that showed
his hoar leaves in the glassy st ream,
When down her weedy t rophies and herselfFell in the weep ing brook.
L onger examples,yet always in strict accord with the situation
,
are Prospero’s narrative of h is magical powers : the disastroussummer described by T itania : the orchard scene in R om eo .
Yet the short lyrics gave Shakespeare perhaps the bestopportunity for the landscape vignette . We have the rusticsongs
Wh en daisies p ied and violets blue
It was a love r and his lass
And see how the key of each poem (to take a metaphor frommusic) i s given, whilst the landscape is suggested, in thes ingle l ines
Under the greenwood tree
B low,blow, thou winter w i nd
and s imilarly how the sea pervades as wi th its odour the
1 44 L AND S CAPE I N EL I ZA B E THAN P OE TR Y CHAP . x1
Full fathom five thy father liesj ust as the great Webster’s
Call for the robin r e d - breast and the wren
as Charles L amb said, is“ of the earth earthy . Or , lastly, with
what magic does Shakespeare transport us to the fairylandscape
Where the bee su cks,there suck I
Come unto these yellow sandsOver hill
,ove r dale
Thus M'
dsumm er—Mg/zt’s D r ea m
Y o u spotted snakes w ith double tongu e,Thorny hedgehogs, b e not seen
N ewts and blind -worms,do no wrong,
Come no t near o u r fairy queen .
Philomel,with melody
S ing in o u r sweet lullabyWeaving spiders, come not hereHenc e
,you long- legg
’d sp inners,hence
Beetles black,approach not near
Worm nor snail,do no offence .
Compare this with the clownish realism of Bottom’s di tty inthe same play
Th e ousel cock so black of h u e ,With orange - tawny bill,
Th e throstle with his note so tru e,The wren with little quill,1
Th e finc h,the sparrow and the lark,
Th e plain - song cuc koo gray,Whose note full many a man cloth mark,And dares not answer nay.
T hese are mere hints—flying, insuffi cient touches . ButShakespeare, of all poets, i s most emphatically hi s own bestcommentator.
1 Song-vo ic e : So ,
“ m ine oa ten qu ill . —ColinClou t.
1 46 L AND S CAPE P OE TR Y CHAP .
Than they were painted on a wall,
N o more they move or steir.
What pleasure,then
,to walk and - see
End- lang a river clear,The perfect form of every treeWithin the deep appear.
Michael D rayton ( 1 563 one of our most fluentlyfertile ve rsifie rs, has left some Pastorals, so quick and airy intouch
,so attractive in feel ing
,that i t i s vexing to find
how completely the landscape which he saw and must haveenjoyed was silenced or exiled from his poetry by the mereconventionalities of pseudo - classicalism . Witness these linesfrom
The verdant meads are seen,
When she doth view them,
In fresh and gallant greenS traight to renew them
And every little grassB road itself spreadeth,
P roud that this bonny lassU pon i t treadeth
No r flower is so sweetIn this large cincture,
B u t i t upon her feetL eaveth some tincture .
P resently we find how, when S irena looksthe stars stand “ fearfully blaz ing
As wondering at her eyes,With their much brightness,Which so amaze the skies
,
D imming the ir brightness.
This exaggerated, unreal mode of thought i s of too frequentoccurrence in our poetry . Can he have felt true passion whothus paints his lady love ? or
,mayhap
,was She pleased by it ?
D rayton, however, deserves praise for another landscapepoem
,the plan of which
,perhaps
,is wholly original and unique
x1 1 UND ER THE S TUAR T KI NGS 1 47
in l iterature—the giant P olyoloion ( 1 6 1 2 a pictu re ofEngland and Wales fi lling thirty vast S ongs in rhym ing Al exa ndrine s, after the French fashion . One may doubt whetherany human power could animate a mass so huge and hetero
gene o u s it is to D rayton’s praise that
,so far as my incursions
into this wilderness have gone, he maintains a level, monotonous indeed
,yet above prose. The expedient, however, by
which he contrives this result,unhappily for his readers—once,
i t i s said,numerous—i s to personify every stream or hill, plain
or wood. Yet it is a truly affectionate interest in each naturalfeature of his country in turn to which he thus gives utterance.A few l ines taken at random from this Gaz etteer in rhymemay su fli c e to do justice to a writer whom my subject couldnot fairly neglect. The first example describes L undy Islandoffthe south -west coast of D evon
This L undy is a nymph to idle toys inclinedAnd
, all on pleasure set, doth wh olly give her mindT o see upon her shores her fowl and con ies fe d,And wantonly to hatch the birds of Ganymede .
1
Oftrafl‘i c or return she never taketh careNo t provident of pelf
,as many i slands are
A lusty black - b row’d gi rl, with forehead broad and high ,That often ha d b ewitch ’d th e sea -
gods with her eye .
2
The next scene is on the summ it of Skiddaw, “ of the Cambrian hill s the highest
,
”and
Most like Parnassus self that is supposed to be,Having a double head, as hath that sacred mount.
Skiddaw is hence emboldened to speak
The rough H ibern ian sea I proudly overlook,Amongst the sc a tte r
’
d rocks,and there i s not a nook,
But from my glor ious height into its depth I pry,Great hills far under me, but as my pages lieAnd when my helm of clouds upon my head I take,A t very sight thereof, immediately I make1 Eagles . 2 Song IV.
1 48 L AND S CAPE P OE TR Y CHAP .
The inhab itants about tempestuous storms to fear,And for fair weath er look
,when as my top i s clear
Great Fo u rne ss mighty Fells I on my south surveyS o likewise on the north
,A lban ia makes me way.
1
And so forth . Yet to this s ingular writer we owe not onlythe noble ba llad of Agincou r t, not only also those splendidl ines upon Marlowe which are one of the finest tributes everoffered by poet to poet
,but that enchanting sonnet of absolute
first- rate beauty—a praise how rare —worthy of Shakespeare,yet essentially unlike his style
S ince there’s no help, come let us kiss and part
George Wither ( 1 5 88 in an Eclogue has apretty thanksgiving to Poetry
,who gives him pleasure
Through the meanest obj ect’s sight,By th e murmur of a spring,Or the least bough s ru stl
'
é ingBy a daisy
,whose leaves spread
Shut when T itan goes to b e dO r a shady bush or tree,S h e could more infu se in me,Than all N ature’s beauties canInsome other wiser man .
The seventeenth century, we have remarked, was a time ofnew attempts—a larger range of natural phenomena was embraced by landscape poetry . I quote two short i llustrativepassages . D onne, inhis powerful way, describing a primrosecovered hill, says
Wh ere thei r form and their infinityMake a terrestrial galaxy,As the small stars do in the sky.
Carew,again (ci r . 1 5 8 9
—ci r . I 6 in a P a stor a l D ia logu e,has a noteworthy sky scene : the shepherd tells his L ove it isdawning, they must part she replies
1 A lbani a , S cotland , S ongXXX.
1 50 L AND S CA PE P OE TR Y CHAP .
Fo r sweet Variety herself d id throwT o every bank here all the ground she dyedIn lily white there p inks e b la z éd w ideAnd dam a sk
’d all the earth and here she shed
B lue violets,and there came
.
roses r e dAnd every sight the yielding sense as captive led.
Th e garden like a lady fair was c u t,That lay as if she slum b e r’d in delight,And to the open skies her eyes did shut .
But it. i s al l the bower of Vain- delight, l ike that of Armida.
These fine fancies,such as even Spenser
,Fletcher’s master
,
does not offer,prove the rapid growth of our landscape in
poetry. But,indeed, this whole poem has a rapture, an ecstasy
of triumphant song,a holy passion
,rare in any l iterature.
With Fletcher we may name the deep- thinking P latonistHenry More ( 1 6 1 4 author of a series of poems on theS oul . H e also has fine touches of true Nature
,loved for
her own sake : s ingle l ines of enviable music
Thus sing I to c ragg’d cliffs, and hills,T o sighingwinds, to murmuring rills,To wasteful woods
,to empty groves
Such things as my dear mind most loves .Or he sees
Fresh va rnish’d groves, tall hills, and gilded cloudsArching an eyelid for the glaringMornFair c lu ste r ’d buildings which our sight so crowdsAt distance
,with high sp ires to heaven yb o rne
Vast plains with lowly cottages forlorn ,R ounded about with the low wavering sky.
1
I t is a modern note of introspection which we hear in suchlines or, once more, he tells how it i s
No pains,but pleasure
,to do the dictates dear
Ofinward living nature What doth moveThe N ightingale to sing so sweet and clear,
1 P sycka t/zanasi a , B ook I I I , c anto i .
x1 1 UND ER THE S TUAR T KINGS 1 5 1
The Thrush, or L ark, that, mounting high above,Chants her sh rill notes to heedless ears of cornHeavily hanging in the dewy Morn .
As we have admitted the birds as elements in the landscape—how
,indeed, could one bear to exclude them —let me
here add a pretty lyric, original in tone and deeply felt,by
George D aniel of Beswick ( 1 6 1 6 -
5 P oeta ve r e zgnotu s hemay claim to be his verse having lain in manuscript ti ll1 8 78
1
Poor bird I do not envy thee ; 2P leased in the gentle melody
Ofthy own song.
L e t c rabbed winter silence a llThe w inged quire he never shall
Chain up thy tonguePoor Innocent
Whe n I would please myself, I look on thee,And guess some sparks of that felicity,
That self- content.
When the bleak face of winter spreadsThe earth, and violates the meads
Ofall the ir prideWhe n sapless trees and flowers are fle dBack to their causes
,
3and l ie dead
To all besideI see thee set
,
B idding defiance to the bitter airUpon a w ithe r’d Spray by cold made bare
And droop ing yet.Poor R edb reast
,carol o u t thy lay
,
And teach u s mortals what to say.
Here cease the quireOfairy chori sters no moreMingle your notes, but catch a store
1 When i t was fu lly and c a refu lly ed i ted ( 1 00 copies) by D r . Grosa rt,
whose m any la bou rs towa rds the reviva l of o u r ea rly poets in complete issueshave too seldom m e t a gr a tefu l rewa rd.
2 Rega rd with an invidiou s glance.
3 First elem ents of growth .
1 52 L AND S CAPE P OE TR Y CHAP .
From her sweet lyreY o u are but weak,
Mere summer chanters yo u have neither wingN o r voice
,in winter. P retty R edbreast singWhat I would speak !
A change indeed i s here from the sunny Eliz abethan daysPuritanism,
may be, with its D ark Age renewed, overgloomingEngland.
1 Botany has come into being,with early science
(S tan . i i . 4, 5 ) the lines move with a thoughtful gravity unitedto close observance of Nature
,which might have charmed
Wordsworth .
William Browne of Tavistock ( 1 5 90 - ci r . 1 64 5 ) eitherwanted power to condense, or did inj ustice to a pretty talentby fluency “ long drawn out,
” by want of taste and of proport ion. H is natural descriptions are apt to be in the o ld
catalogue fashion as i f determined to outdo Chaucer orSpenser, he gives twenty- s ix lines to enumerate the tr ees inan imagined forest. Yet amongst his wearisome shepherdtales we have occasional glimpses of true landscape. Thusa river is blessed by the Water-god shepherds are to makeofferings
And may thy flood have seignoryOfall floods else and to thy fameMeet greater springs, yet keep thy name .
May neve r evet,2 nor the toad,Within thy banks make thei r abodeT aking thy journey from the sea,May’st thou ne’er happen in thy wayOnn itre or on brimstone mine
,
T o spoil thy tasteL e t no man dare
To spoil thy fish , make lock or ware,But on thy margent still let dwellThose flowers whic h have the sweetest smell .And let the dust upon thy strandBecome like Tagus’ golden sand.
1 G . D avies wa s a fa i thfu l yet a ju st - m inded Roya lis t . 2 Newt .
1 54 L AND S CAPE P OE TR y CHAP .
The winds all silent are,And Phoebus in his chai r
,
Ensa fl’
roning sea and air,Makes vanish every starN ight like a drunkard reel sBeyond the hill s to shun his flamingwheelsTh e fields with flowers are de ck’d in every hu e
,
Th e clouds bespangle with bright gold their blueH ere i s the pleasant place
,
And every thing, save h e r , who all should grace .
S o again to his early lost L ove
I die , dear life, unless to me be givenAs many ki sses as the spring hath flowers,O r as the silver drops of Iri s’ showers
,
Or as the stars in all - embracing heaven .
This landscape,so dyed with human love, so impa ssioned
i n i ts tone,may recall Vergil
,in his A lexis ; Collins, in his Ode
to L iber ty ; T ennyson, in Ma ud . But it is singular in i tsown age ; i t comes like a new colour on the artist
’s palette.S imilar imaginative power appears in D rummond’s noblesonnet on S . John Baptist
The last and greatest herald of heaven’s King
This has the severity of a design by Andrea Mantegna.And small phrases often occur, keenly close to Nature
L ightning through the welkin hu r l’d,That scores wi th flame the wayN ew doth the sun appearTh e mountains’ snows decay,Crown’d with frail flowers forth comes the baby year.
D rummond i s so l ittle known that I would willingly dwell longeron his poetry. The I ta liana te manner which he adopted has,I think
,concealed from recognition his very remarkable
personality.
In Andrew Marvell ( 1 6 2 1 one of the most originalpoets of the S tuart period, the new tentative features of the age
xi i UNDER THE S TUAR T KI NGS 1 55
in poetry,again
,are clearly marked. The lyrical work belonging
to his early l ife has often passages of imaginative quali ty,equally strong and del icate. I f we exclude Milton, no one ofthat time touches sweeter or nobler lyrical notes ; but he issingularly unequal ; he fl ies high, but is not long on the wing.
The characteristic Elizabethan smoothness of unbroken melodywas now failing ; the fanciful style of D onne, the seventeenthcentury concetti
,seized on Marvell too strongly
,and replaced
in him the earlier mythological landscape characteristic of theR enaissance .
Thus,in his long description of Appleton House in York
shire, the seat of General L ord Fairfax, fancies hold the largestshare . Through the haz els of the park he sees the woodpecker, who is thus painted to the life
—Most the h ewe l’s 1 wonders are,
Who here has the ho ltfe lste r’s 2 careHe walks still upright from th e root,Measuring the timber with his footAnd all the way
,to keep it clean
,
D oth from the bark the wood-moths gleanH e , w ith his beak, examines wellWh ich fit to stand
,and which to fell
The good he numbers up, and hacksA s if he m a rk’d them with th e a x
and so forth, moralising upon the decay of the oak . At
last the charm of the country bursts out from the poet in anoble ecstasy
B ind me, ye woodbines, in your twines,Curl me about
,ye gadding vines,
And oh§so close your circles lace,That I may never leave this placeB u t, lest your fetters prove too weak,Er e I your silken bondage break,D o you, O brambles, chain me too,And
, courteous briars, nail me through
Marvell’s finest piece in this style i s the Ga rden. I can but1 Hew -hole, country name for woodpecker. 2 Wood -hewer.
1 56 L AND S CAPE P OE TR y CHAP .
quote two stanz as from a poem rarely equalled in that penetrat i ve i ntensity of feel ing
,which seems to anticipate Shelley
What wondrous life i s this I lead 1
R ipe apples drop about my headTh e luscious clusters of the v ineU pon my mouth do c rush thei r wineTh e ne c ta renand cur ious peac hInto my hands themselves do r eachS tumbling on melons , as I pass,Ensnared with flowers
,I fall on grass.
Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less,Withdraws into its happinessThe mind
,that oc ean where eac h kind
D oes straight its own resemblance findYet it creates—transcend ing theseFa r other worlds and other seasAnn ihilating all that’s madeT o a green thought in a gr een shade .
Space regretfully excludes several similar masterpieces,in
which also human passion is (we might say) incorporated inthe landscape . And the landscape is thus, as always when apainter puts soul into his work, l ifted high from topography intoan idealised View of Nature. Such are D a m ontlze Mower
,the
H ayR op es, the D ew D r op ,the lovely picture of the Child among
the Flowers,the tropical landscape in the Bermudas, the IVj/mp /z
and ker Fawn, perhaps the most delicately, deeply fel t of all.L ast in this divis ion we place R obert H errick ( 1 5 9 1
whose poems appeared in the troublous days,
1 64 7-
48 ,
and offer another example of the many styles which nowdiversify our poetry . H e might be called an Elizabethan bornout of his day, if we look at the grace, the l ightness of touch,the gay festive spirit
,the (as it were) inevitable melody of his
verse : with him,
“ the rose lingers latest.” And, in general,it i s only by floral touches
,hints of the country
,that he brings
in Nature. Yet his landscape, though rare, goes further thanthat earlier mode
,i s more directly descriptive, and shows a
di stincter interest in Nature on her own account.
1 58 L AND S CA PE P OE TR Y CHAP .
This done, then to the enam e ll’d meads
Thou go’st and as thy foot there treads,
Thou seest a present God- like powerImprinted in each herb and flowerAnd sm e ll
’st the breath of great - eyed kine,
Sweet as the blossoms of the vine.
Fo r sports,for pageantry, and plays,
Thou hast thy eves, and holydays
Onwhich the youngmen and maids meet,T o exercise their dancing feetT ripp ing the comely country R ound,With daffodils and daisies c rown’d.
0 happy life if that their goodThe husbandmen but under stoodWho all the day themselves do please,And younglings, with suc h sports as theseAnd lying down, have nought t’a fl
'
r ight
Sweet S leep,that makes more short the n ight.
L andscape in English poetry now takes two great stepsforward in Mi lton and in H enry Vaughan . Milton, however,I would hope, i s so sufficiently well known, at least in hisminor poems
,as to excuse me here from lengthy notice.
L’A llegr o and I l P enser oso
,the earliest great lyrics of the
landscape in our language, despite all later competition stillremain supreme for range
,variety
,lucidity, and melodious
charm within their style. And thi s style i s essentially thatof the Greek and the earlier English poets
,but enlarged to
the conception of whole scenes from Nature ; occasionallyeven panoramic . External images are set simply and im
personally before us,although selected and united in sentiment
accordantly with the gay or the meditative mood of thesupposed spectator
S traight mine eye hath caught new p leasures,Wh ilst the landskip round it measuresRusset lawns
, and fallows gray,Whe re the n ibbling flocks do stray
x1 1 UNDER THE S TUAR T KI NGS 1 59
Mounta ins on whose barren breastThe labouring clouds do often restMeadows trim, with daisies p iedShallow brooks, and rivers wideT owers and battlementsit seesB o som
’d high in tufted trees,Where perhaps some beauty lies
,
The cynosure of neighbouring eyes .
This is perhaps as near a landscape in words—and thosewords always t/ze words—as one can find anywhere : Natureby herself, no sympathy with man suggested ; Yet note howthe one final imaginative phrase in its utter loveliness transports u s at once with in the sphere of human feeling.
Now take a companion picture,the Nightingale of the
P enser oso
Thee, chauntress, oft the woods amongI woo, to hear thy even - songAnd
, missing thee, I walk unseenOnthe dry smooth - shaven gr een,To behold the wanderingMoon ,R iding near her highest noon,L ike one that had been led astrayThrough the heaven’s wide pathless way,And oft, as if her head she how’d
,
S tooping through a fl e e cy cloud.
1
What we gain from Milton,as these specimens in hi s
very purest vein—his essence of landscape—i llustrate, i s theimmense enlargement
,the finer proportions
,the greater scope
,
of his scenes from Nature. And with this we have thatexquisite style
,always noble
,always music itself Mozart
without notes—inwhich Mi lton is one of the few very greatestmasters in all literature : in company—a t least it pleases meto fancy—with Homer and Sophocles
,with Vergil
,with D ante
,
with T ennyson .
1 Ha zli t t (OnMi lton'
s Lyc i da s) ha s here a fine rem a rk : In th is s inglecouplet there is m ore intense observa tion , and intense feeling ofN a tu re (asif he ha d ga zed h im self blind in look ing a t h e r ) , than in twenty volum es ofdesc riptive poetry.
1 60 L AND S CAPE P OE TR Y CHAP .
The landscape ofMilton’s great Epic has been inaccuratelycriticised as too much influenced by classical or R enaissancesentiment. R ather, i t is rightly generalised to suit the subject.Eden is here no actual garden
,but the representative Paradise
of the world, a half- supernatural landscape . Thus we have
Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gums and balmOthers whose fruit, b u rnish’d with golden rind,Hung amiable Hesperian fables true
,
If true,here only
,and of delic ious taste
Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocksGrazing the tender herb, were interposedO r palmy hillock, or th e flowery lapOfsome irriguous valley spread her store,Flowers of all hu e , and withou t thorn the rose .
And, similarly conceived, his pictures of the wonderful actsof Creation have
,and can only have
,a generic
,a universal
quality . Yet in the poem, at du e moments,to what
s implicity of Nature does he not return ! Witness thescene where one
who long in popu lous city pent,
goes forth into the sweet freshness of English country,or
the Indian fig- tree beneath which our fallen first parents takerefuge
- S oon they c hoseThe fig
- tree—not that kind for fruit r enown’d,
But such as,at this day, to Indians known,
In Malabar or D e c an Spreads he r armsBranching so broad and long that in the groundTh e bended twigs take root, and daughters growAbout the mother tree, a p illar ’d ShadeH igh o v e ra r ch
’d, and echoing walks between .
And once more here observe how the human element i s justflashed upon us in the closing words.
I t is a great transition from Milton, famous over the world,to H enry Vaughan ( 1 6 2 1 scarce known more now than
1 62 L AND S CAPE P OE TR Y CHAP .
Here I reposed b u t scarce well set,A grove desc ried
Ofstately height, whose branches metAnd mixt
,on every S ide
I ente r’d, and once in,- Amazed to se e
’
t
Found all was c hanged, and a new SpringD id all my senses greet.
Only a little fountain lentS ome u se for ears
,
And on the dumb shades’ language spentThe music of her tears .
The waterfall, that feature which above al l lends life by itsflash and i ts music to mountain lands, he has painted withpeculiar loving care
With what deep murmurs,through T ime’s silent stealth
D ost thy t ransparent,cool
,and watery wealth
,
H ere flowing fall,And chide 1 and call
,
A s if his liquid,loose retinue 2 stay’d
L ingering, and were of thi s steep place afraid.
And then the moral intervenes
Th e common pass,As clear as glass,A ll must descendN o t to an end,
B u t quieken’d by th i s deep and rocky grave,R ise to a longer course more brigh t and brave .
And so again
As th is loud brook’s incessant fallIn streaming r ings r e stagna te s 3 all,Which reach by course the bank
,and then
A r e no more seen just so pass men .
1 Chi rp m u s ic a lly.
2 The m ovingga u zy body of wa ter.3 Ca lm s down to a level .
xl 1 UND ER THE S TUA R T KI NGS 1 63
Vaughan had a deep imaginative sympathy with tree and
blossom,animal and bird : he goes into his garden in winter
to search for some summer flower now withered down to theearth
Then taking up what I could nearest spy,I digg
’
d aboutThat place whe re I ha d seen him to grow
And by and byI saw the warm recluse alone to lie
,
Wh ere fresh and greenH e l ived of u s unseen .
quest ions the R ecluse, who
D id there repai rSuch losses as b efe l him in this ai r,
And would ere longCome forth most fair and young.
This past,I threw the clothes quite o’er his headAnd stung with fear
Ofmy own frailty, d ropt down many a tearUpon his b ed
Then sighing wh isp e r’d, H appy are the deadWhat peace doth now
R ock him asleep below
So with the life of the bird he had the same inner interesthow refined, how fond
H ither thou c om ’st the busy w ind all n ight
B lew th rough thy lodging, where thy ownwarm wingThy p illow was . Many a sullen storm—Fo r which coarse man seems much the fitter born
R ain’d on thy b e dAnd harmless head.
And now as fresh and cheerful as the lightThy l ittle hear t in early hymns doth S ingU nto that P rovidence,Whose unseen armCu rb
’d them, and clothed thee well and warm .
D ante has a sympathetic treatment of bird- l ife somewhat
1 64 L AND S CAPE P OE TR Y CHAP .
l ike this,which has been already quoted. With that exc e p
tion I know of nothing similar in l iterature til l we reachWordsworth .
When Vaughan describes his Bible, he first dwells uponthe paper
,how it grew as grass he speculates who wore it as
linen when it had been woven ; how the tree form ing thecover had once flourished
As if i t never Should be dead
and even the leather sheepskin binding has its life to this mostimaginative poet
Thou knew’st this paper when it was
Mere seed, and after that b u t grassBefore ’twas drest or spun
,and when
Made linen,who did wear it then
What were their l ives,their thoughts and deeds,
Whether good corn , or fru itless weeds .
Thou knew ’
st this tree, when a green ShadeCov e r
’
d it,S ince a cover made
And where i t flo u r ish’d, grew,
and spread,
A S if it never should be dead .
Thou kne w’st this harmless beast, when he
D id live and feed by Thy decreeOneach green thing then S lept—well fe dClothed with this skin, wh ich now lies spreadA covering o’er this aged book .
From these lesser points, vivified by Vaughan’s intensi ty
of feeling and of insight, I pass to his wider world- landscape,
wherein,however
,i t i s probable that the Old T estament
rather than the scenery of Wales was what most influencedhim - O,
he cries,tku t m an
would hearThe world read to him
A ll things here Show him heaven waters that fall,
Chide,and fly up mists and corru ptest foam
CHA PT ER XII I
L AND SCAP E P OE TR Y TO THE CL OSE OF THE
EI GH TEEN TH CEN T UR Y
WE now reach that well - known period,covering about seventy
years after the R estoration,when a style of poetry
,admirably
clear, yet in regard to Nature and often to Man,superficial or
restricted,supplanted earlier truth and s implicity
,and the
true landscape wellnigh vanished from English verse. Uponthe several causes of this change or decline i t will be hereenough to touch slightly. They will be partly found in theEnglish politics of the day, which brought French writers, intheir exactness of style
,lucidi ty, and common sense forward
partly in the degeneracy to which the El iz abethan style hadfallen . The French R enaissance, i n fact, had now its momentwith us ; for the time the I talian impulse was exhausted. I twas a critical age ; and
,as such
,essentially antagonistic to an
imaginative—anage,broadly Speaking
,of light without warmth .
Poetry now mainly addressed the wealthy, the well - born, andcultivated classes . Manand his works were the chief subjectof D ryden’s powerful Muse
,and although he looked back to
Chaucer,his tales were so modernised by D ryden that the o ld
poet becomes almost unrecognisable. The wonderful geniusof Pope
,who saw what his readers required, narrowing
D ryden’s range,largely took for the obj ect of his strenuous
labour court life and the a rtific ia litie s of society. Countryl i fe as such was to him intolerable dullness ; and thus, in anexquisitely finished and humorous letter of condolence to ayoung lady compelled to quit L ondon, her only pleasure is
CH . xl 1 1 L AND S CAPE TO CL OS E OF E I GH TEEN TH CEN T. 1 67
described as fancying herself in Town and dreamily seeingcourtiers and coronations go by whilst in his pa ssionateE loisa the picturesque and sublime scenery of her convent isspoken of with hatred and horror. H ere
,however, are a few
lines which the tragic heat of the story has sublimed to powerful descriptive poetry
The darksome pines that o ’er yon rocks reclinedWave high, and murmur to the hollow windThe wandering streams that shine between the hills,The grots that echo to the tinkling r i lls
,
The dyinggales that pant upon the trees,The lakes that quiver to the curling breezeNo more these scenes my meditation a id
,
Or lull to rest the visionary maid.
Yet some return to Nature,some reaction
,soon began .
Indeed, I think it may be fairly Supposed that, despite thepopularity of D ryden and P ope in political and courtly circles
,
the love of the country,and of verse describing it
,could not
have so died out from English hearts as has been commonlysupposed. In fact
,the court atmosphere and influence over
the nation at large was certainly far less than critics, swayedunconsciously by pol itical partisansh ip
,have represented.
L ady Winc he lse a ’s R ever ie, published 1 7 1 3 , has a crowd offresh
,delicate images from the landscape. I t i s a calm night
scene
When in some river,overhung with green,
The wavingmoon and trembling leaves are seenWhen fr e sh en’d grass now bears itself upright,And makes cool banks to pleasing rest invite
Whilst now a paler hu e the foxglove takes,Yet chequers still with r ed the dusky brakes
When da rken’d groves the ir softest Shadows wear,And falling waters we distinctly hear.
And the moral is summed up in the sedate content ” felt bythe soul
,when undi sturbed by fierce sunlight
1 68 L AND S CAPE P OETR Y TO THE CL OSE OF CHAP .
B u t S ilent musings urge the mind to seekS omething too high for syllables to speak.
These lines so resemble the style of Wordswor th ’s own twoearl iest landscape poems that his choice of them for specialpraise is not surprising. L ady Winchelsea has also a charmingl ittle piece
,which in its closeness to detail and its pretty
ingenuities of thought, may recall—may have been influencedby—H enry Vaughan’s poetry
Fair T ree for thy delightful Shade’T is just that some return h e madeS u re some return i s du e from meT o thy cool shadows, and to thee .
To future ages mayst thou standUnto u c h ’d by the rash workman’s hand,T ill that large stock of sap i s spentWhich gives thy summer’s ornament.
In this last graceful allusion to the leaves we have again animage du e to advancing botanical science.
T homas T ic ke ll, in his E legy up onAddison’s D ea tk ( 1 7
Shows genuine feel ing and melody in the lines describingH olland House and park
Thou H ill, whose brow th e antique stru ctures grace,R e ar
’d by bold chiefs ofWarwick’s noble rac e,Why, once so loved, whene’er thy bower appears,O
’e r my dim eye - balls glance the sudden tears
How sweet were once thy p rospects fresh and fair,
Thy slop ing walks, and unpolluted ai rHow sweet the glooms beneath thy aged trees,Thy noon - tide Shadow, and thy evening breezeH is image thy forsaken bowers restoreThywa lks and airy p ro p e c ts cha rm no moreN o more the summer in thy glooms a llay’d,Thy even ing breezes, and thy noon - day shade .
T rue feel ing here has supplied a picture of a tender beautyextremely rare in the poetry of this period ; but elsewhereT ic ke ll describes Kensington Garden under the form of anabsurd and unreadable allegory .
1 70 L AND S CAPE P OE TR Y TO THE CL OSE OF CHAP .
Thomson’s waterfall with that which we have given fromVaughan
A t first, an azure sheet, it rushes broadThen wh itening by degrees, as prone i t falls,And from the loud - resounding rocks belowD a sh
’d in a clou d of foam,it sends aloft
A hoary mist, and forms a ceaseless shower.N o r can the tortured wave here find reposeBut, ragi ng still amid the shaggy rocks,N ow flash es o’er the sc a tte r ’d fragments, nowA slant the hollow channel rap id dartsAnd
,falling fast from gradual slope to S lope
,
With wild infracted course, and le ssen
’d roar,
It gains a safer b e d, and steals, at last,A long the mazes of the quiet vale .
Or take this picture of tropical scenery, and think ofT ennyson’s Enoc/z A rden
Great are the scenes, with dreadfu l beauty c rown’dAnd barbarous wealth
,that see
,each c ircling year,
R eturn ing suns and double seasons passR ocks rich in gems, and mountains b ig with mines,That on the high equ ator ridgy r ise,Whence many a bu rsting stream auriferous playsMaj estic woods, of every vigorous green,S tage above stage, high waving o
’er the hills .
Bear me,P omona, to thy citron groves,
T o where th e lemon and the p iercing lime,With the deep orange, glowing through the green,Their lighter glories blend.
H ow cold does this landscape Show by those of thi scentury ! How l ittl e penetrated with music or with the Spiritof the South And so the poem,
largely fi lled with discussionupon subj ects apart from Nature, flows on with even pace,hardly rising or S inking in style and metre, we should a dd,
not culpably imitative of Mi lton . I t owes its fame—I can
x1 1 1 THE E I GH TEEN TH CEN TUR Y 1 7 1
hardly say its surv ival—to the happy incident of its da te .
Yet the S ea sons fairly earned contemporary reputation . The
pages are fi l led,in Thomson’s own graceful words
,
“ withmany a proof of recollected love .
”And although Nature
there is mostly found in an artificial dress , we can easily seehow great and useful its effect must have been in its ownday.
I ts celebri ty proves the novelty and the importance of theattempt ; i t sta rtled its contemporaries l ike a heresy. As
Johnson set his face against Percy,so Pope tried to laugh
down Thomson ; but in each case, the opponents, able as theywere
,fought to no purpose against the changing spirit of the
age.The once famous Gr onga r I I i ll, by John D yer ( 1 700 - 1 7
written in a pretty tripping metre and fluent style, fails withreaders now through its want of force and insight . L ike hi sCountry Wa lk
,which is more sati sfactory
,we find rather the new
idea of verse devoted to landscape than the effective rendering of it. D yer obviously modelled himself on the A llegr oand P enser oso
,and
,as with Mi lton
,all the natural features of
Gr onga r H i ll are viewed i n relation to the spectator—seen,as i t were
,through the glass of his moral ising temper. The
poet cannot trust himself frankly to describe Nature for herown sake, l ike Wordsworth or Shelley.
Ananonymous poem upon Shenstone’s Gardens at Hagleyhas a l ittle landscape which may mark the stage at which ourpoetry had arrived by 1 75 6 . The writer i s painting thegrounds laid out by Shenstone
,and ornamented with m inute
over- anxious care
Th e lawn,of aspect smooth and mild
Th e forest - ground grotesque and w ildTh e sh rubStha t scents the mountinggaleTh e stream rough dashing down the vale,From rock to rock
,in eddies tost
The di stant lake in which ’
t i s lostB lue hills gay beaming th rough the gladeL one urns that solemn ize th e shadeSweet interchange of all that charmsIn groves, meads, dingles, rivulets, farms .
1 72 L AND S CAP E P OE TR Y TO THE CL OSE OF CHAP .
The m i ld lawn,the lone u rns—can anything place us more
immediately in the central period of the eighteenth century ?By this time the critical school of D ryden, Pope, and their
followers had done its valuable work,clearing literature from
the fantasies and euphuistic ingenuities into which the El iz abethan quality of verse had largely lapsed. The courtly style,the pictures of manners, may have begun to weary . The firstdefinite traces of R omanticism,
in its modern sense, are felt—an element which received great added force through thepublication of P ercy’s admirable R eligues in 1 76
A su bdu e d and sober landscape, not free from sentimentalism,
was now appearing. Th e scene shifts : agricultural countryitself
,farms and shepherds, are not suffi ciently ru st ic :
“ H ide“ me from day’s garish eye,
” is the poet’s exclamation ; wefind ourselves with Warton in the abysses of Whic hwo o d, orwith L ogan
,like the writer above quoted, by a monumental
urn set in dim Shades at twilight ; or L anghorne gives us theVisions ofFancy ( 1 76 2 )
S low let me climb the mountain’s airy browThe green height ga in’d, in musefu l rapture lie
S leep in the murmur of the woods below,
O r look on Nature with a lover’s eye .
But the finest passage in this mode of our poetry is perhapsJames Beattie’s appeal (ci r . 1 770) to the worldly man in favourof natural beauty
0 how canst thou renounce the boundless storeOfcharms which Natu re to he r votary yields !Th e warbling woodland, the resounding shore,The pomp of groves, and garn itu re of fieldsAl l that the gen ial ray of morning gilds,And all that ec hoes to th e song of even ,A ll that th e mountain’s sheltering bosom shields,And all the dread magnificence of H eaven,
0 how c anst thou renounc e,and hope to be forgiven ?
H ere,I think
,we may see the way dist inctly opening to our
century .
1 The d iflflc u lty ofa ssigning da tes to the often be a u tifu l Northern ba lladsrenders them unsu i ta ble for quota tion.
1 74 L AND S CAPE P OE TR Y TO THE CL OSE OF CHAP .
I t i s the same eighteenth - century spirit which reigns inGoldsmith’s l ittle masterpieces . Only as vignettes peepingout among human figures has his happy pencil given thelandscape of the D eser ted Vi llage ( 1 769 )
How often have I pau sed on every c harm,
Th e sh e lte r’d cot
,th e cultivated farm
,
Th e never - failing brook, the busy mill,Th e decent church that to p t the neighbour ing h ill,The hawthorn b u shnavith seats beneath the shade,Fo r talking age and whispering lovers made
Sweet was the sound,when oft at even ing’s close
,
Up yonder hill the village murmur roseThere, as I p a ss’d with c areless steps and slow,The mingling notes came soften’d from belowThe swain responsive as the milk -maid sung,Th e sober he rd that low ’
d to meet thei r youngThe no isy geese that gabbled o’er the poolThe playful children just let loose from sc hoolTh e watch - dog’s vo ice that bay’d the whisperingwind,And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mindTh ese all in sweet confusion sough t the shade,And fill’d each pause the n ightingale h a d made .
Goldsmith had been then long a town dweller, and seemsrather to have generalised his Auburn than painted any specialvillage nor have his descriptive touches in a marked way theconvincing force of those which an eye
,set on things seen
,
naturally supplies to a true poet. Yet his seemingly carelessease reveals consummate art . Goldsmith , doubtless, felt thathis proper study was Man. H ence the Greek reserve in thetreatment of the accessory landscape . Why, then, have thesefragmentary glimpses so permanent a hold on our memories andhearts ? We may find this in their perfect propriety of cho ice,their “ keeping
,
” as painters say,in their delightful simpl icity
of thought and expression, - perhaps above all,in the music
,
the equable balance of syllables,with which Goldsmith—and
he only—bysome mysterious gift of grace, has half- transformedthe too monotonously accented decasyllable couplet of Pope.
x1 1 1 THE EI GH TEEN TH CEN TUR Y 1 75
H is work, with that of Collins and Gray, are enough toredeem the eighteenth century from the charge of unenthusiastic prosaism too carelessly brought against it .With Goldsmith we may mention Smollett, whose best
novel,H u mpkr ey Clinker , contains a musical and graceful
little Ode to L even Water, written by 1 77 1 : althoughsome traces of the conventional phraseology of that agesurvive.Here
,also
,a few words must be given to Macpherson ’s
professedly ancient Epic of Ossian ( 1 76 2 The longcontroversy which raged about this book may be nowconsidered a s set at rest ; Macpherson (as we have beforenoticed) really had a substratum of genuine o ld Celtic song
,
oral and manuscript, but used his materials too freely, and
dressed them often in a spurious antique style . Yet it is difficult to doubt that these wild lays, with their H ighland skiesand mountains, savage and mysterious, held a really valuableplace in a id of the R omantic movement that they turned themind of his readers to Nature in her scenes of rude yet nobleand impressive magnificence .
Cowper’s Ta sk i s almost curiously barren of landscape ;and the style does not essentially differ from T homson’s excepti n that the poet himself is the spectator whence
,naturally
,the
landscape is more intimate and more devout. This poem,
though of much value in its own day, now certainly disappoints . I t i s through his lovely lyric
,T/ze P op la r s a r e
fi ll’
d with i ts sad graceful moral that he is entitled to aplace here .
Burns,lastly, with his l ight, direct, and masterly touch has
painted the scenery of his native land. In his Songs,i t
appears,however, simply as a background contrasted or sympa
thetic with human passion . I t i s thus in the E gkland Ma ry,
Tb e B i rks of A bery‘eldy,
Ye B anks and B r a t s. But theElegy upon Captain H enderson
,although it calls on al l
Nature to lament his death in the o ld exaggerated unrealmanner
,has many touches
,truthful
,i f not showing Close
observation,which are laid in with that d irect power
,that fi rst
intention,which always mark Burns when at his best
1 76 L AND S CA PE P OE TR Y TO THE CL OSE OF CHAP .
At dawn, when every grassy bladeD roops with a diamond at its head,At ev’n, when beans their fragranc e Shed,
I’ the rustlinggale,Ye m a ukins wh iddin’ 1 through the glade,
Come, j oin my wail .
And we may quote a stanz a from the P eti tion of B r u a r
Wa te r,that the glen should not be laid bare
L e t lofty firs, and ashes cool,My lowly banks o ’e r sp r e a d,
And v iew,deep -bending in the pool,
Their Shadows’ watery b e dL e t fragrant birks in woodbines drestMy c raggy cliffs adorn
And, for the little songster ’s nest,Th e close - embowering thorn.
With these lines may be compared some simply forciblestanzas upon the destruction of the D rum lanr igWoods . The
Nith speaks
The re was a time, it’s nae lang syne,Ye might hae seen me in my prideWhen all my banks sae bravely sawThe ir woody p ictures in my tideWhen hanging beech and spreading elmS haded my stream sae clea r and cool,
And stately oaks thei r twisted armsThrew broad and dark across the pool
When glinting through the trees a p p e a r’
d
The wee white cot aboon th e mill,And p e a c efu
’ rose its ingle reek 1
That S lowly curled u p the hill .But now the cot i s bare and cauld,Its branchy shelter’s lost and game ,
And scarce a stinted birk is leftT o Shiver in the blast its lane .
2
1 Ha res sc u rrying.
2 A lone.
L AND S CAP E IN R ECEN T P OE TR Y—S COTT AND B YR ON
AFTER the comparative poverty of the century preceding thenineteenth
,we now reach that sudden burst of poetry which
has placed the nineteenth century by the Elizabethan age inwealth and splendour —with Vergil we might Say, a gr anderline ofevents op ens now befor e u s ; it is a gr ander work tlza t
beginning.
1 From the earl iest days of Greece theliterature of Europe has witnessed a few analogous meteorshowers of song, and many an attempt has been made to connectthem with the general state and history of the nations thus distingu ished. A ttractive
,however
,as these attempts may be, I
cannot find them convincing. P arnassu s in this matter seemsto resemble Vesuvius or Etna—the great deeper- lying forces ofNature to which Poetry owes these di splays of splendour arereally unknown . I t i s enough to say that they are eruptions full,not of wrath and ruin, but of warmth and l ight and blessingto each country in turn. Fo r poets, i f not the
“una cknow
ledged legi slators ” of mankind, as Shelley said in his ferventyouth
,yet beyond question powerfully lead or express, even
when they follow,that gradual movement in civil isation which
sweeps us through the circles of what i t i s at least safer and
wiser to call T ransformation than Advance.
Quitting this wide and difli c u lt region of thought, we maynote—always in its relation to landsca pe treatment—a few
1 m a ior rerum m ih i na sc itu r ordo,m a iu s opu s m ove o .
A en. VI I , 44 .
CHAP . xi v S COTT AND B YR ON 1 79
obvious and sometimes external causes of the m ighty outburstin English poetry now before us .Among these I should put first in da te, after those antici
patory movements from Thomson onward which we have latelyexam ined, not so much the French R evolution and i ts pol it icalconsequences to Europe
,as, rather, that influence which played
so great a part in producing the R evolution—the influenceof R ousseau . In his eloquent sophistries—l ife accordingto Nature
,primitive simplicity, subjective sentiment, and
passion in place of reason,with the like—R omanticism
,the
keynote of our century,found its strongest impulse. A few
words from a letter of Wordsworth on the Educa tion of the“Poet,
” written apparently about may best set thistendency before us : “ A great Poet ought
,to a certain
“ degree,
to render [men’s] feel ings more sane, pure, and
permanent,in short
,more consonant to nature, that is, to
eternal nature,and the great moving spirit of things . R ous
seau at his best,perhaps better than his best, here speaks clearly .
Next we may observe that the great continental wars, whilstexcluding Engl ishmen from Europe
,yet curiously allowed
the native tone of German literature, almost unknown to usduring the eighteenth century, to penetrate and affect ourpoets. Scott’s early ballads, and his translation from Goethe
’sfirst—and we may add, by far most dramatic drama—Goetz ,are here our witnesses .On the romantic spirit thus evolved i t m ay be enough for
our purpose to add that it i s a mood apt to look upon thewild landscape as the most genuine unalloyed display of thespirit of Nature—a sentiment which leads also to recognitionof a soul pervading her, or to God as manifesting H is omnipresence where man has not touched H is work. And withthis i s j oined a vivid sense of the essential unison betweenman and the visible universe,—a mood opposi te to that exte rna lism of nature so marked in the poetry of Greece .
The peculiar retrospective bias of R omanticism,its passion for
the great things of the past,has
,however
,rarely influenced
landscape in verse . But a meditative tone all ied to sadness,1 L ife , by C . Wordsworth , vol . i , p. 1 96 ( ed .
1 80 L AND S CAPE I N RE CEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
which with human life contrasts Nature in her beauty,or in
her forceful moods, with a fast- increasing proneness to sub
je c tive treatment, are notes often audible.
In addition to these deeper causes, the rapidly extendinglove of landscape in poetry was much aided by those facilitiesfor travel in which every decade of this century has Shownsuch marvellous advances . There was nothing of charm
,no
romance,in the painfulness with which mountain regions
were traversed two hundred years since and later ; nor couldthe di scomforts of the road attune a traveller’s mind to thecontemplation of the Sublime. H ence A lpine scenery
,peaks
and passes, left Addison with no feeling but of horror and
repugnance,and only wakened even Gray himself to a dawning
sense of their latent poetry. Thus, strange though it may seem,
among external inci tements to landscape study railways maybe placed first . No t far behind their influence has been thatof physical science
,though perhaps rather by immensely aiding
accuracy of thought and word in the description of Nature,than by direct botanical, geological, or stellar teaching . I t iswithin other regions than our limited Sphere that the naturalsciences have profoundly a fl e c ted poetry .
L ast should be noticed the vastly multiplied habit of life inlarge cities
,leading men to Nature by way of contrast and re
freshment to eye and soul. The later Greek poetry,we have
seen,was thus moved and nowhere has it been set forth with
more exquisite t ru th,more musical fel icity than by Vergil
0 too happy country folk, did they but know the ir blessings !1
with the splendid l ines that follow upon the contrasted l ife ofR ome
,the luxury
,the vanity
,the bloodshed. Yet neither
were cities so colossal,nor
,on the other hand
,means of escape
to the country so facile as in our own time ; whilst also moreand more varied scenes of natural beauty ar e offered to themodern traveller.L ooking at the development before us as a whole, we m ight
10 fortuna tos nim ium , su a S i bona no r int,
agricola sGear . i i , 458.
1 82 L AND S CAPE I N RE CEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
landscape i s coloured by human passion, the hues borrowedfrom the heart ” or i t i s painted to enforce moral or religious
parallels ; until, in decisively modern days, we ,have at once
greater accuracy in detail, and what, in one word, though imperfectly
,we might sum u p as deeper penetration into the inner
soul of Nature. And throughout this long career,from Homer
downwards, the effort of poetry has been to harmonise landscape with the prevalent conceptions of thought
,feeling, and
dominant interests ; in a word, with life in its wholeness, aseach period fashioned it . Fo r i t is a truism to add that
,
however pure and fine may be the Song of the Muses,unless
i t echo and by echoing reinforce or correct the thought andpurpose of the age, i t i s but a voice crying in the wilderness .This l ittle preface
,I hope
,will allow me now to complete
the most diffi cult part of my essay largely by actual quotationfrom the verse of our century . And i f this age he treated atmuch greater length than any before it, my reason is, notthat the poets are recent or our own contemporaries
,but that
the study and love of Nature has during thi s century made sodecisive and so splendid an advance as, from this point ofview, to sta nd in l ine with the parallel progr ess in phys icalscience. Quota tions so long as some that follow cou ld nothave been made from earlier poetry .
Mywish throughout this book has been to leave the poetsto speak for themselves
,with only such commentary as du e
explanation might demand. And gladly would I have dis
p ensed with that somewhat invidious, if not egotistic, task, incase of the illustrious band now about to pass before us. The
verdict of T ime has not yet fixed their place—so far as it ever isfixed—incommon estimate and hence the writer, however relu c tant
,cannot escape treading on the shift ing and deceitful
“ ashes,under which lie the fires of antagonist valuations .
Among the “ Gods of the great Family ” each has a song ofh is own—each treats the orchestra after his individual fashionyet
,on the whole
,from Scott to T ennyson, a general harmony
prevails. Fo r whenever the highest art i s in question, eventhe strongest originality cannot escape—indeed, would notescape
,were it possible—the tone and temper of the age,
xi v S COTT AND B YRON 1 83
the surrounding atmosphere . And further, looking alwaysto poetry of the first class, the essentia l excellences of eachworkman are apt to show a singular l ikeness
,a fraternal
equality ; as very similar features, all the world over, are presented by the loftiest mountain summits .
It i s difficult among our modern poets to trace clearly adefinite and systematic progress, such as that from Pope toCowper ; and it would be rash to do more than try to indicatethe re sp e c tive
’a im s and powers over L andscape in Poetry of
S cott, Byron, Coleridge, Keats, Shelley,Wordsworth, Browning,and T ennyson . But I hope that the order in which they wil lnow be briefly reviewed will be found consistent, if not withthe rank of their individual genius, more or less with thenatural sequence of that art or inspiration which was successive ly impersonated in them .
S ir Walter Scott 1 77 1- 1 8 3 the poet of the series earliest
formed,if not earliest in publication, i s al so the one who has
left us the least of natural descript ion . H is style was modelledat first chiefly on the Border ballads, and the word picturesquemay perhaps best define it. The landscape is often rathertouched- in by way of support to his figures than painted forits own sake or as the mere background of earl ier days ;human interests and passions, or those historical memoriesin which his soul delighted
,in general, pervade it. Such
is the fine picture of the shepherd in winter,1 or that ofEdinburgh from Blackford H ill,2 to which S cott’s ferventlove of his native land has given that peculiar vivid rapidity,that manly animation, which were the characteristic notesof his style. The Edinburgh picture would be Spoiled bypartial quotation ; let u s take two carefully finished specimens of detailed landscape from the L ord of flu I sles. Scotti s here describing the voyage of Bruce from Skye to Carrick
,
and then the view of Carrick itself, where Bruce had spenth is childhood
N ow la unch’d once more,the inland sea
They furrow with fair augu ry,1 Ma rm i on, Introd . to Canto IV.
2 I bid.
1 84 L AND S CAPE I N RE CEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
And steer for A rran’s isleTh e sun
,ere yet he su nk behind
Ben - Gho il, the Mo unta inoftke Wind,Ca ve h is grim peaks a greeting kind,
And bade L och R anza smile.
Thither thei r destined c ourse they drewIt se em ’
d the i sle h e r monarch knew,
S o brilliant was the landwa rd View,
Th e ocean so sereneEach puny wave in diamonds ro ll’dO
’e r th e calm deep, where hues of goldWith azu re st rove and green .
Th e hill,the vale
,the tree, the tower,
Glow’d with the tints of evening’s hour,The beach was silver sheen ;
1
Th e wind breathed soft as lover’ s S igh,And, oft r enew’
d,se em
’d oft to die,
With b reathless pause between .
0 who, with speech of war and woes,Wou ld wi sh to break the soft repose
Ofsuch enchanting scene ?
They ga in’d the Chase,—a wide domainL eft for the Castle’s silvan reign(S eek not the scene—the axe , the plough,Th e boor’s dull fence, have m a r r
’
d it nowB u t then, soft swept in velvet greenThe plain, with many a glade between,Whose tangled alleys fa r invadeTh e depth of the b rown forest Shade .
H ere the tall fern obscured the lawn,Fair shelter for the sportive fawnThere
,tufted close with copsewood green
Was many a swelling hilloc k seenAnd all around was verdure meetFo r pressure of the fairies’ feet.Th e glossy holly loved the park,Th e yew - tree lent its shadow dark
,
And many an o ld oak, worn and bar e,
With all its sh ive r’d boughs, was there .
1 86 L AND S CAPE I N RE CEN T POE TR Y CHAP .
A rou nd its broken summit grewTh e hazel rude, and sable yewA thousand varied l ichens dyedIts waste and weather - beaten S ideAnd rou nd its rugged basis lay,By time or thunder rent away
,
Fragments, that, from its frontlet torn,Were mantled now by verdant thorn .
follows the wide view from Barna rd Castle
What prospects,from his watch - tower high,
Gleam gradual on the warder’s eyeFa r sweep ing to the east, he seesD own h is deep woods the course of T ees,And tracks his wanderings by the steamOfsummer vapours from th e streamAnd ere he paced his destined hou rBy B ra c kenb u ry’s dungeon - tower
,
Th ese silver mists shall melt away,And dew th e woods with glittering spray.
Then in broad lustre Shall be ShownThat mighty trench of l iving stone,And each huge trunk that, from the sideR eclines him o’er the darksome tide
,
Where T ees,full many a fathom low,
Wears with his rage no common foeFo r pebbly bank, nor sand - b ed here,No r clay -mound
,checks his fierce career,
Condemn’
d to mine a c hanne ll’d way,O
’
e r solid sheets of marble gray.
L astly,a more decorative passage, a more imaginative
always in the same country
’
T was a fair scene the sunbeam layOnbattled tower and portal grey :And from the grassy S lope he seesThe Greta flow to meet the T eesWhere
,issuing from her darksome b e d,
Sh e caught th e morning’s eastern r e d,
x1 v S COTT AND B YR ON 1 87
And through the softening vale belowR o ll
’
d her bright waves, in rosy glow,
All blushing to h e r bridal b e d,L ike some shy maid in convent bredWhile linnet
,lark
, and blackbird gay,S ing forth her nuptial roundelay.
How clearly has th is little piece of fantasy spru ng from theintense pleasure with which the nature- impassioned poetstudied the scene ! Equally beautiful in choice of detail andS imple melody is the picture of a streamlet in Thor’s D ell(Canto 1v. stan . i i. i i i . )R okeby,
i t may be feared, is read now so comparativelyl ittle
,that I have been tempted into free quotation . Why, i t
may be asked, should verse of this qual ity be ranked with theprofounder, the more powerful, more refined, and richer poetryof which the present century has given us such a splendidabundance ? Scott’s landscape seems to me to deserve thisplace because of its entire straightforwardness and freedomfrom affectation from its peculiar objectivity
,so characteristic
of the early,the H omeric
,ages
,so s incere
,so heart - felt, so
healthy. I f it wants the deeper tones,the finer and ri cher
m inu tia e,of o u r la te r verse, i t is almost single, especially in some
of the short songs or ballads,in the exquisite simplicity with
which i t handles Nature, taking her and her beauty always asthey are ; setting them, as it were, in contrast (but a contrastof juxtaposition, not of expressed moral) to l ife and humanthought. So the hills and the sea looked five hundred yearssince when Bruce sailed, so they look now . Scott leavesi t to us to draw the lesson
,only here and there throwing
in a slight sad undertone of reflection . H e is the most unselfconscious of our great modern poets .
L e t me now leave this great and delightful master,“ the
whole world’s darl ing,” as Wordsworth nobly named him
,
with a few lovely l ines pa inting a little mountain glen,which
will perhaps have the charm of novelty to most readers
The fairy path that we pursue,
D istingu ish’
d b u t by greener hue,
1 88 L AND S CAPE I N RECEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
Winds round the purple brae,
Wh ile A lp ine flowers of varied dyeFo r c arpet serve
,or tapestry .
S e e how the little runnels leap,
In th reads of S ilver,down th e steep
,
T o swel l th e brooklet’s moanS eems that the H igh land Naiad grieves,Fantastic while her crown she weavesOfrowan
,bi rch
,and alder leaves
,
S o lovely,and so lone .
1
These words are placed in the mouth of a lover as he leadshis bride through her new domain . With what fine taste hasS cott— the earl iest and stil l the most romantic of our romanticpoets—here thrown in the little classical allusion ! What agrace, also, let me add, does this echo from the o ld worldimpart
Scott, after Chaucer, is the one of all our non - dramaticpoets who puts himself least forward ; one of the few whothought l ittle or nothing
,personally, of themselves ; the one
who trusts most to letting his characters and scenes speak forthemselves . By inevitable natural law he is indeed
,of course
,
present in his work ; but, like Homer,like Shakespeare
,
beh ind the curtain ; latent in his own creation . L ord Byronall know
,is here S cott’s direct antithesis. Yet
Byron 1s not subjective,’ in the ordinary sense Ofthat word. It
was his own sufferings,at least in all his earlier poetry
,which
constrained him to write, which coloured his verse. But hisegotism
,i f i t should bear that name, has been greatly exagge r
ated,after h is too common fashion, by Macaulay. Byron’s
landscape style resembles that of Scott in i ts direct painting,in
its rapid motion, but, as a rule, with very superior though veryunequal power. In fact
,to digress for a moment, perhaps no
English poet has equalled Byron, whether in his grasp and
sweep of subject,his free sympathy with mankind, or in what
we might call his initial force . In narrative,how straight to
the mark does his energy go, compared with the bewildering1 Tb e B r ida l ofTr i e rm a in, Int . to Canto 1 1 1 .
1 90 L AND S CAPE I N RECEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
more,the one English poet of his time who wrought for him
self European acceptance.
I fin D onj u anByron’s variety of range is most em inently
d isplayed, C/ u
'
lde H a r old (with exception of a few lyrics al ikeprecious for brill iancy and passion) must be held his masterpiece as poet ; at his best in command
'
of langu age, in S inglewords and phrases, wellnigh unique in their absolute directness of force ; at his best, also, in meditative thought andpathos
,in skil ful union of historical with romantic interest .
In our special field,Nature
,his magnificent sweep
,his vivid
power,almost passing into bravado, have their full scope ;
here his brush paints the large landscape of T itian,or Wilson,
or Turner. Byron’s main attitude towards Nature, l ike Scott’s,
is s imply descriptive ; in his own beautiful phrase, he loves“ Earth only for its earthly sake .
” Yet this landscape is notunfrequently coloured by some moral connected with life,especially that of his own sad experience ; or even by a vaguesuggestion of Soul or D eity immanent in Nature. In thisrespect Byron approaches Shel ley
,and may have been in
flu enc ed by him .
The Tales, though laid in picturesque and varied scenery,afford few hints of landscape ; and, indeed, for success wherethe vignette style is required
,he has rarely sufficient fine
ness of touch . H is fondness for the sea has inspired himwith a few brill iant l ines describing the pirate’s vessel in theCo r sa i r
S he walks the waters like a thing of l ife,And seems to dare the elements to strife
and again
Meantime,the steady breeze serenely blew
,
And fast and falcon - like the vessel flew.
Sketch from the S iege ofCor int/z may be given’T is midnight on the mountains brownThe c old
,round moon shines deeply down
B lue roll the waters, blu e the skyS preads like an ocean hung on high,
x1v S COTT AND B YR ON 1 9 1
Bespangled with those isles of light,S o wildly, spiri tually bright.
The waves on eithe r shore lay there,Calm,
clear,and azure as the air
And scarce thei r foam the pebbles Shook,B u t m u rm u r
’d meekly as the brook.
In Manfr ed the Mountain Spirit’s song upon Mont Blanchas immense vivid energy
,although the lyrical effect is injured
by the bounding anapaestic metre which Byron’s ear was notfine enough to use with the skill and modulation of Tennyson,or of Swinburne, especially, perhaps, in his earl ier work . I f thisand the other lyrics i n Manfr ed were suggested by Shelley,the comparison i s curiously unfavourable to Byron . H e i smore successful in the blank verse A lpine pictures
The difficult air of th e iced mountain ’s top,
Where the birds dare not build,nor insect’s wing
Flit o’er the herbless granite .
There is a very masterful passage in the Address to the Sun
(Ac t i i i . S cene The personification here is singula rly ablethough, characteristically, i t i s less a physical than a historicaldescription , connected everywhere with the human aspects ofour “ chief star ”
Glor iou s Orb the idolOfearly nature
, and the vigorous raceOfundiseased mankind.
Most glori ous orb that wert a worship, e re
The mystery of thy making was r e ve a l’dThou earliest minister of the A lmighty,Which gla dden
’d, on the ir mounta in tops, the hearts
Ofthe Chaldean shepherds,till they p o u r’d
Themselves in orisons
The picture of himself when in Greece, drawn in Byron
’smost impassioned and perfect poem, the D r ea m of his earlylove, has a breadth, a simple beauty more beautiful through
1 9 2 L AND S CA PE I N R E CEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
i ts very unadornment, such as our later art in words or colourshas rarely reached
H e layR eposing from the noontide sultriness,Co u ch
’d among fallen columns, in the Shade
Ofr u in’d walls that ha d survived the namesOfthose who r e a r
’d them by h is S leep ing sideS tood camels grazing, and some goodly steedsWere fasten’d near a fountain and a man,Clad in a flowinggarb, did watc h the while,While many of his tribe slum b e r’d aroundAnd they were canop ied by the blue sky,S o cloudless
,clear
, and purely beautiful,That God alone was to be seen in heaven .
Byron’s landsc a p e ,howe ve r, as we have said, i s most copiouslyexhibited in Ckilde H a r old. And as the writing of this poemwas spread over some seven or eight years
,it exhibits a very
marked progressive advance in power. The landscape ofCanto 1 1 is much above that of Cintra in Portugal in Canto 1
,
which is hardly more than a simple l ist
Th e horrid crags, by toppling convent c rown’d,The cork - trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep
and so forth . But in the next book we have a meditation,truly felt
,though the touch may be still somewhat immature
,
on the sense of sol itude and its charm for man
To S it on rocks, to muse o’er flood and fell,
T o slowly trace the forest’s shady scene,Where things that own not man’s domin ion dwell,And mortal foot hath ne’er or rarely beenT o climb the trackless mountain all unseen ,With the wild flock that never needs a foldA lone o’er steeps and foaming falls to leanThis is not solitude ’tis b u t to hold
Converse with Nature’s charms, and view her stores unro ll’d.
Beautiful and brill iant is the landscape of A ttica, even in itsdesolation
1 94 L AND S CAPE I N R E CEN T P OE TR Y CHAP
H a r old are clearly du e to the peculiar difli c u ltie s presented bythe Spenserian stanza—the least appropriate metrical form ,
we may venture to say,which could have been chosen by a
poet whose force lay, not in Spenser’s long - drawn musical
d iffuseness of style, but in terseness and rapidi ty of d iction .
Perhaps in the gentler scenes the poet appears at his best ; hei s then less tempted to rhetoric. Such is the following L akelandscape
It is the hush of night, and all betweenThymargin and the mountains
,dusk, yet clear,
Me llow’d and mingling, yet distinc tly seen,
S ave da rken’d Jura, whose cap t heights appearP recip itously steep and drawing near,There breathes a living fragrance from the shoreOfflowers yet fresh with childhood on the earD rops the light drip of the suspended oar,
Or chi rps the grasshopper one good- night carol more.
L e t us now pass to a companion picture in Canto IV fromVenice, that
“ fairy city of the heart , as Byron called it i n aphrase which must have been in the m ind of many Englishtravellers
Th e moon is u p , and yet i t i s not nightS unset divides the sky with her—a seaOfglory streams along the Alpine he ightOfblue Friuli’s mountains H eaven i s freeFrom clouds, but of all c olours seems to beMelted to one vast I ri s of the West,Where the D ay jo ins the past EternityWhile
,on the other hand
,meek D ian’s crest
Floats through the azure air—an island of the blest
A single star is at her side, and reignsWith her o’er half the lovely heaven b u t stillYon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remainsR o ll’d o’er the peak of th e far Rhaetian hill.
Byron’s enthusiasm for the sea (let me repeat) has beencuriously rare among our poets ; we have to go back to the
x1 v S COTT AND B YR ON 1 95
verse before the Conquest to find it painted with the fullness of so ng, natural, one might say, to Englishmen. The
episode which ends Ckilde H a r ol d is splendid for force ofd iction and varied imagery, yet strangely marred by forcedsyntax and forced expression . P erhaps the poet’s idea is bestconcentrated in the three beautiful l ines
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves’ playT ime writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow
S uch as creation’s dawn beheld, thou ro lle st now.
The L andscape of D on j u an, notably in the m agnificentshipwreck scene of the second Canto
,- almost overwhelming
in its forthright,volcanic
,force
,—ranks with the best of Byron’s
other work . But it i s diffi cul t to di sentangle these descriptiveelements from the cynical humour which blends in the wholeaction of that unique poem .
To conclude : Byron’s love of landscape was a passion,deep and sincere perhaps as that of any poet. One renderingof this we have already quoted . L e t me end with the graceful lines addressed to his j ustly loved sister
,in which also we
may note how his energetic mind leads him back perforce tohuman feeling
Th e world i s all before me b u t I askOfNature that with which she will complyIt i s b u t in her summer’s sun to bask
,
T o mingle with the quiet of h e r sky,T o see her gentle face wi thout a mask,And never gaze on it wi th apathy.
S h e was my early friend,and now shall be
My S ister—till I look again on thee .
R EA TS,S HEL L E Y
1 SAMUEL TAY LOR COL ER I DGE ( 1 772 - 1 834 ) presents a new, amore complex and difficult problem to us than his four greatcontemporaries . Every poet’s treatmen t of Nature
,we Should
often remind ourselves, l ike his treatment OfMan,must always
and inevitably be governed by his whole characte r, his heart,and head ; what, in brief, was comprehensively named by theGreeks his 6009 . S cott
,Byron
,Keats
,offer l ittle analysis of
human character,l ittle eth ical interpretation of life ; nor can
any serious valid ity be justly assigned to Shelley’s incoherentlyeloquent boyish essays in philosophy . But Coleridge, as ourlamented W. H . Pater notes, in an admirable sketch,1 to whichI am here indebted, was a
“su btle - sou led p syc/zologist, as
Shelley call s him,
“ that is,a more minute Observer
“ than other men of the phenomena of mind.
”This habit
,
when the landscape i s concerned,takes the form
,Pater r e
marks,of a singular watchfulness for the minute fact and ex
press ion of natural scenery,
” as if physically piercing to thel inne r soul of Nature or, perhaps, in Bishop Berkeley
’s fashion,
almost thinking of the landscape itself,o r at least its beauty
,
as half created by the Observing eye and mind in Coleridge’s1 own phrase
We receive b u t what we give,And in ou r life alone does Nature live .
H ence,perhaps
,his landscape rarely takes the form of de sc r ip1 Wa rd 's Engli s/z P oe ts, vol . iv.
1 98 L AND S CAPE I N R E CEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
With this compare also a later written night scene of two loversin a wood
Th e stars above o u r heads were dim and steady,
L ike eyes suffused with rapture.
P resently,as the “ lovely lady enters
There i s not wind enough to twi rlThe one r e d leaf
,the last of i ts c lan
,
That dances as Often as dance it can,Hanging so light, and hanging so high,Onthe topmost twig that looks u p at the sky.
Both these C/zr ista bel passages, i t should be noticed, are closelyfounded on Miss Wordsworth’s tenderly felt journals, as shownby Mr . J . D . Campbell in his excellent edit ion of the Poems . 1
Now from the Ma r iner on his spellbound voyage
A ll in a hot and Copper sky,Th e bloody S un, at noon,R ight u p above the mast did stand,NO bigger than the Moon .
Th e S un ’s rim dips the stars rush o u t
A t one stride comes the darkWith far- heard whisper, o’er the sea,Offshot the spectre - bark.
—Th e c oming wind did roar more loud,And the sails did S igh like sedgeAnd th e rain p o u r ’d down from one black clou dTh e Moon was at its edge .
Th e thick black cloud was cleft, and stillThe Moon was at its S ide
1 Ma cm illan, 1 89 3 . B eyond pra i se fo r th e a c c u ra cy and resea rc h wh ichth is vo lum e exh ibits , i t i s im possible no t to feel th a t th e pu blic a t ion of the
la rger po rtion a m ong th e verses now first printed or ga thered toge ther(a ltho ugh often biograph ic a lly interesting) wo u ld b e inju rio u s to th e fam e ofCo leridge , if, indeed ,
i t c o ul d b e inju red . B u rns , Kea ts , Sh e lley, and o thersh ave suffered sim ila r wrong. Well fo r th e poets ofOld , who destroyed a ll theirsc affo ld ings and sketc h e s
xv COLER I D GE , KEA TS , SHEL L E Y 1 99
L ike waters Shot from some high crag,The lightning fell with never a jag,A river steep and wide .
And in delightful contrast, when the curse i s over, and the‘v ship nearing land
S ometimes a - dropping from the SkyI heard the sky - lark singS ometimes all little birds that are,How they se em
’d to fill the sea and airWith the ir sweet jargon ing
L ast, in this region of“ dreamy grace and unrivalled
fancy,Coleridge, whether in dream or waking, tells how Ku bla
Khan decreed his “ stately pleasure- dome
Where A lph, the sac red river, ranThrough caverns measureless to manD own to a sunless sea.
S o twice five miles of fertile groundWith walls and towers were girdled rou ndAnd here were gardens bright with sinuous rills,Where b lo ssom ’
d many an incense - bearing treeAnd here were forests ancient as the hills,Enfo lding su nny spots of greenery.
Beautiful,however
,as are these vignettes, his pictorial power,
his shaping spirit,
” his penetrative and subtle detail—thoughinevitably the special glamour of Ckr ista bel and the Ma r iner
be absent—are not less displayed in the English landscape,
to which,as a rule, Coleridge
’s confines himself. Thus,in
the Fea r s inS olitude, we find the scenery of Nether- S towey
A green and silent spot, amid the hills,A small and silent dell O
’e r stiller place
NO singing sky- lark ever poi sed himself.Th e h ills are heathy
,save that swelling slope,
Which hath a gay and gorgeous covering on,A ll golden with the never - bloomless furze,Whic h now blooms most profusely b u t the dell
,
Bathed by the mist,is fresh and delicate
2 00 L AND S CAPE I N R E CEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
As vernal corn - fie ld, or the u nripe fl ax,When
,through its half- transparent stalks, at eve
Th e level sun shine glimmers w ith green,light
Oh ’ti s a quiet sp iri t- healing nook
may add the impassioned address
0 native Britain O my Mother IsleThere lives nor form nor feeling in my soulUnb o rrow’d from my country
Coleridge and Wordsworth, lu cida Sider a , are so closelyintertwined in fame
,as they were in life
,that I cannot here
refrain from quoting Wordsworth’s companion apostrophe
Ah not for emerald fields alone,
With ambient streams more pure and brightThan fabled Cytherea’s zone
,
Glittering before the Thunderer’s S ight,I s to my heart of hearts ende a r’dTh e ground where we were born and r e a r
’d
R eturning to Coleridge, passage on passage of S imilarbeauty brighten the Fr ost a t M dnzglzt, the Ode on D ej ection,the E olianH a rp , theMg/ztinga le, and the detailed landscape ofthe Quantock H i lls in the lines addressed To a YoungFr iend.
From the powerful,but much overstrained Ode to Fr ance
we take the very imaginative prelude
Y e Clouds that far above me float and pause,
Wh ose pathless march no mortal may controulYe Ocean -Waves that
,whe r e so
’e r ye roll,
Yield homage only to eternal lawsYe Woods that li sten to the night - bi rds’ singing,Midway the smooth and perilou s slope reclined,
S ave when your own imperiou s bran ches swinging,H ave made a solemn mu sic Ofthe windWhere, like a man beloved of God,Through glooms, which never woodman trod,
How oft,pursuing fancies holy,
Mymoonlight way o’er floweringweeds I wound,
2 02 L AND S CAPE I N RE CEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
sonal feel ing,how rarely has this sketch been equalled by
any previous landscape in po etryTwo more small vignettes, all made up of mus ic and beauty,
may be added to this l ittle anthology,and, I hope, lead others
to search for other l ike flowers in the poet’s garden . The
fi rst i s an oriental scene of fancy
Enc in c tu red w ith a twine Ofleaves,That leafy twine his only dressA lovely Boy was plu c king fruits,By moonlight, in a wilderness .The moon w a s bright, the air was free,And fruits and flowers together grewOnmany a shrub and many a t reeAnd all p u t on a gentle hu e ,Hanging in the shadowy airL ike a p icture rich and rare .
The magical note of R u bla K/zan seems here audible, asour next little song
,though probably written in and
founded upon a sentence in S idney’s A r ca dia , yet seems tobreathe the melody and repose Of the poet’s early days of toobrief happiness . I t has the charm of a fragment by Sappho
0 fair is L ove’s fi rst hope to gentle mindA s Eve’s first star thro’ fl e e cy cloudlet peepingAnd sweeter than the gentle sou th -west wind,O
’e r willowy meads , and sha dow
’d waters creep ing,And Ceres’ golden fields —the sultry hindMeets it with brow uplift
,and stays hi s reaping.
A few more mere snatches from Coleridge’s work shall beour lingering farewell to this true s inger. The Advent ofL ove is thus delicately drawn
A s sighing o’er the b lossom’s bloomMeek Evening wakes its soft perfumeWith viewless influence.
Now,from Sp r ing in a Vi llage, two beautiful lines paint
children running out to play how they1 S i c J. D . Cam pbell .
xv COL ER I D GE ,KEA TS , SHE L L E Y 203
R e leased from school, the ir little hearts at rest,L aunch paper navies on thy waveless bre ast.
Or take th is glance at the world’s earl iest sunset
—Nature m o u rn’d when sunk the fi rst D ay’s light,With stars
,unseen before
,spangling he r robe of N ight.
What an imaginative touch is that unseenbefor e !
L astly,a winter scene
When the rustic’s eye,
From the drear desolate whiteness of his fields,R olls for relief to watch th e Skiey tintsAnd clou ds slow varying the i r huge imagery.
But enough of these disiecti m em br a p oeta e . L e t me sumup in a word. Even Shakespeare’s grasp OfNature
,though
wider,is not
,I think
,more intimate than Coleridge’s ! T o
take a figure from physical science,the union of Nature wi th
the soul in him is chemical,not mechanical combination }
We have now a small group of poets whose style belongsessentially to the early part of the nineteenth century . Noneof their landscapes
,perhaps
,are painted as Offering anymoral
appealing to the human soul ; none of them approach therendering of the inner animating principle of Nature as the express ion of the Creator’s will and pleasure . 1 Yet these landscapes also belong truly to the modern school ; such finisheddefinite pictures
,wrought for their own sake , will be looked
for almost in vain amo ng all the cen turies preceding.
Earliest of these,and indeed partly belo nging to the previous
century,George Crabbe ( 1 754 - 1 8 3 2 ) represents the unc on
ventiona l treatment of life,the contempt or di staste for court
and town,the closer sympathy wi th the poor
,which began to
be felt in l iterature when the reign of D ryden and Pope wasover. But he also shared the impulse to write out the landscape in verse
,which had begun with Thomson . From this
,
howe ver,Crabbe discarded the decorative treatment of the
S ea sons, and the direct moralisation of Cowper. Nature with
204 L AND S CAPE I N R E CEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
him is seen in her bare simplicity—austere often,sometimes
\ ugly in her nakedness . TO quote an excellent criticism byH az l itt on H ogarth (an artist in some degree analogous toCrabbe),
“H e was conform ed to t/zis w or ld, not tr ansfor m ed ;such is our poet’s landscape. A passage upon Pascal by R .
W. Church—that master in taste and in style—applies toCrabbe not less than to Wordsworth . Both have “ that exactagreement of word and meaning
,that sincerity of the writer
with himself as well as with his readers, cc consentem ent de vou sa vec vousmem e, out of which, as a principle of composition,Pascal’s excellence grew.
The specimen I offer on a subject with which early l ifehad familiari sed him,
but which poetry had hitherto rarelyhandled, is more sunny than i s the poet
’s wont. I t is the seaof our Eastern coasts, from Tbe B or ougk, 1 8 1 0
Various and vast, sublime in all its forms,When lu ll’d by zephyrs, or when roused by stormsIts colours changing, when from clouds and sun
Shades after shades upon the surface r unEm b r own’d and horrid now
,and now serene
,
In limp id b lue and evanescent greenAnd oft the foggy banks on oc ean lie,L ift the fair sail, and cheat the e xperienc ed eye .
1
Be it the S ummer noon a sandy spaceThe ebbing tide has left upon its plac eThen just the hot and stony beach aboveL ight twinkling st reams in br ight confusion move(Fo r heated thus, the warmer air ascends,And with the c oole r in its fall c ontends)Then the broad bosom of the ocean keepsAnequal motion swelling as it sleeps,Then slowly sinking curling to th e strand,Faint, lazy waves o ’e r c r e e p the ridgy sand,Or tap the tarry boat with gentle blow,
And back retu rn in silence, sm ooth and slow.
H ow curious here, and how characteristic of the period, i s
1 The effe c t ofth e Mi r age , o r Fa ta Morgana .
2 06 L AND S CA PE I N R E CEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
When the wide R iver was a S ilver Sheet,And upon Ocean S lept th e unanc ho r’d fleetWhen the w ing’d Insect settled in o u r S ight,And waited wind to recommence her fl ight. 1
Fi tzgerald’s epithet, wonderfu l, i s surely j ustified here —Ihave followed his text literally ; he seems to have quoted bymemory
,or, to enhance the effect, has slightly changed a word
or two,and rearranged the order.
John Clare ( 1 793 born and bred i n a day- labourer’scottage
,a struggler with poverty till his mind failed him
,was
a “ Poet of the P oor in a sense beyond most who haveboasted that title. Yet to this l ife he owed that close profusion of country images which an inborn tender genius forpoetry enabled him to offer. I t i s pure landscape painting,l ike that OfKeats in youth, though beneath that in power .Such i s the landscape of h is early S umm e r E vening
2
Crows crowd c roaking ove rh ead,Hasten ing to the woods to b e d.
Cooing sits the lonely dove,Calling home her absent love .
With Kir chu p ! Ki rc hu p’mong the wheats,
P artridge di stant partridge greets .
Bats fl it by in hood and c owlThrough the ham - hole pops the owlFrom the hedge, in d rowsy h um ,
Heedless buzzing beetles b um ,
Haunting every bushy place,Flopp ing in the labou rer’s face .
Flowers now S leep within the ir hoodsD aisies button into bu dsFrom soiling dew th e butter- c u pShuts his golden jewels u p
1 T a les ofth e H a ll , B . xi , Tb c Ma id'
s S tory.
2 T ha t very u sefu l boo k , th e P oets (y’ tite Centu ry, with c opio u s spec im ens ,ed i ted byMr . A . H. Mi les, ha s supplied m e wi th th is and a few o ther piec es .
xv COL ER I D GE ,KEA TS
,SHEL L E Y 207
And the rose and woodbine theyWait again the smiles of day.
This may seem an easy styl e, almost a mere catalogue. L e t
those who think so,try That delicate minute truth to fact ;
that pure simple sincerity of touch,and every word in its
natural place ; yet the indescribable something that makespoetry
,poetry
,preserved ; by inborn gift only, not labour
ever so strenu ous,can this be effected .
But the u nhappy poet’s best gifts in song came during thetwenty years and more of later life which he spent in anasylum . D uring that long but inevitable imprisonment sanityseems to have returned to him at times but accompanied asi t was by consciousness of where he was
,and why he was
there,I know not whether such recovery can be counted gain .
NO poetry known to me has a sadness more absolute thanClare’s asylum songs
,reverting with what pathetic yearning to
the vi llage scenes of his hard- worked youth ! I gather a fewof these pictures from the past ; Clare also is one of the ( I
too numerous) unjustly S lighted
Aye , flowers Th e very name of flowers,
That bloom in wood and glen,B r ings§ S p r ing to me in Winter’s hours,And Childhood’s dreams again .
Th e primrose on the woodland leaWas more than gold and lands to me .
The violets by th e woodland S ideA r e thick as they could thriveI’ve talked to them with childish prideAs things that were aliveI find them now in my di stressThey seem as sweet
,yet valueless .
Then, when early love awoke the heart
The brook that m ir ro r’d clear the skyFull well I know the spot
The mou se - ear lo ok’d with bright blue eye,And said Forget -me - not.”
2 08 L AND S CAPE I N RE CEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
And from the brook I tu rn’d away,
But heard it many an after day.
Or again
Th e Sheep wi thin the fallow field,
The herd upon the green,The larks that in the thistle shield,And p ipe from m om to e’en
O for the pasture, fields, and fenWhen shall I see such rest again ?
more sadly tender i s My E a r ly H ome
Here spar rows build upon the trees,
And stockdove hides her nestThe leaves are w innow’
d by the b reezeInto a calmer rest
The black- cap’s songwas very sweetThat used the rose to ki ssIt made the Paradise completeMy early home was this .
The Old house stOOp ’d just like a cave,Th a tch
’d o’er with m osses greenWinter a round the walls would rave,B u t all was calm within .
The trees are here all green agen,H ere bees the flowers still kiss
But flowers and trees se em ’d sweeter then
My early home was this .
H ere, widely unl ike from Crabbe, poor Clare’s miserable fate
has le d him to find a strange sympathy with Nature. Evenin the madhouse she throws a soothing, a harmonising, almosta healing spell over him.
Charles Whitehead ( 1 804 another forgotten writer,
i n the S oli ta ry,his earl iest work gave a promise
unfulfil led by his li fe, which was wrecked by intemperance.
I quote a single landscape scene . T his is simply de sc ript ive beyond what he saw the poet was probably inc a p
2 1 0 L AND S CAPE I N R E CEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
true delight in Nature and with some power of Observation . Buth is work as poet wa s
_m a rre d —ih one way by hasty indifference
to fin ish and concentration,in another by the crude un
scrupulous violence with which his political views wererendered an atmosphere at all times asphyxiating to poetry.
Among his rare successes the li ttle,apparently early
,song
To t/ze B r a m ble Flow er may be quoted i t is one of the proofshow the spirit at least which inspired Wordsworth was now inthe air
Though woodbines flaunt, and roses glowO
’e r all the fragrant bowers,
Thou ne e d’st not be ashamed to ShowThy satin - threaded flowers
Fo r du ll the eye,the heart is dull,
That cannot feel how fair,
Amid all beauty beautiful,
Thy tender blossoms areH ow delic ate thy gauzy frillHow rich thy b ranc hy stem
How soft thy voice,when woods are still,
And thou sing’st hymns to them .
This last touch,though not worked out, has an imaginative
quali ty rare in El liott’s now scantly remembered verse.
The work in poetry of John Keats ( 1 79 5 - 1 8 2 1 ) falls withinthe five last years of his short l ife. Yet it was suffi cient, inthe repeated j udgment of A lfred T ennyson, to allow the beliefthat
,had his days been prolonged, Keats would have proved
our gr eatest poet s ince Mi lton .
1 H is landscape seems to meof quite equal importance with the human side Ofhis work ;1
i t was,indeed
,the region in which he felt that his art, as yet
unqualified through youthful inexperience to deal powerfullywith human character and interests
,attained the highest
mastery}Keats
,sharing with Shelley an intense appreciation of
1 Tha t is , p otenti a lly a bove Wordsworth , whose op u s op e r a tu m Ofeightyyea rs gave h im a c tu a lly tha t pla c e inTennyson’s m ind .
xv COLER I D GE , KEA TS , SHEL L E Y 2 1 1
Nature, has a music in his verse more solemn, i f less aerial )H e neither views the landscape through the colours of personalfeeling l ike Byron
,nor with Wordsworth thinks of i t as all ied
with human sympathy, or as penetrated by spiritual l ife, nor,with Shelley, wearies us with a crude pantheism . H ence hispictures are more powerfully true to actuality he grasps thescene more vividly, emblazons it more richly : the Object, seenin thought
,has the salience
,the rel ief
,of Nature ; the melody
never pausing,and the word the “ inevi ta ble
” word. H ence,
what A rnold named his “ fascinating felicity.
A lthough,as we shall note
,there i s an advance of marvellous
rapidity in the clearness and management of his matter, Keatswas throughout moved by a few simple impulses. 0 Beauty,with him
,as with the Greeks, is the first word and the last of
art the one quality without which it is not. In this respect,
as in his admiration for the classical mythology, Keats was atrue son of Hellas . If at first, as he felt and acknowledged,he viewed Beauty too much through its outward sensuousform
,yet in truth it was “ the mighty abstract idea of i t “ in
all things ” which inspired him . No r,even from early days,
could Beauty alone enthral him,or render his soul blind to the
perplexing problems of the world. Thus,in the youthful
S leep and P oetry he first expresses his joy in the pure aspectsof Nature
,whilst confessing that a “ nobler l ife must deal
withThe agonies, the strife
Ofhuman hearts
—that this is the true sphere of imagination in her fl ightthrough heaven .
Some specimens may now be Offered from the first of thepoet’s three precious l ittle volumes
,that published in 1 8 1 7.
H ere the freshness Ofphrase, going straight from his imagination to ours, the absolute sincerity and in sight of the descriptivetouches
,are amaz ing—they seem almost “ rather things than
words. ” The first i s a morning scene
The clouds were pure and white as flocks new shorn,
And fresh from the clear brook sweetly they slept
L AND S CAPE IN R ECEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
On the blue fields Ofheaven, and then there crept
A little noiseless noise among the leaves,Born of the very sigh that silence heavesFo r not the faintest motion cou ld be seenOfall the shades that slanted o’er the green .
H ere are Sweet peas, on tip - toe for a flightWith w ings of gentle flush o’er delicate white,And taper fingers c atching at all things,T o bind them all abou t with tiny rings .
we ar e by a streamlet
Where swarms Ofminnows show their little heads,S taying their wavy bodies ’gainst the streams,To taste the luxury of sunny beamsT em p e r
’
d,w ith coolness . How they ever wrestle
With their own sweet delight, and ever nestleTheir silver bellies on the pebbly sand.
If yo u b u t scantily hold o u t the hand,
That very instant not one will remainBut turn your eye
,and they are there again .
Until at last we have
The moon lifting her silver rimAbove a cloud, and with a gradual swimComing into the blue with all her light .
This,with other Engl ish scenes, such as Ca lidor e
,that
romantic sketch in Spenser’s style, are all presented in scatte red vignettes : the young poet in the abundance of his heartlosing S ight of wholeness and of reserve ; the wording sometimes defective in taste and stained with mannerisms du e to theinfluence OfL eigh H unt . Keats, to return to the poem alreadyquoted
,is led at once by the charm of Nature to find in her
what inspired the o ld poets with the tales OfP syche,Narcissu s
,
and lastly,“ that sweetest of all songs,
”Endym ion. SO early
was he fascinated !
D espite the want of sobriety in art strongly felt in theseearly sketches
,yet even at this s tage the Sonnet form
,as it
2 1 4 L AND S CA PE I N RE CEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
A thousand fel icit ies of description are scattered throughit, as it were, at random . Yet we find some natural sceneswhich present more unity. Such is the Song to Pan inBook I, where the first stanza shows the wild wood hauntedby th e god ; the second i s a pastoral landscape ; in the thirdthe Satyrs and Fauns appear ; the fourth records Pan
’s usefulm inistry to man
,with some glimpse at the inner meaning of
Nature and her influence over the soul . S imilar in style isthe bower of Adoni s
,within which he is found by Venus .
H e r approach I must quote
L o the wreathed greenD i sparted
,and far upward c ou ld be seen
B lue heaven,and a silver car
,ai r - hom e
,
Whose silent wheels,fresh wet from clouds of morn
Spun offa drizzling dew .
What poet, dealing with this poet
’s theme,favourite since
Grecian days,has imagined i t more exquisitely ? P resently
Endymion is brought again into the presence of his L ove
It was a jasmine bower,all bestrown
With golden moss . H is every sense h ad grownEthereal for pleasure ’bove his headFlew a delight half-graspable .
Even Coleridge, in his vi sionary poems, has not exceededthe magical beauty of this last phrase . Yet it does not touch
Jthe spiritual note of Ckr ista bel.But we must
,lastly
,pass on to the picture of the world
undersea, which may be fairly set beside Clarence’s dream
in R i cka rd tb c Tb ir d,and Panthea’s vision in P r om etkeus
Unbound, Ac t IV. Keats here at twenty- two takes his placeby Shakespeare and Shelley
Fa r h a d he ro am ’d,
With nothing save the hollow vast, that fo am ’
d
Above,around
,and at his feet
Old rusted anchors, helmets, breast - plates largeOfgone sea -warriors braz en beaks and targeR udders that for a hundred years ha d lost
xv COL ER I D GE , KEA TS , SHEL L E Y 2 1 5
The sway of human hand gold vase em b o ss’dWith long forgotten story, and whereinNo reveller ha d ever d ipp ’d a chinBut those of S aturn’s v intage mouldering scrolls,Writ in the tongue of heaven, by those soulsWho first were on th e earth and scu lptures rudeIn ponderous stone, developing the moodOfanc ient Nox then skeletons of man
,
Ofbeast, behemoth, and leviathan,And elephant
,and eagle, and huge jaw
Ofnameless monster. A cold leaden aweThese secrets struck into him.
The tropical rapidity of growth in the m ind of Keats, and
of his command over poetry, is almost as noteworthy as hisaffluence . H is last volume ( 1 8 2 0 ) holds nearly all his finestwork— the work through which he l ives in the world’s memory.
I n this embarrassment of riches,my selections must be brief
,
must be inadequate. The tale of I sa bella has perfect li ttletouches of landscape, of which one, rendered in a beautifulthough perhaps a misplaced figure
,has been justly celebrated
by R uskin. The treacherous brothers are speaking
TO - daywe purpose, ay, th is hour we mountT o spu r three leagues towards the Apenn ine
Com e down, we pray thee, ere the hot suncountH is dewy rosary on th e eglantine .
”
Now,the sad heroine’s despair
S h e forgot the stars, the moon, and sun,
And she forgot the blue above the trees,And she forgot the dells where waters r un,And she forgot the c hilly autumn breeze
She ha d no knowledge when the daywas done,And the new m orn she saw not.
One stanza must be also given from the splendid Ode to tireMgktinga le ; i t clearly marks the poet
’s greater mastery,as
his few months went by,of simplicity and reserve
2 1 6 L AND S CAPE I N RE CEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
No r what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,B u t, in embalmed darkness, gu ess each sweetWherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fru it - t ree wildWhite hawthorn
,and the pastoral eglantine
Fast fading violets c o v e r’d u p in leavesAnd m id-May’s eldest child,
Th e comingmusk - rose,fu ll of dewy wine
,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves .
Two more landscape poems remain, so perfect in style, sovividly and accurately presenting their scenes
,so beautiful in
their unity,that it would be hard to find anywhere more
memorable masterpieces Of art. Yet neither here nor elsewhere inKeats do we seem to trace any d istinct interp r eta ti on‘of Nature. The invocation to Fancy may fairly be placedonly second
,in du e distance, to the A llegr o in its peculiar style,
in its sweet music. Such is the power OfFancy (he says),that she brings all the seasons as i t were before the soul atonce as in some enchanted garden
Thou shalt hearD istant harvest - c arols clearR ustle of the reaped cornSweet birds antheming the mornAnd
,in the same moment—hark
’T is the early Apr il la rk,O r the rooks
,with busy caw
,
Foraging for sticks and straw.
Thou shalt,at one glance, behold
Th e daisy and th e marigoldWhite - plumed lilies
,and the first
Hedge -
grown primrose that hath burstShaded hyacinth
,alway
S apph i re queen of the Mid-May
And every leaf,and every flower
P earled w ith the self- same shower.Thou shalt see the fie ld-mou se peepMeagre from its c e lléd sleep
2 1 8 L AND S CA P E I N RE CEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
As when, upon a tranced summer- night,Those green - robed senators of mighty woods,Tall oaks, branch - charmed by the ea rnest
,
stars,
D ream, and so dream all night without a stir,S ave from one gradual solitary gustWhich comes upon the silence
,and dies Off
,
As if the ebbing air h a d b u t one waveS O came these words and went.
The character of Keats has been often misunderstood.
But if I j udge him rightly,the modesty of h is nature, - so
eminently healthy and sane,before his mortal i llness
,
1 —thebeauty and sincerity of his soul
,with the promise Of his
intellectual advance,answered fully to his gifts in song . L e t
us then end this notice with a few words on the landscape froma letter written by the great and unhappy poet in his lastillness—even his verse could hardly have bettered it. H e
turns to Nature,but with what a pathos
,with how deeper a
human feeling,than in h is youth
How astonishingly does the chance of leaving the worldimpress a sense of its natural beau ties upon me ! L ike poorFalstaff
,though I do not “ babble
,
” I think of green fields ; Imu se with the gr eatest affection on every flower I have knownfrom my infancy—their shapes and colours are as new to me asif I ha d just created them with a superhuman fancy. It i s b ecause they are connected with the most thoughtless and thehapp iest moments of o u r lives . I have seen foreign flowers inhothouses
,of the most beautiful nature
,b u t I do not care a
straw for them. Th e simple flowers of our S pring a r e what Ii want to see again .
With Keats we naturally place Percy Bysshe Shelley ( 1 79 2Between those adorers who have done their very best
to deprive this poet of that fame which his unique gifts deserve
, and those who have refused j ust ice to them, the taskbefore us i s uncomfortable and perilous. H appily, Shelley
’s
1 I do not forget the extravagances of expression in the letters written tohis bride du ring his dyingm onths. Y e t i t Shou ld a lways b e rem em bered tha tunder these phra ses lies a love, dee p and pu re a s h a s been recorded ofanypoet .
xv COL ER I D GE , KEA TS , SHEL LE Y 2 1 9
treatment of Nature—his landscape would be too limi ting aword—in those instances where he has concentrated his mindupon his Object, I should myself hold, as in the case of Keats,on the whole
,his mo st precious achievement in poetry. H ere
Nature supplied him (to take a phrase from Co leridge) withthat “ body Of thought ” which is so largely absent from thebulk of his verse .
0
This is no t the time, nor should the writer wish anyhowto be the person
,to attempt a general crit icism upon Shelley .
Yet some words must be hazarded the poet,as Wordsworth
said, like the cloud in heaven
Moveth altogether if i t move at a ll.
And Shelley’s landscape is inevitably l imited and dyed by thecolours of his mind. Without adopting M. A rnold’s judgmentthat Shelley’s prose w il l prove his perm anent memorial, I musthere (with all du e respect and apology) make the confess ion,probably unpopular
,reached after long reluctance, that no
true poet of any age has left us so gigantic a mass of wastede flo rt, exuberance so A siatic, such oceans (to speak out) offluent
,well- intended la tit e—such ineffectual bea of his
wings in the persistent c flo rt to scale hei hts of thou htb eW you
—youth a o sed soSOT
‘W H ence the d ifference between Shelley’s bestand what is not best I S enormous the sudden transition frommere prose rendered more prosaic by its presentation in verse
,
to the most ethereal and exquisite poetry,frequent ; and
hence,also, i t i s in his shorter and mostly later lyrics that
1 L e t anywho revolt aga inst these rem a rks honestly a ttempt to rea d a lo u d
to the end the Qu eenMa b , the R evolt of I sla m , th e Wi tck ifA tla s, and theP r o me t/ze u s Unbou nd. They m ay agree with Shelley’s sentim ents upon the
problem s ofl ife ; they m ay, and ju stly, sym pa th i se with the poet ' s unfa i lingwish to rem edy th e wo rld ’s wrong they will , la stly, rejoice in the (c ompa ra tively few ) flowers sc a ttered thro ugh the desert ; yet , supposing the taskc om pleted , the ju ry will , I th ink , rem i t the extrem e pena l ty of the law to th epresent Offend ing c ri tic . Page after page in Coleridge' s ea rlier poetry isessentia lly, perhaps, no t ona h igher level than I have here ventu red to a ssignto m u c h ofShelley' s wo rk . B u t Coleridge ha s ha d the better fo rtune toesc a pe tha t “ tribe of a m an’s enem ies , omnivorou s a dorers , who c anno trec ognise th a t grea t geniu s m ayno t be a lways , or, ifhis l ife be Short
,even
Often,equ a l to itself.
2 20 L AND S CA P E I N R E CEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
we find Shelley’s very finest,uniquest
,most magically delight
ful work . Yet even here at times the matter is attenuated asthe fi lm of the soap- bubble
,gaining through its very thinness
its marvellous iridescent beauty. Shelley seems to go up andburst
,
” was T ennyson’s remark on a passage of this character. 1
G ladly I now turn to the poet’s landscape . In its bestmoods, where he has focussed his eye on his Object
,it has
that strange power o r vital ising abstractions and things ofNature on which Macaulay has commented in hi s bri lliantmanner. One might almost say of Shelley that his Panthe igmifthat schoolboy philosophy deserve the name—his Pantheisminspires and infuses i tself throughout his verse ; the Anim a
N a tu r a e, at least, seems always before and within the poet.
And this may perhaps be rated his special contribution to oursubject .We must not look in his landscape for human feel ing inter
fused as inColeridge’s, for the chord of true passion, or of thehumanly pathetic
, Shelley could scarcely strike ; nor, again,for Nature moralised and spiritualised as by WordsworthShelley’s landscape is essentially descriptive, but raised to al ife of its own by an imaginative power of perhaps un surpassedpure vividness, and that personifying habit which we have just
1 As Arnold 's deprec ia t ion of Shelley’s poetry has beenm entioned ,i t m ay
be ofinterest to qu ote a fragm ent from his prose. I t desc ribes the B a ths ofCa ra c a lla a t Rom e as h e saw them . Antiqu a rian zea l ha s now denu ded the
ru in into a lea n and frightfu l skeleton.
Never wa s any desola t ion m ore su blim e and lovely. The perpend ic u la rwa ll of ru in i s c loven into steep ravines filled u p wi th flowering Sh ru bs ,whose th ic k twisted ro ots a re kno tted in th e rifts Of the stones . A t everystep the aeria l pinna c les ofsha ttered stone group into new c om bina tions ofeffe c t , and tower a bove the lofty yet level wa lls , a s the d istant m o unta insc hange their a spec t to one travelling rapidly a long the pla in. The blu esky c anopies i t
,and i s a s the everla sting roof ofthese eno rm ou s ha lls.
Com e to R om e. I t is a scene by wh ic h expression i s overpowered ;wh ic h words c a nnot c onvey. S t1ll fu rther , wind ing u p one half of the
sha ttered pyr am id s , by the pa th through the blo om ing copsewo o d , yo u com eto a li ttle m o ssy lawn [uponthe roof ofa still va u lted c ham be r], su rro undedby th e wi ld S h ru bs ; i t i s overgrown with ane m oni e s, wa ll - fl owe rs, and
vio lets , who se sta lks pierce the sta rry m o ss , and with ra d iant blu e flowers ,who se nam es I know no t , and wh ic h sc a tter thro ugh the a ir the d ivinestodou r , wh ic h , a s yo u rec l ine u nder the sha de of th e ru in, pro du ces sensations ofvo luptu o u s fa intness , like the c om bina tions ofsweet m u sic .
2 2 2 . L AND S CAPE I N RE CEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
With rapid steps he wentBeneath the shade of trees
,beside the flow
Ofthe wild babbling rivulet and nowThe forest’s solemn canopies were changedFo r the u niform and ligh tsome evening sky.
Onevery side now roseR ocks, which, in unimaginable forms,L ifted their blac k and barren p innac lesIn the light of evening.
L O where the pass expandsI ts stony jaws
,the abrupt mountain breaks
,
And seems,with its accumu lated c rags,
TO overhang the world for wide expandBeneath the wan stars and descendingmoonI slanded seas
,blue mou ntains
,mighty streams,
D im tracks and vast,robed in the lustrous gloom
Ofleaden - colou red even,and fiery hills
Mingling their flames with twilight, on the vergeOfthe remote hori zon .
P r om etlze us Unbound. R are in this confusing play, curiouslyand utterly remote from the magnificent S implicity of Aeschylus,are the strokes of genuine natural description amidst i ts vagueunreal splendour, which too often sinks into what is hardlyabove prosaic verbiage . But from this Shelley at times riseswith a bird- l ike bound into his characteristic aerial beauty .
I will first give two scenes of dawning
The point of one wh ite star is qu ivering stillD eep in the orange light of wideningmornBeyond the pu rple mountains through a chasmOfwind - divided mist the darke r lake :R eflects i t : now it wanes it gleams againAs the waves fade
,and as the burn ing threads
Ofwoven cloud unravel in pale air .
Methought among the lawns togetherWe wande r’d
,underneath the younggray dawn,
And multitudes of dense white fl e e cy clouds
xv COL E R I D GE , KEA TS , SHEL L E Y 2 2 3
Were wandering in thick flocks along the mounta insShepherded by the S low, unwillingwind.
What a touch,shall we say
,of anthropomorphism, of
conscious l ife at least,is in that unwi lling/
Then a noble mountain viewHark the rushing snow
The sun- awaken’d ava lanche whose mass,
Thrice sifted by the storm,h a d ga the r
’
d thereFlake after flake
,in heaven - defyingminds
A s thought by thought is piled, till some great truthIs lo o sen’d, and the nations echo round,Shaken to thei r roots, as do the mountains now.
At last P rometheus i s freed, and Earth paints the newparadi se of the world
MeanwhileIn mild variety the seasons mildWith rainbow - ski rted showers
,and odorous winds
,
And long blue meteors cleansing the dull night,And th e life - kindling shafts Ofthe keen sun’sAll- p iercingbow,
and the dew -mingled rainOfthe c alm moonbeams, a soft influence mild,Shall clothe the forests and the fields, ay, evenThe crag- built deserts Ofthe barren deep,With ever - living leaves, and fruits, and flowers .
This passage presents rather a beautiful catalogue of landscapeforms than a realised picture ; it is an example of Shelley
’sFa ta Morgana manner. P resently we have a few lines
, delightful in their more definite quality, which tell of the
—budding, blown, or Odou r- faded bloomsWhich star the winds with points of coloured light,As they rain th rough them,
and bright golden globesOffruit, suspended in their own green heaven .
The oppressive monotony of the Cenci—that weird monument of power misapplied—is broken by one picture, noblethrough its intensity rather than from special fel icity ofphrase. It is put in the mouth of the unhappy Beatrice
,
2 2 4 L AND S CA PE I N R E CEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
when she has just decided on the death of her infamous father—a deed to which such a scene of gloom is a fi tting prologue .
This is one of Shelley’s best sustained landscape passages
I rememberTwo miles on this side of the fort
,the road
Crosses a deep ravine ’tis rough and narrow,
And winds with short turns down the p recipiceAnd in its depth there i s a mighty rock,Which has, from unimaginable years,S u sta in’d itself with terror and with toilOver a gulf, and with the agonyWith which it clings seems slowly comingdownEven as a wretched soul hour after hourClings to the mass of life yet
,clinging, leans
And,leaning, makes more dark the dread abyss
In which it fears to fall. Beneath this crag,Huge as despair, as if in weariness,Th e melancholy mountain yawns . Below
,
You hear b u t see not an impetuous torrentR aging among the caverns, and a bridgeCrosses the chasm and high above there grow,
With intersecting tru nks, from crag to crag,Cedars
,and yews, and p ines whose tangled hair
Is matted in one solid roof of shadeBy the dark ivy’s twine . A t noonday here’
T is twilight, and at sunset blackest night.
We now reach Shelley’s later and shorter lyrics . Much Imust pass by
,including the well- known Cloud and A r etkusa .
Fo r these elaborate pictures, despite the effective phraseswhich Shelley, so to speak, could not escape, do seem to me,on the whole
,pieces rather Of l ively, even over- flu ent, rhetoric
than penetrated by his own special genius . This Phaethoncould not always control h is steeds ! Yet much is left ofmagical beauty. Among these little songs lies h
_
is cho icestwork—“ winged words ” in an almost l iteral sense, so lightlyand aerially do they seem to have floated into verse and music ;flowers of a Paradi se above earth, yet remote from heaven .
\Thelandscape painted i s external to us of the pleasure it can
2 2 6 L AND S CAPE I N RE CENT P OE TR Y CHAP .
Y ellow, and black, and pale, and hectic r e d,P estilenc e - st ricken multitudes O thou
,
Who c ha r io te st to the ir dark wintry b ed
Th e winged seeds, where they l ie cold and low,Eac h like a corpse within its grave, u nti lThine azure sister of the S pring shall blow
H e r clarion o’er th e dreaming earth, and fill(D riving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)With living hues and odours plain and hill
Wild S pirit,which art moving everywhere
D estroyer and preserver hear, Oh hear
Partial quotation, however, does this great lyric wrong.
Turn now to a pure simple picture, drawn for its own sake, inwhich Nature in her abundance has, i f we may ri sk the phrase,restrained the “ wild poet within the bounds of actual ity. I tis a Venetian landscape as seen from the Eugane anH ills
Beneath is spread like a green seaThe waveless plain of L ombardy
,
Bounded by the vaporous ai r,
I slanded by cities fairUnderneath day’s azure eyesOcean’s nursling, Ven ice lies .
panorama changes
N oon descends around me now’T is the noon Ofautumn’s glow,
When a soft and purple mistL ike a vaporous amethyst,O r an air- di ssolved starMingling light and fragrance, farFrom the curved horizon’s boundT o the point of heaven’s profound,Fills the overflowing skyAnd the plains that silent lieU nderneath the leaves unsoddenWhere the infant frost has troddenWith his morn ing-winged feet
,
xv COL ER I D GE , KEA TS , SHEL LE Y 2 2 7
Whose bright print i s gleaming yetAnd the re d and golden vines,P iercingwith thei r tre llis’d linesThe rough, dark - skirted wildernessThe dunand bladed grass no le ss ,Pointing from this hoary towerIn the windless air ; the flowerG limmering at my feet the lineOfthe Ol ive - sanda ll’d Apenn ineInthe south dimly i slandedAnd the A lps, whose snows are spreadH igh between the clouds and sun
And of living things eac h oneAnd my sp irit, which so longD a rken’d this swift stream of song,Interpenetrated lieBy the glory of th e skyBe i t love
,light, harmony,
Odour,or the soul of all
Which from heaven like dew doth fall,Or the mind which feeds this versePeopling the lone un iverse.
T his long quotation is justified by its delicate beauty who,
that has seen L ombardy, but must recognise the truth of thatbeautiful epithet
,the olive - sanda ll
’
d Apennine ? But a furtherreason is
,that the last lines give ( I think) as near an approach
as Shelley himself could make to his conception Ofwhat under
Qlie s all Nature—ofthe Aninza M andi .
But this attempt—too long, yet not long enough—to setforth Shelley’s landscape may be closed by that one which
,to
my mind,is the most charmingly perfect in its simplicity and
clearness of presentation . I t is the R ecollection Of the pinewoods near P isa
We paused beside the pools that lieUnder the forest bough
Each seemed as ’twere a little skyGu lph
’d in a world belowA firm am ent Ofpu rple light,
L AND S CAPE I N R ECEN T P OE TR Y CHAP .
Which in the dark earth lay,More boundless than the depth of n ight,
And purer than the dayIn which the lovely forests grew
As in the upper ai r,
More perfect both in shape and hu eThan any spreading there .
There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn ,And through the dark -
green woodThe white sun twinkling like the dawn
Ou t of a speckled cloud.
Sweet views wh ich in our world aboveCannever well be seen ,
Were imaged by the water’s loveOfthat fai r forest green .
And all was interfused beneathWith an Elysian glow,
Anatm osphere without a breath,
A softe r day below .
T o the most modern phase Oflandscape in poetry,yet with
a quality which brings him into a certain relation with Shelley,
belongs Arthur O ’
Shaughne ssy ( 1 844 - 8 1 ) that gifted,un
happy youth,who
,in delicate metrical skill and melody of
words, in my eyes, stands second to T ennyson only during thelast half century ; whilst he is also h igh in pure imaginativefaculty
,wasted as it often was on doleful dreams and ex
tra vagant fantasies . H e took Nature,i f I may use the word
,
into his soul like a mistress ; although known to him solelythrough books
,he was intoxicated with tropical scenery . Thus
he i s voyaging to the A z u r e I slands
I reach them as the wave wanes low,
L eaving its stranded ores,And evening floods of amber glowAnd sleep around thei r shores
There his soul dwells in ecstasy
I t plunges through some perfumed brake,O r depth of odorous shade
2 30 KEA TS , SHE L L E Y, O’SHA UGNES S Y CHAP . xv
anywhere,in the S ensitive P la nt of Shelley—an artist of
larger scope indeed, yet hardly more ecstatically imaginative .
Unlike as the two poets are, Chaucer was not moredevoted to humanity as his subject than O
’
Sha ughne ssy.
H is landscape art, except in the poem inspired by tropicalscenery
,has but one conspicuous example
,written seemingly
toward the close of his l ife, j ust before that happy marriagewhich death ended soon and left him miserable . From thispiece
, describing a visit to“ yet unsp o il
’
d”L ynmouth
,I
quote a few stanzas,the clear
,the imaginative simplicity of
which may tempt some to the work of that poet who,among
those of recent years,seems to me one of those most unjustly
neglected
I have brought her I love to this sweet place,Fa r away from the world ofmen and strife
,
That I may talk to her a charmed space,
And make a r ich longmemory in my life .
A round my love and me the brooding hills,Full Ofdeliciou s murmurs
,ri se on high,
Closing u pon this spot the summer fills,
And over which there rules the summer sky.
Behind u s on the shore down there the seaR oars roughly, like a fierce pu rsu ing hound
B u t all this hour is calm for her and meAnd now anothe r hill shuts o u t the sound.
And now we breathe the odours of the glen,And round about u s are enchanted things
Th e bird that hath blithe speech unknown to men,
Th e river keen, that hath a voice and sings
The tree that dwells with one ecstatic thought,Wider and fairer growing year by year
The flower that fl ow e r e th and knoweth nought,The bee that scents the flower and d raweth near.
H ad he lived to pursue and perfect thi s simpler style,O
’shaughnessy might have reached an acceptance more worthy
of his singular genius .
CH A P T ER XV I
THE L AND S CA P E OF WOR D S WOR TH
WE now reach the first of those two illustrious poets,who for
England’s lasting and priceless benefi t carri ed on their a rt, inthis century
,to an age rarely granted man while by the time
of Wordsworth ’s death his work in poetry,I firmly hold, had
placed him,then ( for Tennyson
’s highest height was not yetreached), next in succession to Mil ton . But whether thisOpinion find assent or rejection
,i t should be remembered how
many of our most gifted poets j ust preceding Wordsworth werecut down in youth . I t is by the harvest—the op u s op er a tumthe magnificent breadth and range—that he actually left us,not by what may have been the inborn genius
,the natural
power bestowed, that I am here venturing to measure him :
la rgio r hic campos aether e t lumine ve stitpu rpureo .
Through his lifetime runs an under- current of belief in hissuperiority amongst his great brethren in verse—Scott, Shelley,Coleridge, Keats, even Byron they all seem to recognise himas the eldest brother ; they know that he is the head of thefamily .
1
T he scenery in which William Wordsworth ( 1 770 - 1 8 50 )was born
,bred
,and wherein he mostly spent hi s long life
of the English L ake region—passed as i t were into hisy soul, and forms a very large port ion of his pictures and
1 Here and e lsewhere quota tions have been m a de from form er a ttempts Ofm y own inc ri tic ism of poetry.
2 32 THE L AND S CAPE OF WOR D SWOR TH CHAP .
his teachings from Nature . The landscape of the five contemporaries just named
,wi th the peculiar gifts of each
,I have
tried briefly to set forth . Great as has been -
,
the range and
the splendid quality of thei r work—great as also that of Wordsworth’s successors who remain for later notice—I yet ventureto place him at the head of English
,indeed of the world’s
poet- landscapists ; his verse, in this respect, may be regardedas the consummation of the whole mighty effort from H omer’sdays to our own . What
,then
,are Wordsworth’s special char
a c te r istic s in this field ? By virtue of what gi fts does hel de se rve the throne ? I t i s a difficult and complex task togive a distinct answer
,and I must beg leave to take some
space for the attempt.Wordsworth has himself defined i n the P reface to the
Excu r si on,in his letters
,and, above all, in the P r elude, h is
attitude towards Na tu rg; and to these materials I shall mainlytrust.H is childhood at once reveals that magnificent gift of
imagination,in which
,as Coleridge notes, he was
“ nearest ofall modern writers to Shakespeare and Milton, yet in a kind
“ perfectly unborrowed and his own .
” 1 But,as coexisting
and working with this imagination,I would also name the
1 s ingular intenseness of his sensibi lity. And this quality itself,possibly
,was intensified by virtue of the very fact that he
descended from a long line of north country landholders,retaining hence throughout life no small share of Norsequalities—the iron in the blood
,a certain austerity, even
rigidity, of nature. By this infusion, I would argue, his nativesensitiveness was deepened and concentrated
,as the hardest
substances are fused only by the greatest heat . And perhapsto the Northern blood and ancient traditions of l ife surviving inthose valleys
,we might ascribe that stately yet kindly reserve
which still,in o ld age, when I had the privilege of meeting
him,marked his demeanour, and was sometimes misinterpreted
i nto mere personal vanity—a weakness from which Wordsworth,I should j udge, was essentially free . H e was indeed i solatedin mind, self- absorbed by nature yet i t i s a mistake to describe
1 From tha t strange fa rrago of geniu s, the B i ogr ap lzi a L i te r a r i a , ch . xxi i.
v
2 34 THE L AND S CAPE OF WOR D SWOR TH CHAP .
N ever before so beautifu l,sank down
Into my heart, and held me like a dream
Gradually Nature “ was sought for her own sake ”
; hetells us
I felt the sentiment of Being spreadO
’
e r all that moves and all that seemeth still
T o every natural form,rock
,fru it or flower,
Even the loose stones that cover the high -way,
I gave a moral life I S aw them feel,
O r link’d them to some feeling.
Or, varying the phrase, he marked
Th e presences of Nature in the skyAnd on the earth the Vi sions of the hills,And souls of lonely places
ti ll,in the subl ime stanza of H a r t- L e ap Well (already quoted),
Wordsworth reached the full expression of that thought whichever underlay and spiritualised the landscape to him!
The Being, that is in the c louds and air,That i s in the green leaves among the groves,Maintains a deep and reverential careFo r the unoffend ing creatures whom he loves . 1
That mysterious truth, the D ivine Omnipresence, inc omprehensible as it must always be to man’s narrowly limitedintellect
,was surely never shadowed forth in words of greater
force and beauty.
With this habi t Ofmind Wordsworth approached the land
1 I t was ina sim i la r , though a m a rkedly Pantheistic vein, tha t Co leridgein 1 79 5 wrdte
Wha t if al l of anim a ted na tu reB e b u t organic ha rps d iversely fram ed,Tha t trem ble into thought , as o'er them sweepsP las tic and va st, one intellec tu a l breeze,A t once the Sou l of ea c h , and Go d ofa ll ?
B u t inh is next pa ragraph the po et repud ia tes the thought a s “ d im and
unha llow’
d .
xv r THE L AND S CAPE OF WORD S IrVOR TH 2 35
scape ; finding thus a true bond between Nature and man’sheart—a pre - ordained secret harmony one might almost ca lli t . Natural beauty and grandeur, the terror and the calm,
he saw,could teach moral lessons to the candid and fe e lin
soul : encouraging,warning
,and
,perhaps above all, calming ,
the soul—a phase of Wordsworth’s influence which has
been admirably dwelt on by M. Arnold. These thoughtsdominated his work .
“ Every great poet,” he said,
“ i s ateacher and as such he wrought through his many years,having “ an invincible confidence that my writings will ,in their degree, be efficacious in making men wiser, better,and happier 1 rais ing us
,as the poet most akin to him in
Soul said, to holier things—a d a ltior a e r igens.
Wordsworth ’s supreme success in landscape poetry, in truth,has often led to a mis- estimate of hi s work, defined by himself as
The mind of manMy haunt, and the main region of my song
or, again, in the proud phrase
Menas they are men within themselves .
SO far from being the mere poet of the L akes,none of
our singers between Shakespeare and himself has, in fact,with such a deep philosophy grasped and presented so manyamong the elementary problems of l ife . And i t i s preciselythat humanity interfused in the landscape, with its wild in-
1
habitants, which has made him its profoundest, most sympa-
f
thetic,most beautiful interpreter.
This spiritual ising vision Shows itself throughout his sc ene srfrom Nature . L ike his great contemporary in painting
,
Turner, what he gives i s never the copy,always the idea of his
object . 2 Through the colours of his own intelligence,of h is
own heart’s blood, i t i s that he views first, and then makes usview, every scene . H e has put what he felt and aimed at intoverse when he remarks
How exquisitelyThe external world is fitted to the mind
1 L etter ofMay 2 1 , 1 807 ,
2 J . B rown ,H or a e S u bsec i va e .
2 36 THE L AND S CAPE OF WOR D SWOR TH CHAP .
And the c reation (b y no lower nameCan it it be c a ll’d) which th ey with blended migh tAccomplish .
Or, again, in a more rapt mood, we find the same sentimentin the well - known yet mysterious lines
Th e gleam,
Th e ligh t that never was, on sea or land,Th e c onsecration
,and th e Poet’s dream .
Such vision, however, we must feel i s Obviously given butto few minds . I t was this man ’s special inspiration . And
hence to many readers Wordsworth’s attitude has seemed and
will always seem,too subtl e and too limited to self. Indeed
,we
might perhaps say,with du e reverence towards a man so great
and so sincere,that hi s feel ing about Nature, absolutely true
as i t was to him,i s yet in its deepest moods, too peculiarly
his own,to be grasped and rightly valued without an effort. H e
eminently needs a sympathetic m ind, i f we would receive allhe can give—rise as it were upon h is wings . H ere and there,in truth
,I think he has forced his spiritual
,ideal
,aspect of
Nature almost too far. Few can seriously accept a doctrinesuch as
One impulse from a vernal woodMay teach yo u more of man,
‘
Ofmoral evil and of good,Than all the sages can
even from one who is himself unquestionably among thesagest
,the most helpful
,of the world’s philosophic thinkers in
verse . But he never lapsed into the extravagance of Shelley’sunbridled imagination when
,speaking of Mont Blanc
,he cries
Thou hast a voice, great Mountain, to repeal
L arge codes of fraud and woe .
H ence,also
,Wordsworth has no representative followers in
verse none have learned his secret he has no one anywherelike himself through all the centuries of landscape in poetry.
And hence i t was,that his precious legacy to our literature
and our souls has not been model,but impulse.
2 38 THE L AND S CA PE OF WORD SWOR TH CHAP .
t ion - the ideal with him always rests upon the real,or rather
it i s the real transfigu re d.
“ I have at al l times,
” he says,
“e u
de a vo u red to look stead ily at my subject . ” And this penetra ting gaz e he rendered in the most direct language :
“ An
austere purity and plainness and nobleness marked all thathe wrote
,and formed a combination as distinct as it was
uncommon .
” 1 Through this habit of clear directness , whenat his best
,he has a concise fel icity in words approaching as
nearly that Of his favourite, H orace, as in an uninfle c ted
language is possible . I n a phrase which exemplifies i ts ownmeaning
,he also has added many “ j ewels five words long ” to our
la nguage. As Coleridge said of another friend, Wordsworthgives us “ truths plucked as they are growing, and del ivered tous with the dew on them .
” 2
Enough,however
,of preface on a subj ect so difli c u lt
,a
genius SO unique,that all I can hope is that my words have not
darkened my matter. The examples now to be given havebeen mostly arranged in order of date, with the object alwaysin View of illustrating what we have dwelt on as Wordsworth’sspecial aims and gifts toward the interpretation of Nature .
H is first published poem,the E vening Wa lk ( 1 787
i s almost too rich in i ts fine accurate detail . T his is thepicture OfGrasmere lake at even
Into a gradual calm the breezes sink,A blue rim borders all th e lake’s still brinkThere doth the twinkling aspen’s foliage sleep,And insects clothe , like dust, the glassy deepAnd now,
on eve ry side, the su rface b reaksInto blue spots
,and slowly lengthening streaks
Here,plots of sparkling wate r tremble bright
With thousand thousand twinkling points of lightThe re
,waves that
,hardly weltering, die away,
T ip the ir smooth ridges with a softer rayAnd now the whole w ide lake in deep reposeI S hu sh
’
d,and like a b u rnish ’
d mi rro r glows .
The D escr ip tive Sketc/zes ( 1 79 1 written on a walking
1 R . W. Chu rch .
2 TIzom a s P oole and his Fr i ends, 1 888 .
xv i THE L AND S CAPE OF WORD S WOR TH 2 39
tour among the Alps, show a decided advance both in generalpower and in the references made to human l ife and character.This advance i s seen whether he describes the Chartreuse
,
then desecrated by the revolutionists, or La kes Como and
Maggiore,or where
Via Mala’s chasms confineThe indignant waters of the infant Rhine
or how the Swiss peasant
—holds with God himself communion highThere where the peal of swelling torrents fillsThe Sky
- ro of’d temple Ofthe eternal hills
Or when, upon the mountain’s silent browR eclined
,he sees
,above him and below
,
Bright stars of ic e and azure fields of snowWhile needle peaks of granite shooting bareT remble in ever- varying tints of air.
No wonder if Coleridge, j udging these little poems with theinsight of a congenial imagination, wrote :
“ S eldom,i f ever
,
was the emergence of an original poetic genius above theliterary horizon more evidently announced .
”
After an interval during which Wordsworth’s mind waspreoccupied and di stressed by the political agitation of thosetroubled years, the full stream of his poetry began to flow withswift golden brilliancy. H e seems to me to have firstthoroughly found himself
,in relation whether to man or to
the landscape, in the L ines w r i tten nea r Tintern—anadmitable example of that “ impassioned contemplation assignedto him by Mr . Pater. In this po em, passing by those earl iestfeel ings
,when external existence appeared inherent in the
son],he paints the enormous j oy his youth found in Nature,
i n her peace - bestowing influence especially how then
The sounding cataractHaunted me like a passion the tal l rock
,
The mountain, and th e deep and gloomy wood,Thei r c olours and their forms, were then to meAnappetite a feeling and a love
,
2 40 THE L AND S CA PE OF WORD S WOR TH CHAP .
That h a d no need of a remoter charm,
By though t su pplied, nor any interestUnb o r row
’d from the eye .
But now,
“ that time is past,
and i t i s
The still, sa d music of human ity
which he hears as the undertone of the landscape a sentiment,
let u s note,which has been also the secret of all that the great
painters have given us of scenes from Nature
I have feltA presence that disturbs me with the joyOfelevated thoughts a sense sublimeOfsomething far more deeply interfused,Whose dwelling i s the light of setting suns,And the round ocean and th e liv ing air,And the blue sky, and in the mind OfmanA motion and a sp irit, that impelsAll thinking things, all obj ects of all thought,And rolls through all things . Therefore am IA love r of the meadows and the woods,And mountains and of a ll that we beholdFrom this green earth .
These l ines are doubtless known to many ; they should beknown to all yet cannot I pass them over wholly unquoted.
But how can we pursue the many phases of Nature whichat this t ime ofhis l i fe Wordsworth set forth in song, stampe done after ano ther by the same imaginative power, equallysensitive and strong, penetrating and tender —one and allalso d ifferent so from what other poets have left us, that Naturein his verse seems not so much beyond their work, as belongingto another world, whilst all the while true to the reality ofthi s .A few may be named. The P r elude supplies a splendid
picture of foreign scenery in the S implon Pass ; the boy ofWinande r drew forth Coleridge’s remark that one would havecried out Wordswo r tk, had he heard the lines repeated i n thedesert —In a moment of sil ence, as the boy musician
2 42 THE L AND S CAPE OF WORD SWOR TH CHAP .
The cypress and her sp ire—Offlowers that with one Scarlet gleamCove r a hundred leagu es, and seemT o set the hills on fire .
The Y outh of green savannahs spake,And many an endless
,endless lake
,
With all its fairy crowdsOfislands
,that together lie
A s quietly as spots of skyAmong the evening clouds .
Extracts, however, are often muti lations . One whole lyric wewill therefore give
,in whichWordsworth with such exquisitely skil
ful tact,pathos so refined
,has summarised what he held Nature )
can do for Man—while professing S imply to tell the story of amaiden’s life (and she, only known through this and a fewother lovely poems)—that I doubt if there be anything parallelto it in l iterature
Three years sh e grew in sunand shower,Then N ature said
,
“A lovelier flower
Onearth was never sownThis Ch ild I to myself will takeS he shall be mine, and I will makeA L ady of my own .
Myself will to my darling beBoth law and impulse and with meThe Girl
,in rock and plain,
In earth and heaven,in glade and bower,
Shall feel an overseeing powerT o kindle or restrain .
S h e shall be sportive as the fawnThat wild with glee across the lawn,O r u p the mou ntain springsAnd her’s shall be the b reathing balm,
And her’s the silence and the calmOfmute insensate things .
The floating c louds thei r state shall lendT o her fo r her the w illow bend
xw THE LAND S CAPE OE WORDSWOR T1 1 2 43
N o r shall she fail to se eEven in the motions of the S tormG race that shall mould the Maiden’s formBy silent sympathy.
The sta rs of midnight shall b e de arT o her and she shall lean h e r c a rInmany a secret placeWhere rivulets dance thei r wayward round,And beauty born Ofmurmuring soundS hall pass into her face .
And vital feelings of delightShall rear he r form to stately height,He r virgin bosom swellSuch thoughts to L ucy I will giveWh ile She and I together liveHere in this happy dell.”
Thus Nature spake—Th e work was doneHow soon my L ucy’s race was runS he died
,and left to me
This heath,this calm
,and quiet scene
The memory Ofwhat has been,
And never more will be .
I have here presented much, yielding to the pleasure oftraversing such fields of beauty, and fearing they may be littleknown to too many. And should any reader c ry, H a lt !
Enoug/z—let me remind him that we are here in presence of
the more than Claude,—the absolute Master of L andscape inPoetry . Yet we have not touched one half of Wordsworth’slandscape triumphs . are the mountain scenes inMz
'
clza el,
Tbe B r otker s,in the P r el
let me quote a Specimen of what has been mentioned as Wordsworth’s large style of design . I t is a sunset among the L akehills
A l ready ha d the sun,
S inkingw ith less than ordinary state,Atta in’d his western bound but rays of lightNow suddenly diverging from the orb
2 44 THE L AND S CA PE OF WORD S WOR TH CHAP .
R etired b ehind th e mountain tops,or v e il’d
By the dense ai r—shot u pwards to the crownOfthe blu e firm am ent—aloft
,and wide
And mu ltitudes of little floating c louds,
Through the i r ethereal texture p ierced —ere we,Who saw,
of change were conscious—ha d becomeVivid as fir e clouds separately poi sed
,
Innumerable multitude of formsS c a tte r
’d through half the circ le of the skyAnd giv ing back, and sh edding each on each ,With prodigal commun ion, the bright huesWhich from the unapparent fount of gloryThey h ad imbibed
,and ceased not to rece ive .
1
The s ingular mystical beauty of a short lyric on the H ighland G len traditionally held the burial - place Of the sad prim a e va l bard
, Ossian, was long since impressed on me by thatdevoted and admirable Wordsworth scholar
, J. C . Sha irp . MayI render my gratitude even now to him for much a id
,by
here presenting the lines ? These are headed, Glen-A lm a in,
or,Tke
In this still place, remote from men,S leeps Ossian, in the narrow glenIn th i s still place
,where murmurs on
But one meek streamlet, only oneH e sang of battles, and the b reathOfstormy war, and violent deathAnd should, methinks, when all was past,Have rightfully been laid at lastWhere roc ks were rudely h e a p ’d, and rentAs by a sp i rit turbu lentWhere sights were rough, and sounds were wild,And everything unreconciledIn some complain ing, dim retreat,Fo r fear and melancholy meet
1 The identi ty in style betwe e n th is pic tu re inwords and those wh ichT u rner a t the sam e period p u t into c olo u r , i s a very rem a rka ble pro of how the
sa m e impu lses m aywork a t onc e, ye t independently, in the m inds of giftedc ontem pora rie s . There is a sim ila r rela tionbetween G iotto and D ante.
2 46 THE L AND S CA PE OF WORD SWOR TH CHAP .
A lm ost i ts ownsky—how finely felt i s this stroke I t is a
vignette by Turner (whose genius comes constantly into mindwhen Wordsworth i s before us) in words .Now a companion sonnet
,written when age was near
,on
the Inner L andscape
Most sweet it i s with unuplifted eyesT o pace the ground, if path be there or none,While a fai r region round the travel ler liesWhich he forbears again to look upon
P leased rather with some soft ideal scene,The work of Fancy
,or some happy tone
Ofmeditation, slipping in betweenThe beauty coming and the beauty gone .
If Thought and L ove desert u s, from that dayL e t u s break offall commerce with the MuseWith Thought and L ove companions of o u r way,Whate’er the sense s take or may refu se,The Mind’s internal heaven shall shed her dewsOfinspi ration on the humblest lay.
From the D uddon series I extract a beautiful specimenof Wordsworth ’s peculiar power in revealing unexpectedlessons of Nature . With what fel icity does the sound re p re
sen t the sense in the eighth line
Er e yet o u r course was graced with social t reesIt la ck’d not Old remains of hawthorn bowers,Where small birds warbled to th e ir paramoursAnd
,earlier still
,was heard the hum of bees
I saw them ply their harmless robberies,
And caught the fragrance which the sundry flowersFe d by the stream with soft perpetual showers,P lenteously yielded to the vagrant breeze.
There b lo om ’d the strawberry of the wildernessTh e trembling eyebright show’
d he r sapphire blue,Th e thyme her pu rple, like the blush of Even
xv 1 THE LAND S CAPE OF WORD S IVOR TH 247
And if the breath of some to no caressInvited , forth they p e e p ’d so fair to view,
All kinds alike se em ’d favourites of Heaven .
The next,another example of that rarity
,the perfect Sonnet
,
was much admired by M. Arnold
Wansfe ll !1 this Hou sehold has a fa vo u r’d lot,L ivingwith liberty on thee to gaze,To watch wh ile Morn fi rst crowns thee with her rays,Or when along thy breast serenely floatEvening’s angelic clouds . Yet ne’er a noteHath sounded (shame upon the Bard thy praiseFo r all that thou, as if from heaven
,hast brought
Ofglory la v ish’d on our quiet days .Bountiful S onof Earth when we are goneFrom every object dear to mortal sight,A s soon we Shal l be, may these words attestH o w oft, to elevate o u r spirits, shoneThy v isionary maj esties of light,How in thy pensive glooms o u r hearts found rest.
This sonnet, which is among Wordsworth’s latest pieces
,
may be an example of what one Ofour ablest recent thinkers hasremarked
,that the perception of men of deep and philosophical
mind is “ not dulled by the commonness and constancy of thefact
,as inferior ones are, but ever retaining something of a
first surprise.
” 2
Thus far our course has chiefly lain amongst Wordsworth ’searl ier poetry. H is later landscape offers less variety
,less
bri lliant felicity i n diction in which we should,however
,note
that his first somewhat too narrow laws of language have fallenout of sight. But we now find a noble sunset glow
,a sweet
,
calm maturity of feel ing, a wider sweep of reflection : In hisown beautiful words
NO fears to beat away- no strife to healThe past unsigh’d for, and the future sure .
1 The h ill tha t rises to the sou th - ea st , a bove Am bleside.
2 J . B . Mozley, D oc tr ine ofP r edestina ti on
2 48 THE L AND S CAPE OF WORD S WOR TH CHAP .
H is was an eminently healthy nature ; alive not only . tothe charm but to the virtue of joyfulness ; too strong to walkin the melancholy gloom familiar to feeble minds—nay
,by
modern writers in a “ subject ive ” age favoured often simplyas the easiest
,the most fruitful atmosphere for poetry .
By the name Lycor is, in the o de to hi s wife, with whichthis essay may be concluded
,Wordsworth (he tells us) reverted
with pleasure to the great poets of o ld, and here, especially toH orace, the finished beauty of whose lyrics
,as already has
been noticed, he justly appreciated, and often reproduced
Inyou th we love the darksome lawnB ru sh
’d by the owlet’s wing
Then,Twilight i s p refe r r’d to D awn,
And Autumn to the S pring.
S a d fancies do we then affect,In luxury of di srespectT o o u r own prodigal excessOftoo familiar happiness .L ycoris ( if such name b e fitThee
,thee my life’s celestial sign
When Natu re marks the year’s decline,B e ours to welc ome itP leased w ith the harvest hope that runsBefore th e path of milder sun sP leased while the sylvan world disp laysIts ripeness to the feedinggaz eP leased when the sullen winds resound the knellOfthe resplendent miracle .
B u t something whispers to my heartThat, as we downward tend,L ycoris life requi res an a r t
T o which o u r souls must bendA ski ll —to balance and supplyAnd, ere the flowing fount be dry,A s soon it must, a sense to sip,O r drink
,with no fastidious lip .
Then welcome,above all
,the Guest
Whose smiles,diffu sed o’er land and sea,
2 50 THE L AND S CAPE OF WORD SWOR TH CHAP .
When glad emotions in h e r bosom danceSh e vents her happ iness in laughing flowers .
Childhood and yo u are playmates matching wellYour sunny cheeks
,and mingling fragrant b reath
Ye help young L ove his faltering tale to tellYe scatter sweetness o’er the b e d of D eath .
H ere it i s noteworthy how feeling,more intense
,more tender
,
than the high - minded poet’s words could fully render,has
personified Nature, though with a method of his own .
What we have noticed about L yte in some degree appliesto John Keble ( 1 79 2 With him also thought at timesoutruns expression whence it doubtless was that Wordsworthwished he could have rewritten the Ckr istian Yea r . Keble,however
,has a deeper strain of thought than L yte he is in
closer harmony with Wordsworth ; and the rare fragments oflandscape which his train Ofsubjects has admitted are worthyof the Master—true to Nature, dignified, instinct with seriousthought and feeling. Two contrasted scenes may be Offered
Where is Thyfa vo u r’d haunt, Eternal Voice,The region of Thy choic e
,
Where, undistu rb ’d by sin and earth,the sou l
Own s Thine enti re control’
T is on the mou ntain’s summit da rk and high,When storms are hurrying by
’T is’
m id the strong foundations of the earth ,Where torr ents have the ir birth .
NO sou nds of worldly toil ascending thereMa r the full burst of p rayer
L one Nature feel s that she may freely breathe,And round u s and beneath
Are h eard her sacred tones the fitfu l sweepOfwinds across the steep,
Th rough w ith e r’d bents— romantic note and clear,Meet for a hermit’s ear
The wheeling kite’s wild sol itary cry,And
,scarcely heard so high ,
XV I THE L AND S CAPE OF WORD SWOR TH 2 5 1
The dashing waters, when the air is still,From many a torrent rill
That winds unseen beneath the shaggy fe ll,T ra ck
’d by the blue mist well
S uch sounds as make deep silence in the heart,Fo r Thought to do her part .
R ed o’er the forest peers the setting sun,The line of yellow light dies fast away
That c rown’d the eastern copse and chill and dunFalls on the moor the brief November day.
Now the tired hunter winds a pa rting note,And Echo bids good - n ight from eve ry glade
Yet wait awhile,and see the calm leaves float
Each to his rest beneath thei r parent shade.
How like decaying life they seem to gl ideAnd yet no second spring have they in store,
B u t where they fall forgotten to abideI s all their po rtion
,and they ask no more .
S oon o ’er their heads blithe April airs shall sing,A thousand wild - flowe r s round them shall u nfold,
Th e green bu ds glisten in the dews of S pring,And all be vernal rapture as of o ld.
Two very delicately imagined sonnets by poor HartleyColeridge ( 1 796 - 1 84 9) are worthy of a child so poeticallynursed and of such high but vain parental hopes . The
second in its peculiar feel ing for accurate detail resembles C .
T ennyson’s manner
TO A FR I END
When we were idlers w ith the lo itering rills ,Th e need of human love we little notedOu r love was nature and the peace that floatedOnthe white mist
,and dwelt upon the hills
,
T o sweet accord subdued o u r wayward willsOne soul was ours, one mind, one hea rt devoted,That
,wisely doating, a sk’d not why it doated ,
2 52 THE L AND S CAPE OF WORD SWOR TH CHAP .
And ours the unknown joy,which knowing kills .
B u t now I find, how dear thou wert to me,That man i s more than half of nature’s tr easure
,
Ofthat fair beauty which no eye can see,
Ofthat sweet music which no c a r can measureAnd now the streams may sing for others’ pleasure,The hills sleep on in thei r etern ity.
N OVEMB ER
The mellow year is hasting to its closeTh e little birds have almost sung their last,Their small notes twitter in the dreary b lastThat sh rill - p iped harbinger of early snowsThe patient beauty of th e sc entless rose,Oft with th e Mom ’s hoar crystal qu aintly gla ss’d,Hangs,—a pale m o um e r for the summer past,And makes a little summer where it growsIn the c hill sunbeam of the faint brief dayTh e dusky waters shudder as they shine,The russet leaves obstruct the straggling wayOfoozy brooks
,which no deep banks define
And the gau nt woods, in ragged, scant a rrayWrap the ir Old limbs with sombre ivy twine .
The sonnets of S ir Aubrey de Vere ( 1 788 - 1 84 6) werespoken of by Wordsworth as
“ among the most perfect of ourage .
”That on l e S ea - Clip ? ofKi lkee has pictorially clear
detail,wedded to true unity of delineation
Awfu lly beautiful art thou, 0 seaView
’d from the vantage of those gi ant rocks
That vast in air lift thei r pr imeval blocks,Skreening the sandy cove Oflone Kilkee .
Cau tious , with out - str e tc h’d a rm,and bended knee,
I scan the dread abyss, ’till the depth mocksMy straining eyeballs, and the eternal shocks
Ofbillows rolling from infinityD istu rb my b rain . Hark the shrill sea - birds’ ScreamCloud - like they sweep the long wave’s sapphi re gleam,
E r e the poised Ospray stoops in wrath from high .
2 54 THE L AND S CAPE OF WORD SWOR TH CHAP .
have seen the same impulse in Shelley, in whose hands i t risesto sublimity.
By that perfect artist and eminently original poet,Coventry
Patmore,i s a second Winter scene
,wholly different, yet equally
true,while more deeply imaginative
I,singularly moved
T o love the lovely that are not beloved,
Ofall the S easons,most
L ove Winter,and to trace
The sense of the T rophon ian pal lor on her face.
It is not death,but plenitude of peace
And the d im cloud that does the world enfoldHath less the characters Ofdark and coldThan warmth and light asleepAnd correspondent breathing seems to kee pWith the infant harvest
,breathing soft below
Its e ider coverlet of snow .
N o r i s in field or garden anythingB u t, duly lo ok’d into, contains sereneTh e substance of things hoped for, in the Sp ring,And evidence of Summer not yet seen .
Often, in sheltering brakes,As one from rest d istu rb ’d in the first hour
,
P rimrose or v iolet b ew ilde r’d wakes,
And deems ’tis time to flowerThough not a whisper of her voic e he hear,The buried bulb does knowThe signals of the year,And hails far Summer w ith his l ifted spea r.
P a tm o re’
s fine fancies here recall H enry Vaughan and hisnature- details
,so curiously observed, so deeply significant .
A place of its own must be given to the landscape of J .
C . Sha irp ( 1 8 1 9 than whom,of Scotland’s many faithful
sons,none was more devoted to her,—nay, perhaps, almost
too exclusively. NO one, i f we put aside Ossian, known tome
,has felt or rendered so deeply the gloom, the sublime
xv i THE L AND S CAPE OF WOR DSWOR TH 2 55
desolation of the H ighland region . That overpowering senseof weight and grandeur which calls forth the inward c ry tothe mountains to cover us
,as we pass beneath some vast
precipice,in truth
,was always with Sha irp . H e has not his
beloved Wordsworth’s mastery
,his brightness of soul
,his large
philosophy of Nature ; nor, in the region of art, Wordsworth’
s
fine finish, his happiness of phrase the minor key dominates .But, united with great delicacy of sentiment and touch, he hasthe never- failing charm of perfect high - hearted sincerity ; andif we reflect on the long- lasting hatred or indifference whichmountain lands have met from poetry
, Sha irp , so far as his skillserved
,merits a high place in characteristically modern verse .
I t i s thi s aspect of Nature which the poet ascribes to ayoung wanderer in the West H ighlands
Onhis spirit solemn awe
Fell when,the summit won
,he saw
T o westward Knoyda r t peaks u p - crowd,
S c a r r’d, jagg
’
d,black - c o r r ie d 1—some in cloud,
S ome by slant sunbursts glory - k iss’
d,
B eyondm thro ugh fleeces b road Ofmist,
L ike splinter’d spears,weird peaks of Skye
And many an i sle h e could not name,
That looming into vision cameFrom ocean’s outer mystery.
2
Now,the desolate moor of R annoch
Y e a a desert wide and wasted,Wa sh
’d by rain - flo ods to the bonesL eagu e on league of heathe r blasted,S torm -
ga sh’d moss
, gray boulder- stonesAnd al ong these dreary levels,As by some stern destiny placed
,
Y onsa d loch s of black moss waterGrimly gleaming on the waste,
East and west and northward sweepingL imitless the mountain plain
,
1 Cu t into hollows .GlenD esse r ay, Canto i ii , 2
2 56 THE L AND S CAPE OF WORD S WOR TH CHAP . xv i
L ike a vast low - heaving ocean,G irdled by its mountain c hain .
And the A tlantic sends h is p ipersUp yon thunder - th roated glen,
O’e r the moor at midnigh t sou ndingP ibrochs never h eard by men
Clouds and mists and rains before themCrowding to th e wi ld wind - tune,
H ere to wage thei r all - n ight battle,U nb eheld by star and moon .
We have here,as elsewhere in Sha irp
’s work, no attempt at
elaborate word -painting,no moral drawn . But by faithful
unadorned description what he presents i s the very soul of thescene : the strange sublimity, the terror of the
“ wastewilderness to the sensi tive heart
Up the long corrie, th rough the sc r e e tan1 rents,Past the last cloud - berry and stone - crop flower
,
With no companion save the elements,This peak of crumbled roc k my lone watch - tower
,
Bare ridges all a round me, weather- b le a c h’d,Ofhoary moss and lichen - cru sted stone,
Beyond a ll sounds of gladness or di stress,All trace of human feel ing—only r e a ch
’d
From far below by the everlastingmoanTh e corrie -burns send up
,I gaze alone
O’e r the wide Ossianic wilderness .
1 S tony ravine Onm ountain - side.
2 53 THE L AND S CAPE OF B R OWN I NG ARNOLD CHAP .
thro ugho u t his longm ree r . Y e t it is singular that
P a aExg the rem a rka ble po em which h e wro te a t twenty ( 1 83 2 ),
“the world
'
s
rem ixe d to him . With this also is a oe rta in sim plic ity in
style, too mfi eqnent m his wo rh dug p e rha ps to his de e p
Tho u wfl t reenu nb e r one n m m om whenWm te r
Cre p t aged fiom the ea fl h and S p r ing’s firs—t bm th
Inthe snnshine were white with eom ing b uds,I i ke the b righ t fide d a m m m d me banks
Some thing OfA Ia stor , pa s iona te ly adm ire d by B ro wning,is he re also a udible . Y e t one finds som e th ing, too , of his
m d fe efing a kind ofpanorama is given. I t 15 3 la ndsc a pe ,
be a figu r e of B rowning’s be lo ve d siste r, somewha t idea lised
N ighg and one single r idge ofna r row pa th
Wafing and mntte ring for the m o onle ssnightHa s sha pe d them into im ags oflife ,
Day and noonfollow ; then
Wall’d inwi th a slop ed m onnd ofm a tted shr u bs,
1 W. Sha r p , B r owning, 1 8901
xvr r B ARNES , AN D CHAR LES TENN YSON 2 59
To a sm a ll po o l who se wa te rs lie a sle ep
Amid th e tra i ling bo ughs tum’d wa te r -
plants :
And ta ll tr e e s ove ra rc h to ke ep u s in,B re aking the sunbw ms into em e rald shafts.
Old gray stone s lie m aking eddie s the r e ;
a line in whi ch we pass at onoe from Sh elley to Browning.One or two more sc enes follow. But my extra cts m ay give asufi c ient example of this you thful work. L ike T ennyson’sL o ver’s Ta le, P a ul ine was unwi llingly admitted into his la te r
edi ti on by Browning, conscious of its evident imm a tu ri ty.
There is, indeed, li ttle of his ma tu r er shar ply ou tlined pr ese ntation Of single objec ts, or of those
“ elec tri c flashes,” by whic hhe often lights up the sc ene. Y et we have also that simplejoy in th e world’s loveliness,
” which he never rega ined.
Show no intr insi c development, exc ept tha t from the da te ofTY1C R ing and I ke B ook ( 1 868 -69 ) the tou ch become s lessrefined, the metr e and musi c less ha rmoniou s. D uring the
va ried as th e su bje c t of the p o em m y dem and thenoe
forward was long ma inly Italian, though with an u nderc ur rentof English vignettes. Th e youthful po em P am celms shows at
how e ar ly 2 da te Browni ngs fore gro und prefer ence a ssertedi tself, in a r iver scene on the Ma yne, whi ch is in e fl
’
e c t aminute ca ta logue of stre am- si de plants and wild cr ea tures.
And sim i lar in styl e and manner is the power ful pi cture ofSpring inthe same poem
Earth is a wintry clodB u t sp r ing-wind, like a dancing p a ltr e ss, pa se s
Ov e r its b rm st to wak en i t ; ra r e ve rd u r e
Th e with e r’d tr e e-m o ts and th e cra cks of fr ost,L ike a sm ile stri ving with a wr ink led fa ce ;
THE LANDSCAPE OF B R OWN I NG, ARNOLD CHAP .
L ike chrysalids impatient for the airTh e shin ing dorrs are busy, b eetles r unA long the furrows, ants make their a doAbove, birds fly in merry flocks, the larkS oars up and u p , shivering for very joyAfar the ocean sleeps white fi shing-
gullsFl it where the strand i s purp le with its tribeOfnested limpets savage c reatures seekThei r loves in wood and plain—and God renewsH is ancie nt rapture
These lines i llustrate the inherent difli c u lty of the style .
I t i s only the very last words that,by their noble force
,give a
kind of unity to a scene of scattered though able and piercingdetail . But in general the poet
,as he advanced i n skill,
although conquering this tendency to piecemeal effect,confined
himself to admirably penetrating single vignettes, rather thanoffered a presentation of the landscape in full .My examples shall be taken from what I have ventured to
cal l Browning’s better period and the first shal l be an Easternlandscape from S a u l. D avid i s soothing the king’s agonisedspirit with music
—I first p lay’d the tune all our sheep know,as
,one after one,
S o docile they come to the pen - door,till folding be done .
They are white and untorn by the bushes,for lo, they have fe d
Where the long grasses stifle the water within the stream’s b e dAnd now one a fter one seeks its lodging, as star follows starInto eve and the blue far above u s, —so blue and so far
The sudden transition here, from the narrative structure of thefi rst two lines to the song itself
,i s exquisitely imagined. It is
,
in truth,Vergil’s device in the S z
'
lenus Eclogue .
1
0 S i sz’
e omm’
a what a higher, what a probably more
1 S e e the lovely song of the anc ient Mythesnam qu e c ane b a t u ti m agnum per inane c o a c tasem ina ;
T il l from ba re na rra t ive i t bu rsts into th e pa ssiona te exc lam a tion a bou tPa sipha e
a h virgo infeliz
THE LANDSCAPE OF B R OWN I N G, ARNOLD CHAP .
Ga th e r’d within that p recinct small
By the dozen ways one roams
To drop from the charcoal - burners’ huts,
Or climb from the h emp - dressers’ low shed,L eave the grange where the woodman stores his nuts,O r the wattled cote where the fowlers spread
Their gear on the rock’s bare juts .
T here has been,we find, some little question between these
two “ hearts at leisure ” now they find that Nature has a c c om
p lished her work in harmonising their souls
The forests ha d done it there they stoodWe caught for a second the powers at play
They ha d mingled u s so, for once and for goodTheir work was done—w e might go or stay,
They relapsed to their ancient mood .
In the Englz'
s/zm an in I ta ly Browning has concentrated awealth of foreground detai l amaz ing in its truth of touch ; ini ts nearness it seems to lean out of the canvas ; every wordhere also the right word
,yet right for presentation of the image,
rather than for poetry . The outline, as often with Browning,i s too hard ; in that fine phrase of S ir J . R eynolds, whichmay be here again applied to poetry
,it i s not su fli c iently
“ lost in the gr ound”—the picture part ially fails i n breadth
and unity. A fter many keen glances at South I tal ian life,the poet leaves the plain of Sorrento to climb the ridge
And soon we emergedFrom the plain , where the woods could scarce follow
And still as we urgedOu r way
,the woods wonde r ’d
,and left u s,
As up still we trudgedThough the wild path grew wilder each instant,
And plac e was e’en gru dged’Mid the rock - chasms and p iles of loose stones
L ike the loose broken teethOfsome monster which c lim b
’d there to dieFrom the oc ean b eneath .
xvu B ARNES , AND CHARLES TENN YS ON 2 63
Oh, those mountains, the i r infinite movementS till movingwith you
Fo r, ever some new head and bre ast of themThrusts into view
T o observe the intruder you see itIf quickly you turn
And, before they escape , yo u surpri se them .
The cleverness displayed in this poem is amaz ing,but in
cessant : the effects are isolated : the sense of effort, the wa ntof rel ief, of reserve, at last makes itself felt. H ence
,pe rha ps,
despite Browning’s fluent copiousness,he rarely succeeds in
giving the delightful sense of genuine spontaneity.
The l ively H om e tfioug/zts fr om a br oa d must be left tomemory. Fo r my last example (many reluctantly passedby) I have reserved the passage which for clear sheer powerperhaps Browning never equalled again, wherein the stormbreaks over two sinful lovers
Buried in woods we lay.
Swift ran the searching tempest overhead,And ever and anon some bright white shaftBurnt thro’ the p ine - tree roof
,he re burnt and there
,
As if God’s messenger thro’ the close wood screenP lunged and replunged his weapon at a ventu re,Feeling for guilty thee and me then b rokeTh e thunder like a whole sea overhead .
Browning’s P rotean range of subject,his wonderfully fru itful
fancy,include also the fantastic and the weird. In this style,
however, he differs widely from Coleridge’s delightful fantasies .
I f indeed we once think of theMa r iner or Browningin too much of his lyrical work will seem without musicalear
,strident and j erking in his metres ; indifferent even to
charm,so that he can reach—as often he does reach—vivid
force,fullness of effect. H is poems suffer accordingly
the whole orchestra not seldom is out of tune. The Gr a m
m a r i an’s Funer a l with marvellous power paints a mountain
ascent,but the very idea of Song almost disappears in the dis
cordant metre, and those ingeniously odious double rhymes
2 64 THE LANDSCAPE OF B R OWNJNG, ARNOLD CHAP .
which were ever one of Browning’s besetting temptations . No r
need we quote the di smal fancies of the landscape in Clzi ldeR oland
,imaginative, yet without charm or de fined purpose.
But the detail s of bird and insect life in Ca liban,equally
forcible,have their fi t place in that brill iantly effective and
original grotesque monodrama while it would obviously beabsurd to ask Caliban for the music of Ariel . Take the imp’snarrative of Creation
Thinketh,H e made the sun this isle
T rees and the fowl s here, beast and creep ing thing,Y o u otter, sleek - wet
,black
,lithe as a leech
Yon a uk,one fir e - eye in a ball of foam
,
That floats and feeds a certain badger brownHe
1 hath w a tc h ’d hu nt with that slant white -wedge eyeBy moonlight and the pie with the long tongueThat pricks deep into o akwa rts for a worm,
And says a plain word when she finds her prize,B u t will not eat the ants .
He made all these and more,
Made all we see, and u s,in sp ite .
T o sum up our imperfect sketch of this strangely interestingpoet
,perplexing, disappointing, and fascinating, Browning is
confessedly and above all a teacher,whether directly
,or
when he offers us his superb gallery of semi - dramatic charactersand s ituations—semi - dramatic, or rather, perhaps, intended tobe such . Fo r, everywhere, among all sorts and conditions ofmen and th ings, how seldom does Browning—despite hisdisclaimers—escape from Browning 2 Often, one might say,
1 Ca l ibanh im self.
2 As a c ru c ia l i llu stra tion of thi s c ritic ism , c om pa re two terrible tragicm om ents , very sim i la r in si tu a tion.
Inthe fina l l ines ofTb e R ing and the B ook, Gu ido, a fter c al ling upontheholiestnam es , invokes the wifewhom he ha s m u rdered inthe pa ssiona te appea l
P omp i li a , w i ll you le t tlzernm u r de r m e ?
The poo r girl who i s the hero ine ofMrs. Inchb a ld'
s N a tu r e and A r t, whensu ddenly recognising inth e Ju dge, now abo u t to pronounce the dea th - sentence,h e r sedu cer inyou th , sc ream s inh e r agony
notfr om you I
2 66 THE LANDSCAPE OF B R OWN I N G, ARNOLD CHAP .
The white -wa ll’d town
,
And the little gray church on the windy shore .
The landscape is al so purely Greek in its lucid painting by fewwords to borrow a phrase of his
,i ts near and flashing plain
ness .” Yet it hardly forms more than a background to humanfigures ; l ike the landscapes of the Anthology, whilst enlargedand enriched in modern fashion, no moral or inner inte rp reta tion i s drawn by the poet
,or intended. Arnold’s manner
was fixed from the first if I quote freely,i t is a tribute to the
peculiar charm of his work.
Fi rst we give the singularly noble river landscape whichcloses the Sohr a h and R u stu m that skilfully written P ersiantale which
,however
,hardly does justice to its deeply tragic
motive . I t is a night scene by the Oxus ; R ustum is watching by the son whom he has unwitt ingly slain
B u t the majestic river floated on,Ou t of the mist and hum of that low land,Into the frosty starlight, and there movedR ejo icing, th rough the hu sh ’
d Chorasmian waste,Under th e solitary moon —h e fl ow’d
R ight for the polar star, past Orgunje,B rimming, and bright, and large then sands b eginTo hem his watery march
,and darn his streams
,
And split his currents that for many a leagueThe shorn and p a r c e ll
’
d O xu s strains alongThrough b eds of sand and matted rushy i slesOxus
,forgetting the bright speed he ha d
In his high mountain c radle in Pamere,A fo il
’d circu itous wanderer—till at last
The long’
d - fo r dash of waves is heard, and wideH is luminou s home of waters opens, brightAnd tranquil
,from whose floor th e new-bathed stars
Emerge, and shine upon the A ral sea.
With similar skill in Arnold’s S tr ayed R evel/er
Th e S cythianOnthe wide stepp, unharnessingH is whe e l
’
d hou se at noon
xvn B ARNES , AND CHARLES TENNYSON 2 67
with other Oriental vignettes i s set before u s—rich in deta i l sso appropriate
,so clearly defined
,that the imaginative power
shown in their selection and handl ing may at first esca penotice—a r r eela o it a r tem . Here also Arnold’s affectionatestudy of flowers
,which m ight
,I suppose
,have more or less
been du e to early association with Wordsworth, revea l s i tself.H e has l ittle Grecian landscape except the graceful S icilian
scenes in Emp edoeles. Etna,l ike the A lps in the Swiss series
of love~ songs (chilly and self- conscious,i f no t selfish), i s but
slightly sketched in its mountain character—a fine paraphrasefrom P indar supplying the picture of the eruption into whichthe philosopher plunges . I t i s the lower mountain slopes, theidyl lic S icily, here, and in the beautiful Ober m ann
, on whichthe poet dwells with his most loving skill
,his caressing touches .
Thus in the valleys of Etna
The airI s fre sh en’d by the leap ing st ream,
wh ich throwsEternal showers of spray on the m o ss
’d roots
Oftrees,and veins of turf
,and longdark shoots
Ofivy plants,and fragrant hanging bells
Ofhyacinths,and on late anem onie s.
This is true to H ellenic feel ing. But,curiously
,in the
same drama he has placed in the mouth of Empedocles oneof his most deeply felt
,sad
,characteri stic pictures
Y o u,ye stars
,
Who slowly begin to marshalAs of o ld, in the fields of Heaven,Your distant, melancholy lines
Y o u , too, once lived
B u t now, yo u kindle
Your lonely,cold - shining lights,
Unwilling lingerersIn the heavenly w ilderness
,
Fo r a younger, ignoble worldAnd renew
,by necessity
,
N ight after n ight your cou rses
THE LANDSCAPE OF B R OWN I NG, ARN OLD CHAP .
Weary like us,though not
Weary w ith our weariness.
Such thoughts of despair might indeed have passed throughthe mind of Empedocles or of L ucretius. Yet I think wemust admit that A rnold here lapses into modernism
,as it
were bringing the stars within the range of human passionwith a melancholy grandeur, which wil l be recognised by thosewho have wandered in the mystic gloom of his favouriteOherm ann.
Passing over regretfully the pictures of the Oxford regionin the justly famous S chola r Gipsy and Thyr sis—pictures unfo rge tably clear and beautiful of the English Flora, whether ofthe garden or the wild—le t me now add a Breton and anEngli sh landscape.
Merlin and Vivian are at the spot in the forest of Brocel iande, where her enchantments are to seize him
They came to where the brushwood ceased,and day
Peer’d ’twixt the stems and the ground broke awayIn a sloped sward down to a brawling brook,And up as high as where they stood to lookOnthe brook’s fu rther side was clear b u t thenThe underwood and trees began again .
This open glen was studded thick wi th thornsThen white with blossom and you saw the horns
,
Through the green fern, of the shy fallow - deerWhich come at noon down to the water here .
Y o u saw the bright - eyed squirrels dart alongUnder the thorn s on the green sward and strongTh e blackbird whistled from the dingles nea r,And the weird chipp ing of the woodpeckerR ang lonelily and sharp the sky was fair
,
And a fresh breath of spring stir r’d everywhere .
Now the home landscape
The evening comes, the field is still.Th e tinkle of the thi rsty rill,U nheard al l day, ascends againD eserted i s the half-mown plain,
2 70 THE LANDSCAPE OF B R OWN I N G, ARNOLD CHAP .
bours purely Christian as was his work in song—yet its truestparall el s may be found in many lyrics of H orace and theGreek Anthology. T hey are alike in admirably accurate and
appropriate glimpses of Nature,in the variety of characters ex
hib ited, in tenderness of feeling, in exquisite simpl icity, inperfect poetical unity .
We will begin with one of Barnes’s mainly landscape pieces,rare in his work
Come o u t 0’ door, ’tis S pr ing ’tis May,
Th e trees be green, the v ie lds be gayTh e weather’s warm
,the winter blast
,
Wi ’ all his tram o’ clouds, is pastThe z undo rise wh ile vo ’k do sleep
,
To teake a higher daily zwe e p ,
Wi’ c loudless fe '
ac e a - fl ingendownH is sp a rklenlight upon the groun’.Th e ai r’s a - streamen soft, —come drow 1
Th e windor open let it blowIn dro ugh the house, where vire,1 an’ doorA - shut
,kept o u t the cwo ld avore .
Come , let the v ew dull embers d ie ,An’ come below the open skyAn’ wear your best, vo r fear the groun’In c olours gaym id she am e your gownAn
’
go o an’ r ig 2 w i’ me a mileO r two u p over ge ate an’ stile,D ro ugh zunny parrocks 3 that do lead,Wi’ crooked hedges, to the mead,Where e lem s high, in ste ate ly ranks,D o r i se vrom yo llow cowslip - banks,An’ birds do twitter vrom the sprayO’ bushes de ck’d w i’ snow - white m ayAn’ gil
’cups,w i
’the de aisy b ed,
Be under ev’ry step yo u tread .
We’ll wind u p roun’ the hill, an’ look,A ll down the thickly - tim b e r
’d nook,
1 d inD orset is frequently u sed fo r th and gt, 1} forf.
2 Cl im b .
3 Sm a l l enc losu res .
xvu B ARNES , AND CHAR L ES TENN YS ON 2 7 1
O u t where the squier’s ho u sc do showH is gray -wa ll’d peaks u p dro ugh the row0
’she ady c lems, where the ro c k
D o build her nest an’ where the brookD o creep along the meads, an’ lieT o catch the brightness o’ the skyAn’ cows, in water to thei r knees,D o stan’ a - wh iskenoffthe v le e s.
l
Mother 0’ blossoms, and c v allThat’s fe air a - vie ld vrom S pring till Fall,The go oko o over white -weaved seasD o come to zing in thy green trees,An’ b u tte rvle e s, in giddy flight,D o gleam the m wo st by thy ga
'
ylight.Oh when
,at last
,my fl e sh ly eyes
S hall shut upon the v ie lds an’ skies,Mid 2 zum m e r
’s zunny days be gone,
An’ w inter’s clouds be comen onN o r m id 2 I d raw upon the e ’th
,
3
O’ thy sweet a '
i'
r my le a te st breathAla ssenI m id want to stayB eh ine ’ for thee, O fl ow’
ryMay
The Yea r Cloth i s a similar poem,brilliantly personifying
the seasons in a southern Engl ish county.
My second example, from A Fa ther ou t,is a specimen of
Barnes’s u sual method—the intimate and vital union of scenerywith human life
The snow - white clouds did float on highIn shoals avore the sh e enensky
,
An’ r unnenweaves in pon’ d id c he'
ase
Each other on the water’s fe ac e ,A s hu iflénwin’ d id blow betweenTh e new - leaved boughs o’ sh e enengreen .
An’ there, the while I walk’d alongThe path, dro ugh le’aze,4 above the drong,5A l ittle m aid, w i’ b lo om enfe a c e ,
1 Fl ies . 2 Might, u sed for ifor sho u ld .
3 Ea rth .
"1 Unm ownfield .
5 N a rrow way.
2 72 THE L AND S CAPE OF B R OWN/N C, ARN OL D CHAP .
Went on u p hill w i’ n imble peace
,
A - leanen to the right - han’ z ide,T o car’ a basket that did ride,A - hangéndown, w i’ all his heft,1Upon her elbow at her left.An’ yet she hardly se em
’d to bruise
The grass - b le ade s w i’ her tiny shoes
,
That p a ss’d each other
,left an’ right,
In steps a ’m o st too quick vor z igh t.B u t she’d a - left her mother’s doorA - b e a renvrom her little storeH e r father’s welcome bit 0’ food,Where he wer o u t at work in woodAn’ she wer b le ss’d w i’ m wo r e than zwom e
A father out, an ’ mother hwom e .
What admirable straightforward s impleness have we here inwords how wholly unaffected and um- selfconscious with whatperfect translucency is the vis ion of the little maid rendered 1S im ilar in style are the single poems given to delineationof the Wa ter Cr ow r oot
,the L ila c
,the B la chhird. Children
especially—0 so playsome
,0 so sweet,
as he sings—with the innocent joys of youth,give their bright
est purest colours to these delightful ( I might perhaps say)water- colour miniatures.I f unrestrained by our proper subj ect, much m ight be
added upon this poet, whose affection for his own country- folkand thei r s imple dialect must have so diminished his readersthat
,of all the greater English poets known to me (unless
we add H . Vaughan), Barnes has received the scantiest shareof honour du e . H ere it sufli c e s to say that we have no one,Crabbe excepted
,who has approached him in the mult itude
of his scenes and characters,taken almost wholly from the
village l ife of his birth - county—pictures which, though not excluding its darker aspects
,yet most often display healthy labour
and healthy happiness whilst,turning to their qualities as art
,
these endless lyrics never fail in sweet simple words, set to1 Weigh t .
2 74 THE L AND S CA PE OF B R OWN JN G, ARNOL D CHAP .
poet’s sympathy was so gracious,so all-pervading
,that it has
dyed with its own colours not only the landscape with all i tssmaller features,—birds and flowers, but also the very tools ofthe labourer
,the steam - thresher
,the distant railway—the poet’s
imagination not only personifying,but ensoul ing them with
human l ife,under pressure of a strange personal energy. H enry
Vaughan,two centuries before
,has shown the same power
,
which is quite distinct from the gift of vivid description.
I f I here offer a l iberal selection from Charles T ennyson ’swork
,th is i s because it is so little known . The first
,one of
the early sonnets, shows how from the begi nning he revelledin the fineness of detail
A S UMMER TWI L I GH T
It i s a Summer gloaming, balmy- sweet,
A gloaming b righten’d by an infant moon,Fraught with the fairest light of middle juneThe lonely garden echoes to
'
my feet,
And hark O hear I not the gentle dews,Fretting the silent forest in his sleep ?0 1 does the sti r of housing insects creepThus faintly on mine ears ? D ay
’s many huesWaned with th e paling l ight and are no more,And none but drowsy p in ions beat th e air :The bat is hunting softly by my door,And
,noi seless as the snow - flake , leaves his lair
O’e r the still copses fl itting here and there,Wheeling the self- same circuit o’er and o’er.
THE FI R S T WEEK IN OCTOB E R
Once on an autumn day as I reposedBeneath a noon - beam
,pallid yet not du ll,
Th e branch above my head dipt itself fullOfthat white sunshine momently, and c losedWhile
,ever and anon, the ash en keys
D rop t down bes ide the ta rnish ’d hollyhocks,Th e scarlet crane’s -bill
,and the faded stocks,
Flung from the shufll ing leafage by the breeze.
XV I I B ARNES , AND CHAR L ES TENN YS ON 2 75
How wistfully I m a rk’d the year’s decay
,
Forecasting all the dreary w ind and rain’Twas the last week the swallow would remainHow jealously I wa tc h’d his c ircling playA few brief hours
,and he wou ld dart away,
No more to tu rn upon himself again .
THE THA I/VWIND
Th ro’ the deep drifts the south wind breathed i ts wayD own to the earth’s green face the air grew warm,
The snow -drops h a d rega in’d their lonely charm
,
Th e world ha d melted round them in a dayMy full hea rt long’d for v iolets—the blu e archOfheaven—the blackbird’s song—but Nature keptH e r stately order—Vegetation sleptN o r could I force the u nborn sweets ofMarchUpon a winter’s thaw. Wi th eyes that b ro ok’dA narrower prospect than my fancy craved
,
Upon the golden aconites I lo ok’d,And on the leafless willows as they wavedAnd on the broad leaved, half- thaw’d ivy - tod
,
That glitte r’d
, dripp ingdown upon the sod.
MORN IN G
It is the fairest sight in Nature’s realms,T o see on summer morn ing, dewy - sweet
,
That very type of freshness, the green wheat,Surging thro ’ shadows of th e hedgerow elmsHow the eye revels in the many shapesAnd colours which the risen day restoresH ow the wind blows the poppy’s scarlet capesAbout his u rn and how the lark upsoarsNo t like the timid corn - cra ik scudding fastFrom his own voice, he with him takes his songH eavenward, then, striking sideways, shoots along,Happy as sailor boy that, from the mast,R u ns o u t upon the yard- arm, till at lastH e sinks into his nest, those clover tufts among.
2 76 THE L AND S CA PE OF B R OWN I N G, A RN OL D CHAP .
THE S TEAM THRESH IN G-MA CH I NE
WI TH THE S TR AW- CAR R I ER
Flush with the pond the lurid furnace b u rn’dAt eve, while smoke and vapour fill’d the yardThe gloomy winter sky was dimly sta rr’d,Th e fly
-wheel with a mellow mu rmur turu ’dWhile, ever rising on its mystic stairIn the dim light, from secret chambers borne,The straw of harvest, se ve r’d from the corn
,
Clim b’d
,and fell over
,in the murky air.
I thought of mind and matter, will and law,
And then of him, who set his stately sealOfR oman words on all the forms he sawOfo ld-world husbandry I could b u t feelWith what a rich precision he would drawTh e endless ladder, and the boomingwheel
Vergil,the poet presently notes
,saw much same
human interest in farming tools
Th e wizard MantuanWho catalogued in rich hexametersThe R ake, the R oller, and the mystic Van.
A delicately quaint humour, also among C . T ennyson’s gifts,
pervades the following sonnet
TO A S CARE CR OW
Poor malkin, why hast thou been left behind ?Th e wains long since have carted offthe sheaves
,
And keen October, with his whistlingwind,S naps all the footstalks of the crisp ing leavesMethinks thou art not wholly make - believeThy posture, hat, and coat, are human stillCou ld’st thou but push a hand from o u t thy sleeveOr smile on me 1 b u t ah thy face i s n ilThe stubbles darken round thee, lonely oneAnd man has left thee
,all this dreary term
,
2 78 B ARNE S AND CHAR L E S TENN YS ON CHAP . xv u
i s absolutely unlike his illustrious brother. H is own phrase,“ the single- hearted sonnet,
” i s truly justified by his work ;some of the sonnets
,indeed
, A lfred held“ among the noblest
in our language. ” I t is sad and strange that so sweet a singer,one who should be dear also for h is brother’s sake
,should be
neglected—and that, now when the great Voices are silentnot less than Barnes ; although T ennyson does not offer thesuperficial difli c u lty of a rustic dialect . But B oohs a lso ha ve
the ir fa tes. Why,however, will readers turn to the literature
which canbe enjoyed but once ”
Those gilded trifle s of the hour,Those painted nothings sure to cloy 1
from that which offers permanent truth to human nature,pathos
,and beauty together ?
1 S . T . Coleridge.
CHA PT ER XVI I I
THE L AND S CAPE OF A L FR ED , L OR D TENN YS ON
R ESER V ING some short notice of A lfred Tennyson’s generalposition as poet for the close
,let us begin at once with the
landscape of his youthful work,and attempt the curious and
interesting task of tracing its gradual development throughsixty years and more.
We have the first instance in Cla r ibel,that lovely song in
which the natural details of a wild wood are subordinated tothe Melody which the poet truly names it
Where Claribel low- liethThe breezes pause and die ,L etting the rose - leaves fall
But the solemn oak - tree sigheth,Thick - leaved, ambrosial,With an ancient melodyOfan inward agony,Where Claribel low - lieth .
I f a little mannered, yet through its fullness of dict ion and
resolution of every image into music, the poet’s mature art is
partially foreshadowed, as in the curious experiment namedL eonine E legia cs which follows, his varied metrical power andinvention are youthfully p re figu red
Winds creep dews fall chilly in her first sleep earth breathesstilly
Over the pools in the burn water -gnats mu rmur and mourn.
S adly the far kine loweth the glimmeringwater o u tflowe thTwin peaks sha dow’
d with p ine slope to the dark hyaline .
2 80 THE L AND S CAPE OF CHAP .
Such poems as these come from what in his own phrasewas
—Inmy m om of youthThe unsunn’d freshness of my strength
but greater power and art presently appear in the Ma r iana
of the Grange . The details here are as numerous and asclearly delineated as in some early I talian or Flemish panel,yet all coloured by the human passion of the subject
With blackest moss the fl owe r - plotsWere thickly crusted, one and all
The rusted nails fell from the knotsThat held the pear to the gable - wall.
About a stone - cast from the wallA sluic e with b la cken’d waters slept,
And o’er it many, round and small,The c lu ste r
’d mari sh -mosses crept.Hard by a poplar shook alway
,
All silver -gr een with gnarled barkFo r leagues no other tree did ma rk
The level waste, the roundinggray.
Al l daywithin the dreamy house,Th e doors upon the ir hinges c re ak’d
The blue fly sung in the pane th e mouseBehind the moulderingwainscot shr iek’d,
Or from the crevice peer’d about .
We may smile now at the pompous jocosity with which areview of the period set forth these lines for the reader’sscorn . Yet i t should be remembered that the style was thena wholly new thing in English art
,and that he who thus
comes forward must force his way if he wishes others tofind it
Indeed, T ennyson’s skill was not yet certain the Oriental
picture which follows is so overwhelmed and overdone withluscious sweetness
,Splendour on splendour, that not one half,
2 82 THE L AND S CAPE OF CHAP .
Whether the high field on the bushle ss P ike ,Or even a sand - built r idgeOfheaped hills that mound the sea,Overblown with mu rm urs harsh
,
Or even a lowly cottage whenc e we seeS tr e tc h’d wide and wild the waste enormous marsh,Where from the frequent bridge,L ike emblems of infinity
,
Th e trenched waters r unfrom sky to sky.
The tr enchéd wa ter s r unfr om shy to shy. H ere we havealready T ennyson’s power of fixing a scene
,characteristic of
the L incolnshire marshland,i n a few perfect words—in the
absolutely right and only words,—a power in which he is,I think
,unsurpassed
,rarely rivalled. And then presently in
the Song A Sp ir it ha unts, and in that of the DyingSw an, the poet more definitely appears to fulfi l h imself. Butthese must be left to the reader’s remembrance.Coleridge has told us
,and no better authori ty could be
found, that“ there is no profession on earth which requires an
attention so early,so long
,or so unintermitting, as that of
poetry.
” 1 In this spirit,from 1 8 3 3 to 1 840 , T ennyson was
slowly but unfalteringly perfecting his art and forming himself.H is character and his verse
,l ike the star
,
“ without resting, yetwithout haste
,
” advanced together. H enceforth we often findthat gift of flashing the landscape before us in a word or twowhich I have just noticed—those felicities of language which ,again
,seem to be almost things instead of words . ” 2
Willows whiten,aspens quiver
,
L ittle breezes da sh and shiv e r
Thro’ the wave that runs for ever.
This I take from one of T ennyson’s earliest Arthurian sketches,The L a dy ofSha lott.Then who has put a perfect p icture into more perfect word
than thatAnEnglish home—gray twilight p o u r’dOndewy pastu res, dewy trees,
1 B i ogr aph i a L i te r a r i a , c h . 1 1 .2 J . H . Ca rd. Newm an.
xvm AL FRED , L ORD TENN YS ON 2 83
S ofter than sleep—a ll things in order stored,A haunt of ancient Peace .
Or, again , speaking of the sea as watched from a loftyprecipice
,how he pounces as i t were upon the one right word
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls.
And here for a moment let us compare a far later and widervignette describing
,also from a height
,that of his own house
,
A ldworthThe view
L ong- known and loved byme,G reen Sussex fading into blu eWith one gray glimpse of sea .
In this vividly picturesque style we may name the winter snowscene in the S a int Agnes E ve
,or the glimpses of Nature in the
Ga rdener’s D a ughter , although here the early elaborateness, the
something too musk- rosy,perhaps
,has not wholly disappeared.
I f we now take one or two longer examples how in the secondMa r iana has Tennyson set before us the landscape of Southand North with a seeming effortless lucidity
Nor bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat,N o r any cloud would cross the vault
,
B u t day increased from heat to heat,Onstony drought and steaming salt
T ill now at noon she slept again,And se em
’d knee - deep in mountain grass,
And heard he r native b reezes pass,And ru nlets babblingdown the glen .
1
A wider sweep,a more brilliantly coloured effect belongs to
the oriental landscape framed in L ochsley H a ll
L arger constellations burning, mellow moons and happy skies,B readths of tropic shade and palms in cluster, knots of Paradise .
N ever comes the trader,never floats an European flag,
S lides the bird o’er lustrous woodland, swings the trailer fromthe crag
1 Compa re D ante's l ittle str ea ms tha tflow down quoted in c hap. vu .
2 84 THE L AND S CAPE OF CHAP .
D roops the heavy - b lo ssom’d bower
,hangs the heavy- fruited
treeSummer isles of Eden lying in dark - purple spheres of sea .
H ere,again
,for a moment’s contrast let me place a scene from
the later L ochsley : the thought larger,the music less attuned
to sweetness, but deeper—the bass voice, we might say, takingthe song in place of the tenor
What are men that H e should heed u s ? cried the king of sacredsong ;
Insects of an hour,that hourly wo rk their brother insect wrong,
While the silent Heaven s roll, and S u ns along their fiery way,All the ir planets whirlinground them,
flash a million miles a day.
Many an lEonmoulded earth before her highest,man, was born,Many an E ontoo may pass when earth is man less and forlorn,Earth so huge, and yet so bounded—pool s of salt, and plots ofland
Shallow skin of green and azure—chains of mounta in, grains of
sand
I t i s a landscape more di stinctly built up by imaginationwhich we find in the L o tos-E a ter s. Brilliant as the inventionsof T ennyson in this manner are
,we may allow ourselves to
turn readi ly to what are more clearly transcripts from actualNature, yet Nature (as art always requires) everywhere modified and impassioned by the poet’s soul . Such—l ingeringstil l among the poems of young manhood—we find in twopicture s, both indebted,- . I believe, to Pyrenean scenery : thevale in I da of OEnone , and the
“ small sweet Idyl ” of the
Come down, 0 maid, from yonder mountain heightWhat pleasure lives in heigh t (the shepherd sang)In height and cold, the splendour of the hills ?
Fo r L ove is of the valley, come thou downAnd find him by the happy threshold
,he
,
Or hand in hand with P lenty in the maize
2 86 THE L AND S CAPE OF CHAP .
with the subj ect of his song, not simply as its fi t frame or background, whenever the passion ofthe moment requires it. Butfrom the animism of Shelley, the moral ising of Wordsworth, however deeply felt and admired, T ennyson almost wholly abstains.This may be called the natural mode in which Nature
affects man . I t i s the Greek spirit,and no less that of D ante
,
Chaucer,Shakespeare, Mil ton, and (as I have said), Keats .
The health iest mode, also, I would venture to call it, althoughthe human mind has of course room for those more subjective
,
those more enthrall ing aspects of Nature which other poetshave preferred to render.H ence, and because no poet i s more thoroughly his own
interpreter,some brief specimens
,chosen to exemplify the
correspondence of T ennyson ’s landscape with the gradual deve lopm ent of m ind and subject I have alluded to, may besufficient. Yet
,i f I offered thrice as many
,they would be but
drops from an infinite ocean of song and scenery .
I nMemor i a m naturally is rich in landscape, not only as alovely background
,but as corresponding intimately to the
moods of the sorrowing soul .My first example marks the time between A rthur Hallam’s
death and burial at Clevedon
Calm is the m om w ithout a sound,
Calm as to suit a calmer grief,And only thro’ the faded leaf
The chestnut patter ing to the ground
Calm and deep peace on this high wold,And on these dews that drench the furz e ,And all the silvery gossamers
That twinkle into green and gold
Calm and still light on yo u gr eat plainThat sweeps with all its autumn bowers,And crowded farms and lessen ing towers,
To mingle with the boundingmain
Calm and deep peace in this wide air,
These leaves that redden to the fall
xvm A LFRED , L OR D TENN YS ON 2 87
And in my heart, if calm at a ll,If any calm, a calm despairCalm on the seas, and silver sleep,
And waves that sway themselves in rest,And dead calm in that noble breast
Which heaves but with the heaving deep .
contrast soon follows a storm scene
R isest thou thu s, d im dawn,again,
And howle st,issuing o u t of night,
With blasts that blow the poplar white,
And lash with storm the streaming pane ?
Who u sh e r e st in the dolorous hourWith thy quic k tears that make the rosePull sideways, and the daisy close
H e r crimson fringes to the shower.
As with time followed a certain resignation to the sense of hisgreat loss
,the poem here and there reflects this more peaceful
mood. One evening scene begins thus
B y night we linge r’d on the lawn,Fo r underfoot the herb was dryAnd genial warmth and o’er the sky
Th e silvery haze of summer drawn.
Another picture I must give in fullWhen rosy plumelets tuft the larch
,
And rarely pipes the mounted thrushOr underneath the barren bush
Flits by the sea- blue bird 1 ofMarchCome, wear the form by which I know
Thy sp irit in time among thy peersThe hope of una c c om p lish’d years
Be large and lucid round thy brow.
When summer ’s hourly-mellowing changeMaybreathe, with many roses sweet,
1 Kingfisher.
2 88 THE L AND S CAPE OF CHAP .
Upon the thousand waves of wheat,
That ripple round the lonely grange
Come not in watches of the night,B u t where the sunbeam b ro ode th warm
,
Come, be auteous in thine after form,
And like a finer light in l ight .
H ere,perhaps, we have the most exquisite union of feeling
and scenery which even the I nbl em or i am offers.A very interesting group of three sonnets, as they would
have been called in El izabethan days, is conta ined in No s.
XCIX - CI , which give remembrances of T ennyson’s L incoln
shire home. And we have occasional proof of his interest,
strong and penetrative, in physical science
The re rolls the deep where grew the tree .
0 earth, what changes hast thou seenThere where the long street roars, hath been
The stillness of the central se a .
Or, again
The moanings of the home less sea,The sound of streams that swift or slowD raw down Aeonian hills
, and sowThe dust of continents to be.
Tennyson, ever watchful of natural deta il, was pleased i fhe felt that he had put successfully into verse some l ittlenoticed phenomenon . Yet the pleasure (which C. D arwinalso must have often known) of going closely true to realfact
,the sense almost of absolute contact with Nature
,was the
predominant feel ing. I quote one stanz a upon the floweringof the yew- tree, as he more than once a sked i f I knew towhat he referred
Old warde r of these buried bones,And answering now my random strokeWith fruitfu l cloud and living smoke,
D ark yew,that gra sp e st at the stones
the scene being in some country churchyard.
2 90 THE L AND S CAPE OF CHAP .
Shakespeare or Scott— scenery all the more real perhaps to usbecause it has been left by the poet so deftly to our imagination . In this subjective mood a landscape suggested by theidylls, or in accordance with them,
has been ingeniouslysketched by Mr . S to pfo rd Brooke
“ H e has built around his people the image of a wholecountry
,with its woods and streams
,hills and moors, marsh
and desert, dark oceans rolling in on iron coasts, vast wastes,ancient records of a bygone world hamlets and townsstorms and sunshine Nature i n her moods of beautyand brightness
,of gloom and horror. And over them he
has shed a light from the ancrent t ime,a romantic air and
sky.
” 1
L ooking now to the Epic itself (and putting aside here thatearly picture of S ir Bedivere at the L ake), perhaps no landscapes more defined are given us than the respective voyagesof Galahad and L ancelot in the Gr a il or than the scene inthe L a st Tou rna m ent
,when T ristram
,we are told, is dreaming
of a combat between a demon knight and A rthur ; who simplylets h is foe
Fall,as the crest of some slow - archingwave,
H eard in dead night along that table - shore,
D rops flat,and after the great wate rs b reak
Wh itening for half a leagu e, and thin themselves,Fa r over sands marbled with moon and cloud,From less and less to nothing ;
ti ll h is knights burst in and fire the demon castle, which, blaz inghigh
Made all above it,and a hundred meres
Abou t it,as th e water Moab saw
Come round by the East,and o u t beyond them fl u sh ’d
T he long low du ne, and lazy- plunging sea.
T o this middle period belong a few English idylls whichrank with T ennyson’s most finished work . Among these areEnoch A r den (which may be reckoned his greatest success in
1 Tennyson,I 894 .
xvm ALFRED , L ORD TENN YS ON 2 9 1
a form of poetry that he has made pecul iarly h is own), andthe terribly powerful Aylm er
’
s Field. Each has a landscapeof singular brilliancy ; in Enoch the scenery of a tropica li sland, where the intensi ty of the colouring seems to b e
deepened by the presence of the lonely sailor ; whilst Aylmer’s
Fi eld gives a group of sweet flower- overgrown cottages, suchas one se e s and can only see in England. Or, again, whereshall we find a stream like a living creature before us
,in
verse so true to Nature’s finest details—simple a s i f thewords had of themselves ranged themselves into perfect music
- as the B r ooh in the idyll named from it
With many a curve my banks I fretBy many a field and fallow
,
And many a fairy foreland setWith willow -weed and mallow.
I slip,I slide
,I gloom, I glance,
Am ongmy skimming swallowsI make the netted sunbeam danceAgainst my sandy shallows .
And th is summer of the poet gave us also two pieces notablyrich in landscape. The record of his first I tal ian journey isone series of vignettes
,whose del icate truth they who have
traversed the route (R iviera, Florence, Mi lan, Como) willalways recognise—vignettes worthy of Turner at his best.The view from Milan Cathedral Spire indeed wonderfullyrecall s the actual magic of the great artist’s style when dealingwith remote di stances
I c lim b ’d the roofs at break of dayS un- smitten Alps before me lay.
I stood among the silent statuesAnd statu ed pinnacles, mute as they.
How faintly- fl u sh’d, how phantom - fair,
Wa s Monte R osa, hanging thereA thousand shadowy-
p enc ill’d valleys
And snowy dells in a golden air.
2 92 THE L AND S CAPE OF CHAP .
We have seen T ennyson’s picture of the L incolnshiregarden of his youth . Now in the l ines to F. D . Maurice hegave another of the
—Careless - o rde r’d gardenClose to the ridge of a noble down
Fa rr ingfo rd by Freshwater, so long his home,—returning tothe cherished spot with more fullness in the later stanzas To
In sharp contrast with these scenes of almost ideal beauty,the N or thern Fa rm er offers the first of those humorouscounty scenes which enter into the poems in dialect, and l ikethe landscape of the Arthurian I dylls, are told in briefpowerful touches . Fo r nothing is more remarkable thanT ennyson’s inexhaustible variety and range of subj ect. Inthis it would be hard to find his rival . H is lyre seems tohave ten strings .I t would
,indeed
,be easy to form a whole anthology of
landscape from this single poet’s work. Much has beenquoted
,yet some fragments must be added from the latest
poems . T hus far I have often compared T ennyson’s style, sobrilliant
,so complete in art, to that of T itian . Such a com
parison is of course general, and must not be pressed far.And similarly R embrandt may justly be recalled when we thinkofR izp a h, of Columbu s, The Wr ech, the L ep er
’s B r ide
, D esp a ir ,the second L ocksley H a ll. Yet among poems of this deeplyshadowed, darkly toned class, others, and, perhaps, especiallythose rendering landscape, exhibit the poet
’s full lordship overbeauty
,that unwearied brightness of soul, that
“ boy for ever,
”
which,despite the depths of sad seriousness which haunted
him from youth,he retained even to the moon - l it death - b ed at
A ldworth .
I take now those which I have likened to some of R embrandt’s work . The first is from T ennyson’s last classicalidyll but one, D em eter and P ersep hone
A sudden nightingaleS aw thee, and fl a sh ’d into a frolic of songAnd welcome and a gleam as of the moon,
2 94 THE L AND S CAPE OF CHAP .
Or, again, as the soul- ruined man and wife go forth to die
—Ah God, that n ight, that n igh tWhen the rolling eyes of the lighthouse there on the fatal neckOf land runn ing o u t into rock—they h a d saved many hundreds
from wreckGlared on o u r way toward death, I remember I thought, as we
past,
D oes i t matter how many they saved ? we are a ll of us wr e ck’dat last
D o yo u fear ? ” and there came thro’ the roar of the breaker awhisper
,a breath
,
Fear ? am I not w ith yo u ? I am frighted at life, not death .
”
What a terrible stroke of reality in the sta r es a t the snow,
- in the r olling eyes of the lighthou se ! And what ineffablesadness in the following lamentation of a youth who has nocreed but a disillusioned Epicureanism !
O rosetree planted in my grief,And growing, on her tomb,
H e r dust i s greening in your leaf,H e r blood i s in your bloom.
O slender l ily wav ing there,And laughing back the light,In vain yo u tell me Earth is fairWhen a ll i s dark as n ight.
As an example of L ochsloy H a ll S ixty Yea r s After has alreadybeen given
,we may turn with pleasure to the l ines in which
T ennyson reverts to the charm and the beauty,the sunny
sweetness,more congenial to himself. Fo r
,to touch again on
his inner nature,those solemn words,
“ as sorrowful, yet alwayrejoicing
,
” might be truly applied to the innermost being ofth is poet
,whether in his l ife or his poetry.
To this date belongs what i s perhaps the least known ofthose exqu isite pictures of Southern scenery which began inthe original L ochsley H a ll ; placed in the mouth of that umhappy mother inThe Wr ech, from which we have alreadyquoted
,describing how she was tempted to quit her duty
xvm ALFRED , L ORD TENN YS ON 2 95
—He spoke of his tropical home in the canes by the purple tide,And the high star- crowns of his pa lms on the deep -wo odedmountain - side,
And c liffs all robed in lianas that dropt to the brink of his bay,And trees like the towers of a minster, the sons of a winterless
day.
But it will be best to quote the song written on a visit toL ombardy
,which i s another example of the sweet, long- flowing
metres of the poet’s later days . I t i s founded on two exquisitel i ttle poems by Catullus
,one celebrating his home upon the
peninsula of S irm io on L ake Garda (to which we have beforealluded), the other, the death of his dearly loved brother
R ow us out from D esenzano,to your S irmione row
S o they ro w’d
, and there we landed O venusta S irm io l ”There to me thro’ all the groves of olive in the summer glow,
There beneath the R oman ru in whe re the pu rple flowers grow,
Came that “ Av e atque Vale ” of the poet’s hopeless woe,
T enderest of R oman poets n ineteen hundred years ago ,Frater Ave atque Vale —as we w ande r’d to and froGazing at the L ydian laughter of the Garda L ake belowSweet Ca tu llu s’s a ll -b u t- island, olive - silvery S irm io
But perhaps the completest and most noteworthy landscape ofthese days i s the delightful picture of E a r ly Sp r ing
Once more the Heavenly Powe rMakes a ll things new,
And domes the r ed -
p low’d hills
With loving blueTh e blackbi rds have the ir wills,The throstles too.
Opens a door in HeavenFrom skies of glass
A Jacob’s ladder fallsOngreeninggrass,
And o’er the mountain -wal lsYoung angels pass .
2 96 THE L AND S CAPE OF CHAP .
The woods with living airsH ow softly fanu ’d
,
L ight airs from where the deep,All down the sand
,
I s breathing in his sleep,Heard by the land.
Past, Futu re, glimpse and fadeThro’ some slight spell,
A gleam from yonder vale,S ome far blu e fell,
And sympathies,how frail
In sound and smell
T ill at thy c huckled note,Thou twinkling bird,
The fairy fancies range,And
,lightly stirr’d,
R ing little bells of changeFrom word to word.
Fo r now the Heavenly PowerMakes all things new,
And thaws the cold, and fills
The flower w ith dewThe blackbirds have their wills,The poets too.
Nature here i s looked on as a living sentient thing, somewhatin Wordsworth’s style
,yet with a feeling al l T ennyson ’s own
whilst at the same time,as Mr . Ma c ka il has noted, in the last
stanza but one he has “ come very near,as near perhaps as i t
“ i s possible to do in words, towards explain ing the actualprocess through which poetry comes into existence.
” 1
H ere, perhaps, this book should close . But I cannot thusquit one
,for forty - three years and more a friend ever kind and
true ; and one whose company, with that of his honoured wife,wa s an invaluable lesson for the conduct of life, for gracious
1 L a tinL i te r a tu r e .
I N D E X
L a rge Ca p ita ls P oe ts a na lysed , w i th exa mp le s
Sma ll ( I ta lic ) Ca p i ta ls Exp la na to ry p a ssages
P la in I ta lic s : I nc identa l no tic es
AESCHY L US 22 : 2 0
ALKMAN 1 9
AND REAS,THE 1 1 1
ANGLO- S AXON P OETR Y 1 08,
ANT I PH I L US 29
App u lei u s 58
AR I STOPHANES 25
ARNOL D ,MATTHEW 265
269 2 2 1 9
ATTIUS 36AUSONIUS 65
B ARNES 269 - 273
B EATT IE 1 72
B EOWUL F 109B ROWNE 1 5 2
B ROWN ING 25 7- 265
B URNS 1 75 - 1 77
B YRON 1 88 - 1 95
CAEDMON 1 1 0
CAREW 1 48 89
CATUL L US 5 2 2 95
CEL TI C P OE TR Y, I TS CHARACTER
rsTI CS 94 - 96
DAFYDD AP GWIL YM 101 - 1 03
DANIEL , GEORGE 1 5 1
DANTE 80- 87 1 59, 2 86
DOUGL AS 1 27- 1 29
CHANGE I N E I GH TEEN TH CEN
TUR Y S TYLE 1 72
CHARA CTERI S TI CS OF GREEK AND
R OMAN L I TERA TURE 3 4 - 3 6
CHAUCER 1 1 7- 1 2 1 : 2 86
CH IL DREN ’S SONGS 33
Chu r ch, R . W. 2 37
Ciu llo d’A lc amo 80
CL ARE 206 - 208
CL AUD I AN 65 - 68
COL ER I DGE,HARTL EY 25 1
COL ER IDGE, S . T . 1 96 - 203
2 39 2 2 40 22 49
COL L I NS 1 73
Cotton, Cha r les I 53
Cowp er 1 75
CRAB B E 203 - 206
CUCKOOAND NIGHTINGAL E1 2 1
CYNEWULF 1 10
300 I NDEX
DRAYTON 1 46 - 1 48 HUME 1 45
D R UMMOND 1 5 3 H unt, L e igh 2 73
D UNB AR 1 26
DY ER 1 71 I B YKUS 2 1
I TA L I AN P OETR Y, EARL Y 79
EARL Y FRENCH AND GERMAN
P OETR Y 79
ECCL ES IASTES 74EL IZAB ETHAN L Y R ICS 1 38EL L IOTT 209E L OCUTI O N OVEL L A 5 7
ER SE AND GAEL IC POETS
1 04 - 106
E u r ip ides 2 5KEATS 2 10 2 1 8 3 I 972 2 86
KEB L E 250 1 73
FL ETCHER , GILES 1 49FL ETCHER , JOHN 1 40
FL OWER AND THE L EAF 1 22
Fronto 58
Goethe I 79
GOL D SMITH 1 74
GRAY 1 73
GREEK AN THOL OGY 2 8
GWAL CHMA I 99
HAB AKKUK 74
HEB REW P OETR Y COMPARED WI TH
CL A S S I CAL 70
HERR ICK 1 56
HES IOD 1 6
HOMER 1 1 - 1 5 1 59
HOMER IC HYMNS 1 5HORACE 5 2
JAMES 1 OF SCOTL AND 1 25
fob 73
JONES , EB ENEZER 25 3JONSON 1 39 1 45
JOSEPH , THE B L ES S ING OF
72
L a m b 1 97
L ANGHORNE 1 72
L EON I DAS OFTARENTUM
L L YWARCH HEN 96 - 98
L ORENZO DE’MED ICI 9 1
L UCRETIUS 37-43
L YDGATE 1 23
L YTE, H . F. 249
Ill a cha i l, j . W. 63 , 2 96
Ma r ti a l 56
MARVEL L 1 54MED IAEVAL L Y R ICS OF
ENGLAND 1 1 4, 1 1 5
MEL EAGER OF GADARA 3 1MENANDER 3 2MIL TON 1 58 - 1 60 2 86
MOERO 3 1
Al omm sen 58
302 I ND EX
Ta ine 2 8 1
TAS SO,TORQUATO 92
TENNY SON,ALFRED 279 - 297
50, 5 1 , 1 59 , 2 1 0, 2 37
TENNY SON -TURNER , C. 273
278
THEOCR ITUS 26THE ROSE 6 1
THOMSON 1 69 - 1 71 Wa r ton, Thom a s 1 72
TI B ER I ANUS 62 - 65 WH ITEHEAD 208
Ti bu llu s 54 WINCHEL SEA , L ADY 1 67
T I CKEL L 1 68 WITHER 1 48
Titi an 2 WORD SWORTH 232 - 3 49 1 79
Tu rne r , W'
. M 4 1 , 2 3 5, 2 57 1 30
THE END
P r inted by R . R . CL A RK, L IMI TED ,
VA R I OUS A SPECTS OF L AND S CAPE
IN P OE TR Y 6 - 1 0
VAUGHAN , HENRY 1 60- 1 65
VERE, S I R A . DE 2 5 2
VERGI L 43 - 5 1 86, 1 59 , 2 60,
2 76
MESSRS . MACMILLAN do 00.
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