THE POETIC ELEMENT.

BY REV. G. C. BALDWIN.

By some means an opinion extensively prevails, that in this matter of fact world of ours, the poetic element is not of much real value. Many conscientiously believe, that to be a poet, is to be a moon-struck visionary, and that to cultivate a taste for poetry, is to unfit the mind for the sober duties of life. Such assume, that poetic talent is incompatible with intellectual strength; and, that he who would strike the Muse's lyre, must live in an ideal world, unmindful of those fearful responsibilities, which arise out of his relations, as a mortal and an immortal being. If such is the legitimate tendency of proper attention to poetry, or the legitimate result of the poetic element, then indeed it is worse than valueless, it is positively pernicious. With due deference, however, to all who, either theoretically or practically entertain such views, we give it, as our firm conviction, that a just apprehension of the nature of this element, and its real influence, will exhibit in a strong light their incorrectness.

What is the poetic element? It will be borne in mind, that we are not now speaking of poetry

popularly so called, but of its elementary nature. This, we conceive to be, spiritual sympathy with whatever is beautiful, grand, or sublime. It is the mysterious susceptibility, with which our creator has endowed the human soul, to receive those impressions, which the beautiful, the grand or sublime, wherever seen, or heard, or felt, is adapted to produce. The good, and the true, in God's world of mind and character, as well as, the beautiful and magnificent in His world of matter, possess an inherent adaptation to produce a certain class of impressions on every intelligent being who contemplates them; and we conceive, that what we call the poetic element, is nothing more than the God-given susceptibility of our nature, which prepares it to meet this adaptability of universal

nature.

Now, a sound philosophy teaches us, that a degree of this sympathy, or susceptibility is found in every rational mind, manifesting itself in some form, and that, it is one of those attributes of our higher nature, which affords the clearest evidence of the Divine benevolence. Without it, we might have existed, 'tis true, but we could never have appreciated the glories of this "bright and breathing world." Then, to us there had been no sweetness in flowers, no melody in music, no grandeur in the surging ocean chafed by storms, no sublimity in tall, dusky mountains, wreathed with thunder-clouds, no magnificence in the o'erspread

ing sky, nor holy radiance in moon-beams, nor living beauty in the pure stars, as they glitter from the depths of their cerulean homes.

Then friendship and love, (which by the way, are merely strong developements of poetic sympathy,) had been unfelt, then, the deep mysteries of nature within, and without us, had remained forever unread. For in the noble verse of Dana,

"The rill is tuneless to his ear, who feels
No harmony within; the south wind steals
As silent, as unseen among the leaves.
Who has no inward beauty, none perceives
Tho' all around is beautiful.

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Soul! fearful is thy power, which thus transforms
All things into thy likeness; heaves in storms
The proud strong sea, or lays it down to rest
Like a hushed infant on its Mother's breast."

And aside from the teachings of philosophy, if we analyze our experience, we will discover that, the fact of the existence of a degree of this element in every mind, is a matter of consciousness. It may be noticed commingling with our earliest emotions, attuning them to the harmony of creation. Who, in recurring to the experience of his youth, cannot remember the joy which thrilled his heart while gazing upon some stupenduous product of nature, or the splendors of night while her brow was gemmed with stars, when there were mysterious voices in the murmurs of streamlets, and the wild dash of mountain torrents?

Who has forgotten the strange emotions which crowded upon his young soul, when thoughts of God, and of eternity burst upon it? And surely the rough hand of Time has effaced from no memory the charm which then invested the world, the bright colorings which then gleamed up from life's desert, or the enchanting visions, which then filled the vista of futurity? Well has Youth been called "the poetry of existence," for the poetic element floats around its sunny pathway, like the "gold dust atmosphere" around the vale of Tempe. And much of this, mingles with the experience of maturer years. We are aware that,

"An eating, drinking, bargain-making man,”

will smile at, and perchance ridicule this idea. But after all, if he loves the mother who watched over the slumbers of his infancy; or the wife who gave him all the garnered wealth of a virgin heart; or the children, who like flowers of Paradise have sprung up in the garden of his home, that love is full of poetry. If he grieves for the "loved and lost," if he sheds tears-those dew-drops of the heart, on the graves of those, whom while living he loved, and when dead he remembers,— that grief is full of poetry. If from the charity of a benevolent soul, he feeds the hungry, clothes the naked, speaks kind words to the unfortunate, and weeps with the afflicted,-that charity is full of poetry. If philanthropy burns on the altar of

his heart, and prompts him to energetic action for the amelioration of the ills of humanity,-that philanthropy is full of poetry. Or if, as a christian he hopes to conquer the world, and pillow his dying head on the sympathetic bosom of his Lord; and then hopes to gaze on "the King in his beauty," and enjoy the blessedness of that "land which is very far off,"-those hopes are full of poetry.

If the view we have presented is correct, it will be seen on a moments reflection, that by means of this susceptibility, we are placed in sympathetic union with the works of God, and are enabled to perceive that the "Spirit of Poetry" sparkles from every point of the visible universe, and gleams up from every part of the invisible world of thought and feeling. That it peoples the solitude of our primeval forests with ideal existences, and flings a ray of glory over hill and valley, sombre shade and glowing sunshine, and like the rainbow, illumines life's departing clouds, and bends o'er the earth,

Like love o'er a death couch, or Hope o'er a tomb."

To the tenderly sympathetic person, ours is a glorious world. The etherial light, the azure heavens and revolving orbs; the eccentric comet and vivid lightning; the verdant plain, cloud-piercing mountain and rolling seas are all rich in high and holy associations. The earth is one vast scroll written all over with the finger of Deity, and all he sees