Great Poets, Past and Present

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INTRODUCTION

NE of the most interesting things in the study of poetry is how time, like a chemical, fades or brightens the glory of a poet. Out of the early history of the language Chaucer alone lives in a faint, antique glow. We read him seldom now because of the change in the language. The shadow over him appears to be mechanical rather than inherent. Spenser, on the contrary, we can read with almost perfect readiness; and we cannot doubt that his verse is as sweet and rich and melodious and sensuous as that of any modern poet, Keats for example. But when we have Keats and Shelley, who have written in the images of our present age, the antique atmosphere of Spenser, together with a certain excess of sweetness, prevents our reading him as we do the poets of our own time.

But out of the past now and then a little song or scrap of verse seems to shine more brightly and clearly than even the best songs of to-day. Such are Ben Jonson's "Drink to me Only with Thine Eyes," Drayton's "Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part," George Wither's "Shall I, wasting in despaire, Dye because a woman's fair?" Herrick's "Gather ye rosebuds

while ye may," and the like. In our own time Gray seems to have been fading steadily, but the Elegy in a Country Churchyard" seems lovelier in its old age than in its youth.

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Dryden and Pope were once the kings of literature. Their rule was so complete and masterful that even to this day they figure in the short list of great ones to be studied in all the schools. And yet as poets modern criticism has discredited them for half a century. Yet curiously enough Pope lives, not in single bright poems but in quoted couplets, of which he has more than any other writer except Shakespeare. These are really a peculiar kind of very short poem, just as complete and satisfying as if they never had been included as parts of a larger whole. The substance of most of these quotations is trite enough, but the epigrammatic expression seems to defy improvement.

For the most part, however, it is the human sentiment that has made a poem brighten with time. This it is, existing in an overwhelming degree, which has kept Shakespeare for us; for we must freely admit that what once may have been considered his most successful poetry is hard reading for us, preserved only because of its connection with that which is simpler but eternally alive in its humanity.

On the other hand the poetry of our present day is like a photographic plate which has not been developed. Its outlines are to us dim and uncertain; but time may change all this: we cannot tell. The light of time required fifty years to develop Wordsworth's distinct and brilliant

outlines. Aye, even he himself did not know precisely what he had on the sensitive plates in his camera.

There are two ways of studying poetry, both of which have their advantages. One is the historic method, and it is this method that schools and universities seem to prefer. By this method the faded outlines of each age are restored, and the figures are given their proper place and proportions. This is why Dryden and Pope have kept their places so steadily in school studies, for in the historical eye it would be quite impossible for a whole century to fade away. The other method of study is that of spontaneous appreciation, and this is keenest for the work of the present day. To those who seek poetic pleasure, the faded verses of former times are deadening to the spirit, and the wise reader clings only to those which time has preserved in clear and inspiring colors. And side by side with these must stand many poems which have their present value, but to-morrow will inevitably be faded and forgotten. Certainly, let us take them and appreciate them while we may. Some of them may brighten and last; others will surely disappear.

Modern libraries have preserved the mummies of many dead poems; but antiquity was not so careful. The poorer poems of Homer, and Eschylus, and the rest, have utterly escaped us. When our own libraries turn to dust, only those words which live in our hearts and which we repeat daily for the comfort of our souls, will be preserved and transcribed afresh.

Many of the poems in the following pages are

more likely to continue to give inspiration and comfort than some in the pages that have preceded; but most of these poems we shall read to-day for the poem's sake, while in the preceding it is of the author that we think, and it is the author that we study.

On one point I wish to say a word. Patriotism is an admirable thing, and assuredly to be encouraged. But I am by no means sure that it is wise for us Americans to separate our literature from that of England.1 We have a few poets and writers of whom we are proud; but when literature is the food of the soul, the source of our culture and the consolation of our life, it seems foolish to take from the whole body of literature in English the few American writers, exaggerate their merits, pad their works, and puff them out so as to fill a volume as large as that given us by England. By this process we seem to take Whittier, for example, from his place beside a writer, let us say, like Christina Rossetti, or Lowell from beside William Morris, or Bryant from beside Clough, and place them on a footing with Wordsworth, Shelley, Keats, Browning, Tennyson. And in order to give our Americans place and attention worthy of our conception of our national dignity, we slight the greater poets, the older half brothers and sisters of our own. Would it not be wiser for our own sakes to admit

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1 I refer to school histories of " American Literature," designed originally to supplement English histories of "English Literature which exclude American authors. As in this volume I would have one history of the "Great English Poets" (for example), American and English included alike. - EDR.