There are three lofty and emotional verses in Wordsworth’s “Intimations,” which should be spoken of. The first of these is a gem, and would have been without flaw but that it begins in the climacteric, while the subject and development of it, which should come first, begin at the sixth line, thus:

down to the end.

It is almost sad to observe what splendid material Wordsworth sacrifices through his want of poetic art.

The stanza needs no verbal correction; its fault is in the misplacement of the lines. It is one of the most important verses in the language, or I would not trouble the critic about it, but I will ask him to read it thus by transposing the lines:

The qualifications of one who could be classed with the greatest of poets are deducible from Shakespeare alone; they are as follows:—

1. Imagination.

2. Philosophic vision.

3. A sense of the ludicrous.

4. An emotional perception of beauty.

5. Harmony.

6. Art.

All of these might be dilated on, but not here.

It is a notable truth that the poetic mind never appears fully to mature. A man often writes a whole bible of verses, of which but one per cent., or from that to ten, is worth preserving. If he produces one or two favourite poems, a mild people accepts the whole, but only feeds on the little income of its large capital. A voluminous writer may succeed in yielding a fine harvest on the whole; the wheats beyond all praise, the barleys good, the oats plentiful; but the roots indifferent and the potato crop decidedly bad.

It would be a curious sight if one could inspect the proceedings of Fame Insurance Companies, in which Shakespeare had a policy for millions all paid up, and invested in the hearts of generations unborn; in which, if Coleridge has not a tithe of the amount, he is yet rich with the well-earned increment ever increasing; and Wordsworth, who teaches moral as well as poetic divinity, is not very far behind him. There I pause, accepting contemporary poets as more or less life-annuitants.

There is, perhaps, no example of retrospective imagination (it is at once so dramatic, so poetic) like the opening words of Gloucester in the play of Richard III.

Before Shakespeare’s day, drama and poetry lived very much apart—one may say entirely separate in the Greek; no less so than chemical science and geology may do at the present time: Shakespeare, in much of his work, made them one.

in this the action is dramatic, the verbal structure metaphoric.

The same is true of—

while the words,

surpasses both, as not being metaphoric, yet poetic as well as dramatic.

Furthermore, the latter line—

is most perfect in drama-poetic expression. It is exquisite in its contempt; it is ever visible in its movement; it is ludicrous too. Here lies the highest triumph of poetry, to do that which ordinary speech can barely effect in any single sentence—to attain to the most beautiful expression without a single metaphor; that is, by absolute simplicity of speech.

Of course, metaphor is a great resource in composition; it involves not only the fact, but its simile in one and the same epithet.

The line in Hamlet—

has as strong a simile in it, through “harrow up,” as is contained in the expression—

But the last is pure poetry; the other is dramatic poetry.

Of course, pure poetry has the highest quality of all; it is so sincere, so convincing, that it requires no help to render it beautiful and effective.

The whole address in Hamlet delivered by the Ghost is free from metaphor with few exceptions towards the end, as—

also—

These two lines are the only exceptions. They are mighty, and at the very summit of human art, but in this respect do not actually reveal more than may be set forth in a pure simplicity of diction.

This great truth of truths was known to David and Solomon. It came to them as the only means through which the interests of a pure humanity could be enlarged on, and made to reach the heart.

Moses enjoyed the art, as shown in his account of the creation; so likewise did the authors of Esther, Ruth, and Job. It came to them because their poetry was so human, and consisted not, as it did with the Greeks, in exalting heroes and conquerors.

It is easy enough to use simple language in descriptive poetry or in prose; not so easy to attain to sublimity by its means. To do this demands genius of the first order. Shakespeare, the most gifted of men, was not too great to employ it in his highest achievements. He was a perfect master of simplicity; he knew that there was but one simple thing, and that was truth.

and the lines that follow, are entirely free from metaphor, yet no purer and nobler description ever found utterance. The more a writer deviates from simplicity, the less sincere he appears. Let every man of genius mark my words, that He who delivered the parables to the multitude was Sincerity itself; that His teachings were allegories, but that metaphor never crossed His lips. Take as examples those exquisite poems—for such they are, unfettered by artificial metre—the parables of the Prodigal Son, and of the Ten Virgins: a critical reading of them will readily reveal that not a single metaphor exists in either, and yet what an elevated poetry pervades them! After perusing them, turn at once to Milton and read his account of Satan’s exaltation in hell—

This is great language, is marvellous, high-sounding, impressive, but is it sincere? Would an angel sent from heaven to report on the proceedings in hell, have brought back such a description as this of what he had beheld?

It is grand, as is Homer’s exaltation of his heroes; but does it touch the innermost heart?

This is said not to find fault; not to withdraw admiration from one of the few who have made their country famous before all other lands, for there is time for all things; for

and for sadness at the sufferings of humanity.

In writing about Shakespeare and Coleridge, I have showed that poems from their hand, however short, had the three essentials of art—that is, the three parallels, not more or less—namely, the statement of the subject, the development of it in detail, and the climax. The bare statement of the subject is the basis of the whole; the development employs the retrospective imagination which embraces an acquaintance with all nature and human life; finally, the climax involves the moral by means of the prospective imagination or the circumspective, and rises into the incommensurable.

An analysis of the parables shows that these three parallels are invariably to be found in each. A poet who cares little or nothing for nature uses the introspective imagination, substituting himself for the universe, whence his climax often sinks into a mere reflection.

I would say a few more words on the subject of parables.

Dr. Angus, the masterly author of an English Grammar, defines the allegory, parable, and fable. He says of the parable that it is an allegory of something that might happen, written in metaphoric language. This is an instance in which a great scholar may err by dispensing with scrutiny and relying on his instinctive belief.