Gents Mag 1842 part 1 p.13
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Gentleman's Magazine 1842 part 1 p.13
"if the above words bear the above meaning, and no other, what term is left to designate that faculty of which the poet is all compact; he whose eye glances from earth to heaven, whose spiritual attributes body forth what his pen is prompt in turning into shape; or what is left to characterize fancy as insinuating herself into the heart of objects with creative activity? "Imagination," he continues, "in the sense of the word, as giving a title to a class of the following poems, has no reference to images that are merely a faithful copy, existing in the mind, of absent external objects, but is a word of higher import, denoting operations of the mind upon those objects, and process of creation or of composition, governed by certain fixed laws." It is to be feared, that, according to this expurgatory ban, even the two "wonderful stanzas," as they are reporrted to have been called by Gray, must be placed, in something like disgrace, to the score of memory alone: indeed, it seems scarcely possible to fix upon any saving clause in our Poet's edict by which we may rescue from the same debasement the lines in which Eve describes the sweetness of rising morn and grateful evening mild. But if memory be pronounced commensurate to the office of performing so much that is excellent, it may, perhaps, be possible to associate her with sentiments and feelings - not powers - not operations of the mind - that will enable her to render the supposition of any superior power entirely superfluous. Let the reader judge - here are the lines: "Sweet is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the Sun, When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, Glist'ring with dew; fragrant the fertile earth After soft showers; and sweet the coming on Of grateful Evening mild: then silent Night, With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon, And these the gems of heav'n, her starry train: But neither breath of Morn, when she ascends With charm of earliest birds, nor rising Sun On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower, Glist'ring with dew, nor fragrance after showers, Nor grateful Evening mild, nor silent Night, With her solemn bird, nor walk by moon, Or glittering star-light, without thee is sweet." P. L. b.6. "But who the melodies of morn can tell? The wild brook babbling down the mountain side; The lowing herd, the sheepfold's simple bell; The pipe of early shepherd dim descried In the lone valley; echoing far and wide The clamorous horn along the cliffs above; The hollow murmur of the ocean tide; The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love, And the full choir that wakes the universal grove." "The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark; Crown'd with her pail, the tripping milkmaid sings; The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and, hark! Down the rough slope the pond'rous waggon rings; Through rustling corn the hare astonish'd springs; Slow tolls the village clock the drowsy hour; Deep mourns the turtle in sequestr'd bower, And shrill lark carols clear from her aerial tour." The Minstrel b.1. |
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