THE

QUARTERLY REVIEW.

ART. I.-Our Living Poets. By H. Buxton Forman. London, 1872.

THE

HE condition of poetry is a matter of public concern. Above the other arts, poetry stands pre-eminent in its power to influence the mind of society; for while, like the rest of them, it seeks to give an outward form to the inner experience of our nature, it expresses itself not in marble, colour, or sound, but in language, which, of all means for communicating human thought and feeling, is the most rationally intelligible. No more subtle power can be conceived for the direction of those feelings and perceptions, which we call taste, whether it invigorate them, by giving a living body to manly thought, or corrupt them, by throwing the lustre of fancy over objects that are by nature debasing and unsound. The poetry of an age is the monument of its character; the virtues and the weaknesses of our ancestors are perpetuated in their verse; and in the same manner we shall ourselves be exposed to the clear judgment of posterity. Over language also the poets exercise a great modifying power, and as they have strengthened it in its infancy, and directed its growth, so in its maturity it should be their endeavour to preserve it from decay.

For all these reasons it is of importance that society should have a settled opinion of what poetry ought to be, and that the critic should not content himself with simply appreciating the intention of a poem, but should determine whether the motive of its composition be just and the language pure. Half a century ago, when the taste of society was fixed by a fairly definite standard, the general principles from which a critic started were commonly understood. But in the present day we have no such agreement of opinion. Modern poetry is certainly not wanting in character; it displays strong and well-defined tendencies of thought and language, which cannot fail to exercise a powerful effect for good or ill upon the public taste. Unfortunately these characteristics are of a kind to excite the most opposite feelings; Vol. 135.-No. 269.

B

and

and while one party hails them as the dawn of a new era in poetry, another regards them as the mere trickery of charlatans. Both sides are equally positive; neither seeks to refer the decision to principles beyond their own private taste. For instance, the critic, whose book we have placed at the head of our article, embraces with ardour the cause of the modern poets. It is enough for him that they exist, and are men of marked genius; he does not venture to define their prerogative. By close holding to real' (that is, modern) poetry,' he makes himself master of its peculiarities; and then, by aid of what he calls 'the logic of admiration,' invents principles to explain them. It is plain that, with such preliminaries, argument is out of the question, in the event of a difference of opinion. If, for example, it is objected to a poem that it is unintelligible, the retort from a person of Mr. Forman's persuasion immediately is, I understand and admire; you do not understand.' The question thus becomes purely personal; hard names are called on each side, and the most violent animosities are of course excited. Fervid panegyric is met by flat contempt, while the basest motives are imputed to explain an adverse opinion on a poem, even when the criticism is delivered with strict moderation. This state of things is in every way mischievous. So far from invigorating taste, it produces nothing but anarchy and scepticism. Now for ourselves we do not pretend to be able to judge with perfect coolness of anything so intimately connected with our own feelings as modern poetry. We have decided opinions on this subject, and we shall do our best to defend them. Wherever the practice of our living poets seems to us prejudicial to the healthiness of taste and the purity of language, we shall not be deterred by genius or reputation from condemning it in the plainest terms, more especially in the case of anything that strikes us as literary imposture. But we shall examine the subject by principles which we shall endeavour to make as plain as possible, and which, whether true or false, have at least the advantage of placing the controversy in a position which is open to argument.

Poetry is the art of producing pleasure for the imagination, the reason, and the feelings, by means of metrical language. The faculties to which the poet appeals are of common constitution. Language, the material of his art, is the common vehicle of thought for his reader as well as for himself. All sound and enduring poetry must therefore be able to submit to the test of four canons relating to conception and expression :

(1) It must be representative; that is, it must deal with intelligible subjects in a manner that can be commonly under

stood.

(2) The

(2) The subject selected for representation must be suitable

to verse.

(3) The form of poetry employed must be such as to represent the true nature of the subject.

(4) The language must be of a kind to heighten and vivify the thought without attracting undue attention to itself.

By these principles every surviving poem may be examined, and, so far as it satisfies the test, it will continue to afford men pleasure, so long as they care to read. Nor, unless he is prepared to maintain that the constitution of the human mind has altered, and poetry is therefore bound to seek out a new track, can any critic claim for a modern poet exemption from the general law. We shall therefore endeavour, in a rapid survey, to consider the principles of contemporary poetry by means of the test which we have proposed.

Such a survey is rendered comparatively easy by the tendency of our modern poets to separate themselves into certain welldefined groups. The names, for instance, of Mr. Tennyson, Mr. Browning, Mr. Swinburne, at once suggest particular subjects of poetry, as well as particular manners of writing, each differing alike from the other, and from the forms of expression in general use. Round each of these master-poets, again, a number of imitators have grouped themselves, so that the entire surface of modern poetry is broken up into a variety of styles, distinguished by technical differences, almost as marked as those which separated the schools of painting in Italy. In the eyes of Mr. Forman, these divisions appear a sign of richness and vigour, and he tells us that the prospects of English poetry are mainly dependent on the existence of three schools,' which he calls the Idyllic,' the Psychological,' 'the Preraphaelite.' We leave these marvellous names to speak for themselves; the grouping which they denote we follow as a classification convenient for a review of the subject.

The

By far the most popular form of modern poetry is the Idyll, for, unlike the generality of contemporary poems, it treats of subjects which are readily appreciated by the public mind. idyll is a short poem containing a picture of life, and the subjects chiefly selected for representation in the present day are of two classes, the modern and the romantic. Now, with regard to the former, the poet who treats of contemporary themes has, at the outset, to face a considerable difficulty. Poetry will not tolerate anything trite or mean, yet from its very familiarity the ordinary aspect of life presents little to excite the imagination. There have doubtless been idyllic poets peculiarly fortunate in their outward circumstances. The name which at

once occurs as that of the great representative of this kind of composition is Theocritus. The Sicilian poet found his subjects ready-made. Everything in his verse is purely representative. The out-of-door pastoral images of his idylls, goats and cattle, corn, honey, and wine, shepherds and fishermen, rustic humour and bucolic love, however refined of their rudeness to suit polite taste, are peculiar to a dry, fertile, and sunny climate, and are even now suggested to the fancy by the shores of the Mediterranean. Theocritus spoke with the voice of Nature. But his literary imitators, even Virgil himself, have not been equally happy; and in England every poet, who has tried to play on the Doric pipe, has sounded a false note. There is nothing in our damp island atmosphere, or in our own character, to favour that easy, contented, grasshopper life which still marks the peoples of the South.

He is

England has, however, a rustic poetry of its own, which has been expressed by one who deserves far more admiration from his countrymen than in the present day he is likely to obtain. It is but seldom we hear any mention of the name of Crabbe, yet it was once familiar to every reader of taste and reflection. Born in a low station, and familiar with every form of humble English life, in town and country, this true poet has not hesitated to represent its sordidness and its vices, together with its humours and its virtues. His style, though full of native strength, is entirely without grace or ornament. often careless, frequently prosaic, and sometimes even offensively These are grave defects, but they are balanced by greater virtues. Crabbe's genius did not love the level because it was unable to rise, and, when the occasion requires, he lifts his subject into greatness by his astonishing delineation of those passions whose effects are the same in all conditions of life. He can pass from homely shrewdness to heights of tragedy; he seems to have been acquainted with every motive, and to have fathomed the deepest affections of the heart. We know of no writer who, with such apparently common materials, can exercise such power over the feelings; and, if we were required to name the most tragic English poem outside the drama, we should at once name 'Resentment.'

mean.

The modern idyll of rustic life which approaches most closely to Crabbe in the great virtue of truthfulness is Enoch Arden.' The characters in this poem are natural, the incidents are stirring, the story is told very pathetically, and for the most part without affectation. Throughout it, in spite of the different styles of the two poets, we are reminded of Crabbe's Parting Hour.' Mr. Tennyson is superior to Crabbe in the dramatic

construction

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construction of his tale; he is inferior to him in power, and in knowledge of character. Again, in the Northern Farmer' and The Grandmother,' Mr. Tennyson has caught with great felicity, and has embodied in admirably representative verse, natural traits of English humour and feeling.

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There is, however, in modern idyllic poetry a wide-spread tendency to emulate the manner of Theocritus, and to reflect the mere surface of English society. The aim of the idyllic school,' Mr. Forman tells us, is to make exquisite narrative pictures of our middle-class life.' Now a Dutch painting may, doubtless, be valuable as a work of art. But it is plain that poems composed on the principle described above will, if they are really representative, deal with subjects which are unsuitable for verse. There is nothing to excite the imagination in the well-fed, humdrum, respectable existence of the English middle classes. When, therefore, Miss Ingelow, to take for instance one of the most popular of contemporary poets, describes the conversation which took place at a supper in a mill, or at afternoon tea in a country parsonage, she is attempting to make that poetical which is by nature prosaic. Attempts of this kind infallibly lead to misrepresentation. The associations of our landscape have a powerful influence on our imagination, and the poet, in describing external nature, is tempted to people it with inhabitants, not such as we actually find there, but such as seem best to harmonize with the delightful ideas which the scenery excites. Thus when, after the beautiful description of the cathedral town in The Gardener's Daughter '-a description in which the fidelity of the landscape painter is joined to the skill of a great master of words-we are introduced to the subject of the poem, we find her a nymph no more like life than one of the shepherdesses, in those mechanic echoes of the Mantuan line,' which used to entertain the court ladies in the last century. The episode is described as one of real life. A gardener's daughter should, therefore, be represented as what she is, honest bucolic flesh and blood, especially as she is known occasionally to condescend to

'fruits and cream, Served in the weeping elm.'

But as it is, she is evidently an idea arising out of the poet's contemplation of the town, with its low-lying meadows, its grazing cattle, and its chiming clocks. This is the representation of a painter, not of a poet. The imagination is directed to the external form, rather than to the human life that lies beneath.

Much in the same spirit Miss Ingelow represents a discontented 'scholar'