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"There was never a picture painted, There was never a poem sung, But the soul of the artist fainted, And the poet's heart was wrung." So many young people think because they have a good voice and they have cultivated it, they are singers. All this cultivation and irritation and irrigation and gargling of the throat are merely symptoms of a singer merely neckties. Singers look better with neckties.
At one of Charles Lamb's delightful Wednesday evenings Coleridge had, as usual, consumed more than his fair share of time in talking of some "regenerated" orthodoxy. Leigh Hunt, who was one of the listeners, manifested his surprise at the prodigality and intensity of the poet's religious expressions, and especially at his always speaking of Jesus as "our Savior."
Verily, verily, this emancipated race may reveal the most amiable form of spiritual life, and the jewel may glitter on the Ethiop's brow in meaning more sublime than all in the poet's imagery.
In his right hand, the poet held a ruler, which described eccentric circles in the air, and threatened imaginary foes with torture and extermination. The poet's hair stood up; his breath came and went; his coat-skirts moved from side to side, with indignation; and he evidently regarded something in the paper with a mixture of horror and despair.
The London correspondent of the "New York Tribune," in reluctantly conceding at the time of the poet's death something to the British admiration of him, said he was "rich in temperament." The phrase is well chosen.
Thus King Manfredi ought to have been in a red-hot tomb, roasting for ever with Epicurus himself, and with the father of the poet's beloved friend, Guido Cavalcante: but he was the son of an emperor, and a foe to the house of Anjou; so Dante gives him a passport to heaven. Francis by a devil, for having violated the conditions of penitence.
There is not an unworthy page in the Collected Poems. In a memorable passage, he stated the goal of poetry. "It is not the poet's business to save man's soul, but to make it worth saving." Walter De La Mare, a close personal friend of Rupert Brooke, came of Huguenot, English and Scotch ancestry, and was born at Charlton, Kent, on the twenty-fifth of April, 1873. He was educated at St.
Lord Tennyson remarks, as to the poet's meaning in this work, born too early, that "the sooner woman finds out, before the great educational movement begins, that 'woman is not undeveloped man, but diverse, the better it will be for the progress of the world." But probably the "educational movement" will not make much difference to womankind on the whole.
He had several villas in the same province, and the last purchase was always the especial favourite, to the neglect of all the rest, These residences overflowed with books, statues, and pictures, which he more than enjoyed, he even adored; particularly that of Virgil, of whom he was so passionate an admirer that he celebrated the anniversary of that poet's birthday with more solemnity than his own, at Naples especially where he used to approach his tomb as if it had been a temple.
Charles was sadly disconcerted on learning that, so far from being able to provide for others, his brother could scarcely take care of himself. He looked round with a rueful eye on the poet's quarters, and could not help expressing his surprise and disappointment at finding him no better off.
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