Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe V5

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plating about sustained effort"? If, by sustained effort, any
little gentleman has accomplished an epic, 1* us frankly
commend him for the effort if this indeed be a thing conk
mendable but let us forbear praising the epic on the effort's
account. It is to be hoped that common sense, in the time to
come, will prefer deciding upon a work of Art rather by the
impression it makes by the effect it produces than by the
time it took to impress the effect, or by the amount of
sustained effort which had been found necessary in
effecting the impression. The fact is, that perseverance is one
thing and genius quite another nor can all the Quarterlies in
Christendom confound them. By and by, this proposition, with
many which I have been just urging, will be received as self-
evident. In the meantime, by being generally condemned as
falsities, they will not be essentially damaged as truths.
On the other hand, it is clear that a poem may be
improperly brief. Undue brevity degenerates into mere
epigrammatism. A very short poem, while now and then
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producing a brilliant or vivid, never produces a profound or
enduring effect. There must be the steady pressing down of
the stamp upon the wax. De Beranger has wrought
innumerable things, pungent and spirit-stirring, but in general
they have been too imponderous to stamp themselves deeply
into the public attention, and thus, as so many feathers of
fancy, have been blown aloft only to be whistled down the
wind.
A remarkable instance of the effect of undue brevity in
depressing a poem, in keeping it out of the popular view, is
afforded by the following exquisite little Serenade
I arise from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright.
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet
Has led me who knows how?
To thy chamber-window, sweet!
The wandering airs they faint
On the dark the silent stream
The champak odors fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart,
As I must die on shine,
O, beloved as thou art!
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O, lift me from the grass!
I die, I faint, I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale.
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast:
O, press it close to shine again,
Where it will break at last.
Very few perhaps are familiar with these lines yet no less
a poet than Shelley is their author. Their warm, yet delicate
and ethereal imagination will be appreciated by all, but by
none so thoroughly as by him who has himself arisen from
sweet dreams of one beloved to bathe in the aromatic air of a
southern midsummer night.
One of the finest poems by Willis the very best in my
opinion which he has ever written has no doubt, through this
same defect of undue brevity, been kept back from its proper
position. not less in the
The shadows lay along Broadway,
'Twas near the twilight-tide
And slowly there a lady fair
Was walking in her pride.
Alone walk'd she; but, viewlessly,
Walk'd spirits at her side.
Peace charm'd the street beneath her feet,
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The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe [Volume 5]
by Edgar Allan Poe
And Honor charm'd the air;
And all astir looked kind on her,
And called her good as fair
For all God ever gave to her
She kept with chary care.
She kept with care her beauties rare
From lovers warm and true
For heart was cold to all but gold,
And the rich came not to won,
But honor'd well her charms to sell.
If priests the selling do.
Now walking there was one more fair
A slight girl, lily-pale;
And she had unseen company
To make the spirit quail
'Twixt Want and Scorn she walk'd forlorn,
And nothing could avail.
No mercy now can clear her brow
From this world's peace to pray
For as love's wild prayer dissolved in air,
Her woman's heart gave way!
But the sin forgiven by Christ in Heaven
By man is cursed alway!
In this composition we find it difficult to recognize the
Willis who has written so many mere verses of society. The
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lines are not only richly ideal, but full of energy, while they
breathe an earnestness, an evident sincerity of sentiment, for
which we look in vain throughout all the other works of this
author.
While the epic mania, while the idea that to merit in poetry
prolixity is indispensable, has for some years past been
gradually dying out of the public mind, by mere dint of its
own absurdity, we find it succeeded by a heresy too palpably
false to be long tolerated, but one which, in the brief period it
has already endured, may be said to have accomplished more
in the corruption of our Poetical Literature than all its other [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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