The Poetry of Real Life A New Edition, Much Enlarged and Improved. By Henry Ellison |
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TO CERTAIN CONVENTIONAL CRITICS. |
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 | The Poetry of Real Life |  |
TO CERTAIN CONVENTIONAL CRITICS.
For a new poet ye can not make room,
Because, at once, he falls not in his place,
Nor bears your critic-rein, nor jogs your pace,
Like an old roadster, hackneyed to his doom!
But neigheth like a steed that from the womb
Hath borne no shackles, galled with no vile trace,
Nor yet bestridden by a rider base,
That takes his way forthright, let what will come!
The Muses' Pegasus, he scorns the rein,
Nor any but her hand divine permits:
Which soothes him, or enkindles him again,
With its least touch. Wings too he has, as fits
His calling, and the heights he must attain,
Above the reach of your low-flighted wits!
Because, at once, he falls not in his place,
Nor bears your critic-rein, nor jogs your pace,
Like an old roadster, hackneyed to his doom!
But neigheth like a steed that from the womb
Hath borne no shackles, galled with no vile trace,
Nor yet bestridden by a rider base,
That takes his way forthright, let what will come!
The Muses' Pegasus, he scorns the rein,
Nor any but her hand divine permits:
Which soothes him, or enkindles him again,
With its least touch. Wings too he has, as fits
His calling, and the heights he must attain,
Above the reach of your low-flighted wits!
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Aye, ye would shut him out, because his song
Is strange, and hath new gifts of tongue: because
Its mighty volume bears down and o'erawes
Your weaker hearing, with a speech too strong;
Like Ocean's voice, pent up and suffering wrong
In the cramped shell, with many a break and pause:
And yet (though ye yourselves know not the cause)
Confounding ye, and bearing ye along!
Our Shakspear made him elbow-room, and Greece
Pushed, with the “Unities,” aside, to gain
A stage, where his large soul could move at ease.
And, though your heart be narrow as your brain,
The world hath room, howe'er the Muse increase,
As heaven for all the stars it should contain!
Is strange, and hath new gifts of tongue: because
Its mighty volume bears down and o'erawes
Your weaker hearing, with a speech too strong;
Like Ocean's voice, pent up and suffering wrong
In the cramped shell, with many a break and pause:
And yet (though ye yourselves know not the cause)
Confounding ye, and bearing ye along!
Our Shakspear made him elbow-room, and Greece
Pushed, with the “Unities,” aside, to gain
A stage, where his large soul could move at ease.
And, though your heart be narrow as your brain,
The world hath room, howe'er the Muse increase,
As heaven for all the stars it should contain!
| The Poetry of Real Life | |