On whom those truths do rest

Which we are toiling all our lives to find,

In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave!
Thou, over whom thy Immortality

Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave,
A Presence which is not to be put by!
Thou little child, yet glorious in the might
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height,
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke
The years to bring the inevitable yoke,
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?
Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight,
And custom lie upon thee with a weight

Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!

O joy! that in our embers

Is something that doth live,
That Nature yet remembers
What was so fugitive!

The thought of our past years in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction: not indeed

For that which is most worthy to be blest,

Delight and liberty, the simple creed

Of childhood, whether busy or at rest,

With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:- Not for these I raise the song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings

Of sense and outward things,
Fallings from us, vanishings;
Blank misgivings of a creature

Moving about in worlds not realized,

High instincts, before which our mortal nature
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised:

But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they what they may,

Are yet the fountain-light of all our day,

Are yet a master light of all our seeing;

Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make

Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,

Hence in a season of calm weather
Though inland far we be,

Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
Which brought us hither—

Can in a moment travel thither,

And see the children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.

Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
And let the young lambs bound

As to the tabor's sound!

We in thought will join your throng,

Ye that pipe and ye that play,

Ye that through your hearts to-day

Feel the gladness of the May!

(

What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,

Though nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy

Which, having been, must ever be ;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;

In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.

And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,
Forebode not any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;

I only have relinquished one delight

To live beneath your more habitual sway:

I love the brooks which down their channels fret,
Even more than when I tripped lightly as they ;
The innocent brightness of a new-born day

Is lovely yet;

The clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober coloring from an eye

That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears.
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

Wordsworth.

HE, above the rest

In shape and gesture proudly eminent,
Stood like a tower: his form had yet not lost
All her original brightness; nor appear'd
Less than arch-angel ruin'd, and the excess
Of glory obscur'd: as when the sun, new risen,
Looks through the horizontal misty air
Shorn of his beams; or from behind the moon,
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds
On half the nations, and with fear of change
Perplexes monarchs. Darken'd so, yet shone
Above them all the arch-angel: but his face
Deep scars of thunder had intrench'd, and care
Sat on his faded cheek; but under brows
Of dauntless courage and considerate pride,
Waiting revenge.

Milton

XIII. FORMS OF POETRY.

As analytic definitions of poetry have never been satisfactory; as reason cannot explain imagination, nor science, poetry, so adequate discriminations have rarely been made between lyric, epic, dramatic, and other forms of poetry. But the reader must feel and definitely manifest such differences through the natural languages, by realizing and expressing the imaginative and emotional activities of which these forms are the embodiment in words. Hence, a few suggestions may be given to assist or initiate the study of their essential nature.

A lyric is subjective and personal; it is the result of a vivid realization of some simple and specific situation. It is distinct from ballad poetry, which is narrative, and which produces its effect by a sequence of events. A lyric holds our interest by the pulsation of thought and feeling in the realization of this one idea or situation. Other pictures, situations, or events are brought up in contrast, or in some way are related to the one specific or governing event or idea. It may be the revelation of the love or tenderness of the human heart for some other soul, of the deepest experience face to face with great sorrow or great sin. It may be the expression of admiration for Nature, or of the worship of

God. Songs, hymns, and odes are forms of the lyric. They are nearly always short; and on account of their shortness, they are nearly always concentrated and intense.

There are an innumerable number of lyrics in the language; but, unfortunately, they are not often found in our school-readers. But a student can find large numbers of them in various collections; or, what is better, he can himself go to the great masters of poetry, where he will always find lyrics.

The Psalms are the most exalted examples of lyric expression. The reason is that they are the manifestation of an individual soul exalted or awakened by a thought of the Supreme Being. The nobility of the ideas, the simplicity and tenderness of the expression, the depth of insight, and the intensity of the passion have made these Psalms a medium of worship for the whole race.

Lyrics are the simplest of all forms of imaginative expression. They should, therefore, be first mastered by the student of vocal expression. When rightly practised, they have a wonderful effect upon the voice, tending to remove harshness, and developing sympathetic vibration and texture. The practice of a lyric tends to make the whole body, as well as the voice, responsive and flexible, and to bring them into sympathetic unity with the mind; such an exercise stimulates the breathing, and especially joyous lyrics furnish an exercise of untold value for health. Lyrics have been shown by the ablest authorities, such as Professor Norton, to be the most effective means of developing the imagination and the artistic nature. They develop insight; they secure the power to hold the mind in one simple specific situation; they secure control of feeling. They are short, and can be remembered and practised anywhere.

To read a lyric calls for such a vigorous exercise of the imagination as to awaken the reader's whole nature. The only way anything is made poetic is by intensity of realization. The reader must bring his imagination and whole nature to bear upon the specific situation until the thought and impulse are made personal and the expression spontaneous. All lyric art, especially poetry, must be the inevitable effect of the life and feeling caused by one situation.

Epic poetry is thought by many to be the most exalted form of poetry. It deals with a great era or epoch; it creates or portrays national types. It creates an Achilles as the representative or ideal of the Greeks, of their warlike spirit, their love of independence; it creates an Odysseus as the embodiment of that great people's conception of temperance, or "patience under trial by pleasure," long-suffering, and fortitude, or " patience under trial by pain, and so the Iliad and the Odyssey became a kind of Bible for the religion of a race. The epic is considered the most exalted form of poetry, because it unfolds not the ideal of an individual, but the ideal of a race. It portrays the subjective and objective combats of men; shows the individual and the nation their character and feeling, their struggles, failures, and successes.

The great epics are few, such as the Iliad and the Odyssey, the Æneid, the Niebelungen Lied, the Divina Comedia, the Lusiad, Jerusalem Delivered, Paradise Lost; but narratives, tales, ballads, historical poems, and prose fiction are usually considered as belonging to lower forms of the epic. The highest epic work of the nineteenth century is possibly the "History of the French Revolution," by Carlisle.

The vocal rendering of the epic must be full of dignity. It must be ideal and noble; there must be simplicity and tenderness, deep emotions which are serious and noble, and which are felt by the whole race. Characters must be seen and felt as if alive; but they must also be typical. The whole nature of man must be awakened, and yet the expression must be extremely simple.

Dramatic poetry is objective. It is the human soul identifying itself with the point of view, the character, the feeling, the surroundings of another soul. It is the action or movement which is the expression of character; it is the conflict of soul with soul. It deals with the success or failure of life. Dramatic art deals with the motives and characteristics of men, and interprets the processes of developing or perverting character.

The lyric, the epic, and the dramatic are rarely separated completely from one another. In Homer's Iliad and Odyssey many of the dialogues are essentially dramatic. The finest parts of Milton's "Paradise Lost" are the lyrical outbursts of passion.