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the three most brilliant men in our literature—all led meager lives, but Poe alone was the perfect victim. Poe not only lived meagerly; at times he starved. Poverty is a terrible foe; it is thorough in its work on men and nations; it kills. What a victory it is of the spirit over its life, of the spirit that makes for immortality through all disguises of human wretchedness - that we have today in our minds and hearts, out of Poe's meager and starved life, poetry, romance, the imagery that fades not away! It is true that there is that in it which terrifies; here is the legend and superscription of pain and death; his music is the requiem of the soul that breathed it forth. But his, too, is praise. Poe made of his fate his victory; and, for the victim of life, that is the master-stroke. We "bid fair peace be to his sable shroud."

It is fit now, though late, to bring the laurel to him who first sent the dark green leaf across the sea to Tennyson and Mrs. Browning, and among ourselves brought it to Hawthorne and Lowell in their obscure years. And he has more to grace his memory — that which all men value, the kindly recollection of those who were most nigh him. Poe won the laurel and the marble; but the mortal flower upon his grave is this that he endeared himself to his friends. He had many friends. He had the best. There was no truer gentleman then alive than Kennedy, who to the honor of Baltimore befriended his early manhood. There was no more kindly colleague than Willis, who gave him his hand in New York and never drew it away. There were no warmer comrades for mates in life than Thomas, Halleck and Burr. Poe had also that power which is one of the singularities of genius- the power to let

the soul shine on all. His office-boy idolized him; children suffered him to play with them; and every wayfarer who touched his hand or had speech of him on his wandering road, seems to have remembered the light of that day forever.

Such are some of the thoughts that rise in me on this occasion. I seem to share them with you. These traits of fortune and of character to which I have alluded, belong to humanity, and link genius to the understanding hearts of men; but genius is itself the most revealing force of the soul; its manifestations are revelations of our nature. The genius of Poe was one of the manifold forms of humanity; else it were not genius; but that man who would speak rightly of him must, in his vision of human nature, have room and marge enough to know that the spirit of life is Infinite in its flowering, that the Shepherd of us all has many folds.

An address delivered at the celebration of the tercentenary of the death of Shakespeare, under the auspices of the department of English of Brown University, in Sayles Hall, April 26, 1916

SHAKESPEARE

It is not for any single voice to bear to Shakespeare the plaudits of the theater. The mere multiplicity of the events of this wide commemoration, the volume of universal applause of the generations, force us to realize the insignificance of any particular expression of the general praise. As in a popular festival, each participant, as he passes, follows his own whim in the common carnival. The scholar will turn the leaves of his book and linger caressingly over recondite difficulties of the text or the meaning; the player will fit the costume to the mind, and play the part from his bosom. Everything will go on as in a play. To-day all the world 's a stage. For the most part, it is by the eye that Shakespeare's world will be seen, embodied in a fantastic round of revels, a general masquerade, a pageant, how varied, how familiar, how interminable!

Shakespeare's world!

"Create he can

Forms more real than living man!"

Falstaff, Ariel, Titania's Indian Boy! How they throng the memory as if coming through a hundred-gated Thebes! If it is by its transitoriness that we know life, it is by its permanence that we know the ideal. There is an eternal quality, an everlasting freshness, on the intellectual creations of man, analogous to the morning luster that still lingers on the Eros, the Apollo, the

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