accurately represented in words, do not of themselves characterize the poet. They become proofs of original genius only as far as they are modified by a predominant passion; or by associated thoughts or images awakened by that passion; or when they have the effect of reducing multitude to unity, or succession to an instant; or lastly, when a human and intellectual life is transferred to them from the poet's own spirit, 5 Which shoots its being through earth, sea, and air. In the two following lines for instance, there is nothing objectionable, nothing which would preclude them from forming, in their proper place, part of a descriptive poem : Behold yon row of pines, that shorn and bow'd But with a small alteration of rhythm, the same words would be equally in their place in a book of topography, or in a descriptive tour. The same image will rise into a semblance of poetry if thus conveyed: Yon row of bleak and visionary pines, By twilight glimpse discerned, mark! how they flee I have given this as an illustration, by no means as an instance, of that particular excellence which I had in view, and in which Shakespeare even in his earliest, as in his latest, works surpasses all other poets. It is 5 ["The truth is he does not possess imagination in its highest form, that of stamping il più nell' uno.' Table Talk, p. 281, 2nd. edit. The Imagination modifies images, and gives unity to variety; it sees all things in one, il più nell' uno." Ib. p. 306. Ed.] 6 [France. An Ode. Mr. C.'s P. W. i. p. 132. Ed.] by this, that he still gives a dignity and a passion to the objects which he presents. Unaided by any previous excitement, they burst upon us at once in life and in power, "Full many a glorious morning have I seen "Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul * * The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured, When tyrant's crests, and tombs of brass are spent.' As of higher worth, so doubtless still more characteristic of poetic genius does the imagery become, when it moulds and colours itself to the circumstances, passion, or character, present and foremost in the mind. For unrivalled instances of this excellence, the reader's own memory will refer him to the LEAR, OTHELLO, in short to which not of the "great, ever living, dead man's" dramatic works? Inopem me copia fecit. How true it is to nature, he has himself finely expressed in the instance of love in his 98th Sonnet. From you have I been absent in the spring, 7 [Shakespeare's 33rd Sonnet. Ed.] 8 [Sonnet cvii. Ed.] Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing; Or from their proud lap pluck them, where they grew: Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; As with your shadow, I with these did play!" 9 Scarcely less sure, or if a less valuable, not less indispensable mark Γόνιμου μὲν ποιητοῦ ὅστις ῥημα γενναῖον λάκοι,10 will the imagery supply, when, with more than the power of the painter, the poet gives us the liveliest image of succession with the feeling of simultaneous ness: With this, he breaketh from the sweet embrace Of those fair arms, which bound him to her breast, [See Table Talk, pp. 229-31, 2nd edit. for Mr. Coleridge's general view of Shakespeare's Sonnets, and also Mr. Knight's valuable essay on the same subject in that beautiful edition of our great poet by which he has rendered so signal and enduring a service to the cause of English literature. Ed.] 10 [Aristoph. Ranæ. v. 96-7. Mr. Frere, in the tone of the Bacchus of the play, translates thus: There's not one hearty Poet amongst them all That's fit to risque an adventurous valiant phrase. But it is obvious that Mr. Coleridge meant by yóviμos mintys, the genuine poet. Ed.] Look! how a bright star shooteth from the sky, 4. The last character I shall mention, which would prove indeed but little, except as taken conjointly with the former;-yet without which the former could scarce exist in a high degree, and (even if this were possible) would give promises only of transitory flashes and a meteoric power;—is depth, and energy of thought. No man was ever yet a great poet, without being at the same time a profound philosopher. For poetry is the blossom and the fragrancy of all human knowledge, human thoughts, human passions, emotions, language. In Shakespeare's poems the creative power and the intellectual energy wrestle as in a war embrace. Each in its excess of strength seems to threaten the extinction of the other. At length in the drama they were reconciled, and fought each with its shield before the breast of the other. Or like two rapid streams, that, at their first meeting within narrow and rocky banks, mutually strive to repel each other and intermix reluctantly and in tumult; but soon finding a wider channel and more yielding shores blend, and dilate, and flow on in one current and with one voice. The VENUS AND ADONIS did not perhaps allow the display of the deeper passions. But the story of Lucretia seems to favour and even demand their intensest workings. And yet we find in Shakespeare's management of the tale neither pathos, nor any other dramatic quality. There is the same minute and faithful imagery as in the former poem, in the same vivid colours, inspirited by the same impetuous vigour of thought, and diverging and contracting with the same activity of the assimilative and of the modifying faculties; and with a yet larger 11 [Venus and Adonis. Ed.] display, a yet wider range of knowledge and reflection; and lastly, with the same perfect dominion, often domination, over the whole world of language. What then shall we say? even this; that Shakespeare, no mere child of nature; no automaton of genius; no passive vehicle of inspiration possessed by the spirit, not possessing it; first studied patiently, meditated deeply, understood minutely, till knowledge, become habitual and intuitive, wedded itself to his habitual feelings, and at length gave birth to that stupendous power, by which he stands alone, with no equal or second in his own class; to that power, which seated him on one of the two glory-smitten summits of the poetic mountain, with Milton as his compeer not rival. While the former darts himself forth, and passes into all the forms of human character and passion, the one Proteus of the fire and the flood; the other attracts all forms and things to himself, into the unity of his own ideal. All things and modes of action shape themselves anew in the being of Milton; while Shakespeare becomes all things, yet for ever remaining himself.12 O what great men hast thou not produced, England, my country!-Truly indeed We must be free or die, who speak the tongue, Which Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold, 12 ["Shakespeare's poetry is characterless, that is, it does not reflect the individual Shakespeare; but John Milton is in every line of the Paradise Lost." Table Talk, p. 67. Ed.] 13 [Wordsworth's P. W. iii. p. 190, edit. 1840. Ed.] [Mr. Wordsworth's noble Preface, often referred to in these pages, contains as high a tribute to that mighty orb of song The divine Milton (to quote the author's words in another place,) as one great poet |