have done, and wait for the better days. There are few men, ordinarily educated, who in moments of strong feeling could not strike out a poetical thought, and afterwards polish it so as to be presentable. But men of sense know better than so to waste their time; and those who sincerely love poetry, know the touch of the master's hand on the chords too well to fumble among them after him. Nay, more than this, all inferior poetry is an injury to the good, inasmuch as it takes away the freshness of rhymes, blunders upon and gives a wretched commonalty to good thoughts; and, in general, adds to the weight of human weariness in a most woful and culpable manner. There are few thoughts likely to come across ordinary men, which have not already been expressed by greater men in the best possible way; and it is a wiser, more generous, more noble thing to remember and point out the perfect words, than to invent poorer ones, wherewith to encumber temporarily the world. [Ruskin.]
57
Inferno, 3. 112.
58
Christabel, 1. 49-50.
59
"Well said, old mole! can'st work i' the ground so fast?"—[Ruskin.]
60
Odyssey, 11. 57-58.
61
It is worth while comparing the way a similar question is put by the exquisite sincerity of Keats:—
He wept, and his bright tearsWent trickling down the golden bow he held.Thus, with half-shut, suffused eyes, he stood;While from beneath some cumbrous boughs hard byWith solemn step an awful goddess came,And there was purport in her looks for him,Which he with eager guess began to readPerplex'd, the while melodiously he said,"How cam'st thou over the unfooted sea?"Hyperion, 3. 42.—[Ruskin.]
62
See Wordsworth's Peter Bell, Part I:—
A primrose by a river's brimA yellow primrose was to him,And it was nothing more.
63
Jude 13.
64
Kings xxiii, 18, and Hosea x, 7.
65
Iliad, 3. 243. In the MS. Ruskin notes, "The insurpassably tender irony in the epithet—'life-giving earth'—of the grave"; and then adds another illustration:—"Compare the hammer-stroke at the close of the [32d] chapter of Vanity Fair—'The darkness came down on the field and city, and Amelia was praying for George, who was lying on his face, dead, with a bullet through his heart. A great deal might have been said about it. The writer is very sorry for Amelia, neither does he want faith in prayer. He knows as well as any of us that prayer must be answered in some sort; but those are the facts. The man and woman sixteen miles apart–one on her knees on the floor, the other on his face in the clay. So much love in her heart, so much lead in his. Make what you can of it." [Cook and Wedderburn.]
66
The poem may be crudely paraphrased as follows:—
"Quick, Anna, quick! to the mirror! It is late,And I'm to dance at the ambassador's …I'm going to the ball …"They're faded, see,These ribbons—they belong to yesterday.Heavens, how all things pass! Now gracefully hangThe blue tassels from the net that holds my hair."Higher!—no, lower!—you get nothing right!…Now let this sapphire sparkle on my brow.You're pricking me, you careless thing! That's good!I love you, Anna dear. How fair I am...."I hope he'll be there, too—the one I've triedTo forget! no use! (Anna, my gown!) he too …necklace, this?These golden beads the Holy Father blessed?)"He'll be there—Heavens! suppose he takes my hand—I scarce can draw my breath for thinking of it!And I confess to Father AnselmoTo-morrow—how can I ever tell him all?…One last glance at the mirror. O, I'm sureThat they'll adore me at the ball to-night."Before the fire she stands admiringly.O God! a spark has leapt into her gown.Fire, fire!—O run!—Lost thus when mad with hope?What, die? and she so fair? The hideous flamesRage greedily about her arms and breast,Envelop her, and leaping ever higher,Swallow up all her beauty, pitiless—Her eighteen years, alas! and her sweet dream.Adieu to ball, to pleasure, and to love!"Poor Constance!" said the dancers at the ball,"Poor Constance!"—and they danced till break of day.
67
Isaiah xiv, 8.
68
Isaiah lv, 12.
69
Night Thoughts, 2. 345.
70
Pastorals: Summer, or Alexis, 73 ff., with the omission of two couplets after the first.
71
From the poem beginning 'T is said that some have died for love, Ruskin evidently quoted from memory, for there are several verbal slips in the passage quoted.
72
Stanza 16, of Shenstone's twenty-sixth Elegy.
73
The Excursion, 6. 869 ff.
74
I cannot quit this subject without giving two more instances, both exquisite, of the pathetic fallacy, which I have just come upon, in Maud:—
For a great speculation had fail'd;And ever he mutter'd and madden'd, and ever wann'd with despair;And out he walk'd, when the wind like a broken worldling wail'd,And the flying gold of the ruin'd woodlands drove thro' the air.There has fallen a splendid tearFrom the passion-flower at the gate.The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near!"And the white rose weeps, "She is late."The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear!"And the lily whispers, "I wait." [Ruskin.]
have done, and wait for the better days. There are few men, ordinarily educated, who in moments of strong feeling could not strike out a poetical thought, and afterwards polish it so as to be presentable. But men of sense know better than so to waste their time; and those who sincerely love poetry, know the touch of the master's hand on the chords too well to fumble among them after him. Nay, more than this, all inferior poetry is an injury to the good, inasmuch as it takes away the freshness of rhymes, blunders upon and gives a wretched commonalty to good thoughts; and, in general, adds to the weight of human weariness in a most woful and culpable manner. There are few thoughts likely to come across ordinary men, which have not already been expressed by greater men in the best possible way; and it is a wiser, more generous, more noble thing to remember and point out the perfect words, than to invent poorer ones, wherewith to encumber temporarily the world. [Ruskin.]
