THE FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 195 



" To be imprisoned in the viewless trinds, 

 And blown with restless violence round 

 About the pendent world." 



Here is the spontaneous grace and symmetry of 

 a forest tree, or a soughing mass of foliage. 



And this passage . from my poet I do not think 



could be improved by the verse-maker's art: — 



"This day before dawn I ascended a hill and look'd at the 

 crowded heaven, 



And I said to my Spirit, When we become the enf aiders of those 

 orbs and the pleasure and knowledge of everything in 

 them, shall we beflll'd and satisfied then f 



And my Spirit said. No, we but level that lift, to pass and con- 

 tinue beyond.** 



Such breaking with the routine poetic, and with 

 the grammar of verse, was of course a dangerous 

 experiment, and threw the composer absolutely upon 

 his intrinsic merits, upon his innately poetic and 

 rhythmic quality. He must stand or fall by these 

 alone, since he discarded all artificial, all adventi- 

 tious helps. If interior, spontaneous rhythm could 

 not be relied upon, and the natural music and flexi- 

 bility of language, then there was nothing to shield 

 the ear from the pitiless hail of words, — not one 

 softly padded verse anywhere. 



All poets, except those of the very first order, 

 owe immensely to the form, the art, to the stereo- 

 typed metres and stock figures they find ready to 

 their hand. The form is suggestive, — it invites and 

 aids expression, and lends itself readily, like fash- 

 ion, to conceal, or extenuate, or eke out poverty of 

 thought and feeling in the verse. The poet can 

 "cut and cover," as the farmer says, in a way the 



