Yet--there I caught
My only glimpse of how the sun-god looked--
Mourning for his death, the great dramatists agree that
His were, perchance, the noblest steeds of all,
And from their nostrils blew a fierier dawn
Above the world.... Before his hand
Had learned to quell them, he was dashed to earth.
Minor writers are most impartial in clearing the names of any and all
historical artists by such reasoning as this. By negligible American
versifiers one too often finds Burns lauded as one whom "such purity
inspires," [Footnote: A. S. G., _Burns_.] and, more astonishingly,
Byron conceived of as a misjudged innocent. If one is surprised to hear,
in verse on Byron's death,
His cherub soul has passed to its eclipse,
[Footnote: T. H. Chivers, _On the Death of Byron_.]
this fades into insignificance beside the consolation offered Byron by
another writer for his trials in this world,
Peace awaits thee with caressings,
Sitting at the feet of Jesus.
Better known poets are likely to admit a streak of imperfection in a few
of their number, while maintaining their essential goodness.
Pages:
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339