EARLY POEMS, 1820-33

THE BATTLE OF MARATHON1

Behold

What care employs me now, my vows I pay

To the sweet Muses, teachers of my youth!-AKENSIDE.

Ancient of days! August Athena! Where,

Where are thy men of might, thy grand in soul?

Gone-glimmering through the dream of things that were.

First in the race that led to glory's goal,

They won, and passed away.-BYRON.

PREFACE

mission, to offer these pages to the perusal of the few kind and partial friends who may condescend to read them, assured that their criticism will be tempered with mercy.

THAT poetry is the first, and most cele- | guilty to their accusations, and, with subbrated of all the fine arts, has not been denied in any age, or by any philosopher. The culture of the soul, which Sallust so nobly describes, is necessary to those refined pleasures, and elegant enjoyments, in which man displays his superiority to brutes. It is alone the elevation of the soul, not the form of the body, which constitutes the proud distinction; according to the learned historian, Alterum nobis cum diis, alterum cum belluis commune est.' The noblest of the productions of man, that which inspires the enthusiasm of virtue, the energy of truth, is poetry: poetry elevates the mind to heaven, kindles within it unwonted fires, and bids it throb with feelings exalting to its nature.

This humble attempt may by some be unfortunately attributed to vanity, to an affectation of talent, or to the still more absurd desire of being thought a genius. With the humility and deference due to their judgements, I wish to plead not

Dedication to the original edition of 1820: 'To him to whom "I owe the most," and whose admonitions have guided my youthful muse, even from her earliest infancy, to the Father whose never-failing kindness, whose unwearied affection, I never can repay, I offer these pages as a small testimony of the gratitude of his affectionate child, ELIZABETH B. BARRETT.'

Happily it is not now, as it was in the days of Pope, who was so early in actual danger of thinking himself 'the greatest genius of the age.' Now, even the female may drive her Pegasus through the realms of Parnassus, without being saluted with the most equivocal of all appellations, a learned lady; without being celebrated by her friends as a Sappho, or traduced by her enemies as a pedant; without being abused in the Review, or criticized in society; how justly then may a child hope to pass unheeded!

In these reading days there need be little vulgar anxiety among poets for the fate of their works: the public taste is no longer so epicurean. As the press pours forth profusion, the literary multitude eagerly receive its lavish offerings, while the sublimity of Homer, and the majesty of Virgil, those grand and solitary specimens of ancient poetic excellence, so renowned through the lapse of ages, are by many read only as schoolbooks, and are justly estimated alone by the comparative

few, whose hearts can be touched by the that the unenlightened soul of the savage
grandeur of their sentiments, or exalted rose above the degradation which assimi-
by their kindred fire; by them this derelic-lated him to the brute creation, and dis-
tion must be felt, but they can do no more covered the first rays of social independence,
than mourn over this semblance of decline and of limited freedom; not the freedom
in literary judgement and poetic taste. of barbarism, but that of a state enlight-
Yet, in contemplating the poets of our ened by a wise jurisdiction, and restrained
own times (for there are real poets, though by civil laws. From that period man
they be mingled with an inferior multitude seems to have first proved his resemblance
of the common herd)-who, unsophisti- to his Creator, and his superiority to
cated by prejudice, can peruse those brutes, and the birth of Poetry was that
inspired pages emitted from the soul of of all the kindred arts; in the words of
Byron, or who can be dazzled by the gems Cicero, Quo minus ergo honoris erat
sparkling from the rich mine of the imagina- poetis eo minora studia fuerunt.'
tion of Moore, or captivated by scenes
glowing in the descriptive powers of Scott,
without a proud consciousness that our
day may boast the exuberance of true
poetic genius? And if criticism be some-
what too general in its suffrage, may it
not be attributed to an overwhelming
abundance of contemporary authors, which
induces it to err in discrimination, and
may cause its praises to be frequently ill-
merited, and its censures ill-deserved; as
the eye, wandering over a garden where
flowers are mingled with weeds, harassed
by exertion and dimmed by the brilliancy
of colours, frequently mistakes the flower
for the weed, and the weed for the flower?
It is worthy of remark, that when Poetry
first burst from the mists of ignorance-
when first she shone a bright star illumin-
ing the then narrow understanding of the
Greeks-from that period when Homer,
the sublime poet of antiquity, awoke the
first notes of poetic inspiration to the
praise of valour, honour, patriotism, and,
best of all, to a sense of the high attributes
of the Deity, though darkly and myste-
riously revealed; then it was, and not till
then, that the seed of every virtue, of
every great quality, which had so long
lain dormant in the souls of the Greeks,
burst into the germ; as when the sun dis-
perses the mist cowering o'er the face of
the heavens, illumes with his resplendent
rays the whole creation, and speaks to the
verdant beauties of nature, joy, peace, and
gladness. Then it was that Greece began
to give those immortal examples of exalted
feeling, and of patriotic virtue, which have
since astonished the world; then it was

It is no disparagement to an historical poem to enlarge upon its subject; but where truth is materially outraged, it ceases to be history. Homer, in his Iliad and Odyssey, and Virgil, in his Aeneid, have greatly beautified their subjects, so grand in themselves, and, with true poetic taste and poetic imagery, have contributed with magnificent profusion to adorn those incidents which otherwise would appear tame, barren, and uninteresting. It is certain, however happily they have succeeded, their poems cannot be called strictly historical, because th truth of history is not altogether their undeviated form. Virgil, especially, has introduced in his Aeneid 'an anachronism of nearly three hundred years, Dido having fled from Phoenicia that period after the age of Aeneas.' But in that dependence upon the truth of history which I would enforce as a necessary quality in an historical poem, I do not mean to insinuate that it should be mere prose versified, or a suspension of the functions of the imagination, for then it could no longer be poetry. It is evident that an historical poem should possess the following qualifications :-Imagination, invention, judgement, taste, and truth; the four first are. necessary to poetry, the latter to history. He who writes an historical poem must be directed by the pole-star of history, truth; his path may be laid beneath the bright sun of invention, amongst the varied walks of imagination, with judgement and taste for his guides, but his goal must be that resplendent and unchangeable luminary, truth.

Imagination must be allowed to be the

と

of glory around the brow of independence; liberty, at whose decline virtue sinks before the despotic sway of licentiousness, effeminacy, and vice. At the fall of liberty, the

became deaf to the call of glory, fame, and manly virtue. 'On vit manifestement (says Montesquieu) pendant le peu de temps que dura la tyrannie des decemvirs, à quel point l'agrandissement de Rome dependoit de sa liberté; l'état sembla avoir perdu l'âme qui la faisoit mouvoir.' And Bigland thus: "It was not till luxury had corrupted their manners, and their liberties were on the eve of their extinction, that the principal citizens of Athens and of Rome began to construct magnificent houses, and to display their opulence and splendour in private life.'

characteristic, and invention the very foundation, of poetry. The necessity of the latter in all poetic effusions is established by that magnificent translator of the greatest of poets, Pope, in this beauti-immortal Republics of Rome and Athens ful passage: 'It is the invention that in different degrees distinguishes all great geniuses: the utmost extent of human study, learning, and industry, which masters everything besides, can never attain to this. It furnishes art with all her materials, and without it, judgement itself can but steal wisely; for art is only a prudent steward, who lives on managing the riches of nature.' And in this ingenious note the editor, Mr. Wakefield, elegantly exemplifies it: For poetry, in its proper acceptation, is absolutely creation, noinous or invention. In the three requisites prescribed by Horace of poetic excellence, Ingenium cui sit cui mens divinior atque os magna sonaturum." The first, "ingenium," or native fertility of intellect, corresponds to the "invention" of Pope.'

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It may be objected to my little poem, that the mythology of the ancients is too much called upon to support the most considerable incidents; it may unhappily offend those feelings most predominant in the breast of a Christian, or it may be The battle of Marathon is not, perhaps, considered as injudicious in destroying the a subject calculated to exercise the powers simplicity so necessary to the epic. Glover's of the imagination, or of poetic fancy, the Leonidas is commended by Lyttelton, incidents being so limited; but it is a sub- because he did not allow himself the liberty ject every way formed to call forth the so largely taken by his predecessors, of feelings of the heart, to awake the strongest wandering beyond the bounds, and out passions of the soul. Who can be in- of sight, of common sense in the airy different, who can preserve his tranquillity, regions of poetic mythology'; yet, where when he hears of one little city rising is the poet more remarkable for simplicity undaunted, and daring her innumerable than Homer, and where is the author who enemies, in defence of her freedom-of makes more frequent use of heathen a handful of menoverthrowing the invaders, mythology? 'The heathens,' says Rollin, who sought to molest their rights and to addressed themselves to their gods, as destroy their liberties? Who can hear un-beings worthy of adoration.' moved of such an example of heroic virtue, of patriotic spirit, which seems to be crying from the ruins of Athens for honour and immortality? The heart, which cannot be fired by such a recital, must be cold as the icy waters of the Pole, and must be devoid at once of manly feeling and of patriotic virtue; for what is it that can awaken the high feelings which sometimes lie dormant in the soul of man, if it be not liberty? Liberty, beneath whose fostering sun the arts, genius, every congenial talent of the mind, spring up spontaneously, and unite in forming one bright garland

He who writes an epic poem must transport himself to the scene of action; he must imagine himself possessed of the same opinions, manners, prejudices, and beliefs; he must suppose himself to be the hero he delineates, or his picture can no longer be nature, and what is not natural cannot please. It would be considered ridiculous in the historian or poet describing the an ient manners of Greece, to address himself to that Omnipotent Being who first called the world out of chaos, nor would it be considered less so if he were to be silent upon the whole subject; for

THE BATTLE OF MARATHON

Then pours celestial ardouro'er his frame,
And points the way to glory and to fame. ] The azure waters of the silent deep,