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Westminster Abbey (search for this): chapter 12
mes should read the latter of these two poems, though he is still permitted to add the former. From the moment when Lowell read his Commemoration Ode at Cambridge, that great poem took for him the same position; while out of any hundred critics ninety-nine would place the Day in June as the best of his shorter passages, and the Bigelow Papers, of course, stand collectively for his humor. Emerson's The Problem—containing the only verses by a living author hung up for contemplation in Westminster Abbey—still stands as the highwater mark of his genius, although possibly, so great is the advantage possessed by a shorter poem, it may be superseded at last by his Daughters of Time. No one doubts that Bayard Taylor will go down to fame, if at all, by his brief Legend of Balaklava, and Julia Ward Howe by her Battle Hymn of the Republic. It is, perhaps, characteristic of the even and well-distributed muse of Whittier that it is less easy to select his high-water mark; but perhaps My Playm
J. W. Goethe (search for this): chapter 12
XI Concerning high-water marks in Eckermann's conversations with Goethe, the poet is described as once showing his admirer a letter from Zelter which was obviously witten in a fortunate hour. Pen, paper, handwriting, were all favorable; so that for once, Goethe said, there was a true and complete expression of the man, and perhaps one never again to be obtained in like perfection. The student of literature is constantly impressed with the existence of these single autographs, these highGoethe said, there was a true and complete expression of the man, and perhaps one never again to be obtained in like perfection. The student of literature is constantly impressed with the existence of these single autographs, these high-water marks as it were, of individual genius. It is in the perfection and precision of the instantaneous line, wrote Ruskin in his earlier days, that the claim of immortality is made. Dr. Holmes somewhere counsels a young author to be wary of the fate that submerges so many famous works, and advises him to risk his all upon a small volume of poems, among which there may be one, conceived in some happy hour, that shall live. After the few great reputations there is perhaps no better anchor
M. F. Tupper (search for this): chapter 12
orgotten, why should the rest be called into existence? Let it perish with prize poems and Commencement orations, if one can only determine in advance which is the single and felicitous offspring possessing that precise quality which the physicians name viability —the capacity to keep itself alive. Happily, this is not so difficult as one might suppose. It often takes a great while to determine the comparative merit of authors,— indeed, the newspapers are just now saying that the late Mr. Tupper had a larger income from the sales of his works than Browning, Tennyson, and Lowell jointly received,—but it does not take so long to determine which among an author's works are the best; and it is probable that the Descent of Neptune in the Iliad, and the Vision of Helen in the Agamemnon of Aeschylus, and Sappho's famous ode, and the Birds of Aristophanes, and the Hylas of Theocritus, and the Sparrow of Catullus, and the De Arte Poetica of Horace were early recognized as being the same d<
Battle Hymn (search for this): chapter 12
, and the Bigelow Papers, of course, stand collectively for his humor. Emerson's The Problem—containing the only verses by a living author hung up for contemplation in Westminster Abbey—still stands as the highwater mark of his genius, although possibly, so great is the advantage possessed by a shorter poem, it may be superseded at last by his Daughters of Time. No one doubts that Bayard Taylor will go down to fame, if at all, by his brief Legend of Balaklava, and Julia Ward Howe by her Battle Hymn of the Republic. It is, perhaps, characteristic of the even and well-distributed muse of Whittier that it is less easy to select his high-water mark; but perhaps My Playmate comes as near to it as anything. Bryant's Waterfowl is easily selected, and so is Longfellow's Wreck of the Hesperus, as conveying more sense of shaping imagination than any other, while Evangeline would, of course, command the majority of votes among his longer poems. In some cases, as in Whitman's My Captain, t
Sappho (search for this): chapter 12
is not so difficult as one might suppose. It often takes a great while to determine the comparative merit of authors,— indeed, the newspapers are just now saying that the late Mr. Tupper had a larger income from the sales of his works than Browning, Tennyson, and Lowell jointly received,—but it does not take so long to determine which among an author's works are the best; and it is probable that the Descent of Neptune in the Iliad, and the Vision of Helen in the Agamemnon of Aeschylus, and Sappho's famous ode, and the Birds of Aristophanes, and the Hylas of Theocritus, and the Sparrow of Catullus, and the De Arte Poetica of Horace were early recognized as being the same distinct masterpieces that we now find them. It is the tradition that an empress wept when Virgil recited his Tu Marcellus eris; and it still remains the one passage in the Aeneid that calls tears to the eye. After all, contemporary criticism is less trivial than we think. Philosophers, says Novalis, are the eternal
Bayard Taylor (search for this): chapter 12
hile out of any hundred critics ninety-nine would place the Day in June as the best of his shorter passages, and the Bigelow Papers, of course, stand collectively for his humor. Emerson's The Problem—containing the only verses by a living author hung up for contemplation in Westminster Abbey—still stands as the highwater mark of his genius, although possibly, so great is the advantage possessed by a shorter poem, it may be superseded at last by his Daughters of Time. No one doubts that Bayard Taylor will go down to fame, if at all, by his brief Legend of Balaklava, and Julia Ward Howe by her Battle Hymn of the Republic. It is, perhaps, characteristic of the even and well-distributed muse of Whittier that it is less easy to select his high-water mark; but perhaps My Playmate comes as near to it as anything. Bryant's Waterfowl is easily selected, and so is Longfellow's Wreck of the Hesperus, as conveying more sense of shaping imagination than any other, while Evangeline would, of
J. P. Eckermann (search for this): chapter 12
XI Concerning high-water marks in Eckermann's conversations with Goethe, the poet is described as once showing his admirer a letter from Zelter which was obviously witten in a fortunate hour. Pen, paper, handwriting, were all favorable; so that for once, Goethe said, there was a true and complete expression of the man, and perhaps one never again to be obtained in like perfection. The student of literature is constantly impressed with the existence of these single autographs, these high-water marks as it were, of individual genius. It is in the perfection and precision of the instantaneous line, wrote Ruskin in his earlier days, that the claim of immortality is made. Dr. Holmes somewhere counsels a young author to be wary of the fate that submerges so many famous works, and advises him to risk his all upon a small volume of poems, among which there may be one, conceived in some happy hour, that shall live. After the few great reputations there is perhaps no better ancho
John Weiss (search for this): chapter 12
nning; and yet it is not at all certain that the one closing line of Channing's A Poet's Hope, — If my bark sinks, 'tis to another sea, may not secure the immortality it predicts, and perhaps outlive everything of Poe's. Wasson's fine poem, Bugle Notes, beginning,— Sweet-voiced Hope, thy fine discourse Foretold not half Life's good to me, will be, unless I greatly mistake, as lasting as the seventeenth-century poems among which it naturally ranks. The mere title, Some Lover's Clear Day, of Weiss's poem will endure, perhaps, after the verses themselves and all else connected with that unique and wayward personality are forgotten. It is many years since I myself wrote of that rare and unappreciated thinker, Brownlee Brown; and he is less known now than he was then; yet his poem on Immortality, preserved by Stedman and Hutchinson, is so magnificent that it cheapens most of its contemporary literature, and seems alone worth a life otherwise obscure. It is founded on Xenophon's well-kn
Hesperus (search for this): chapter 12
a shorter poem, it may be superseded at last by his Daughters of Time. No one doubts that Bayard Taylor will go down to fame, if at all, by his brief Legend of Balaklava, and Julia Ward Howe by her Battle Hymn of the Republic. It is, perhaps, characteristic of the even and well-distributed muse of Whittier that it is less easy to select his high-water mark; but perhaps My Playmate comes as near to it as anything. Bryant's Waterfowl is easily selected, and so is Longfellow's Wreck of the Hesperus, as conveying more sense of shaping imagination than any other, while Evangeline would, of course, command the majority of votes among his longer poems. In some cases, as in Whitman's My Captain, the high-water mark may have been attained precisely at the moment when the poet departed from his theory and confined himself most nearly to the laws he was wont to spurn—in this case, by coming nearest to a regularity of rhythm. The praise generally bestowed on the admirable selections in th
Henry Austin (search for this): chapter 12
me cases, as in Whitman's My Captain, the high-water mark may have been attained precisely at the moment when the poet departed from his theory and confined himself most nearly to the laws he was wont to spurn—in this case, by coming nearest to a regularity of rhythm. The praise generally bestowed on the admirable selections in the Library of American Literature, by Mr. Stedman and Miss Hutchinson, is a proof that there is a certain consensus of opinion on this subject. Had they left out Austin's Peter Rugg, or Hale's A Man Without a Country, there would have been a general feeling of discontent. It would have been curious to see if, had these editors been forced by public opinion to put in something of their own, they would have inserted what others would regard as their high-water mark. I should have predicted that it would be so; and that this would be, in Stedman's case, the stanzas beginning— Thou art mine; thou hast given thy word, and closing with that unsurpassed poe
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