James Russell Lowell, Among my books

1 [123] that has gone out of them abides in what they do. The book such a man makes is indeed, as Milton called it, ‘the precious lifeblood of a master spirit.’ Theirs is a true immortality, for it is their soul, and not their talent, that survives in their work. Dante's concise forthrightness of phrase, which to that of most other poets is as a stab¹ to a blow with a cudgel, the vigor of his thought, the beauty of his images, the refinement of his conception of spiritual things, are marvellous if we compare him with his age and its best achievement. But it is for his power of inspiring and sustaining, it is because they find in him a spur to noble aims, a secure refuge in that defeat which the present always seems, that they prize Dante who know and love him best. He is not merely a great poet, but an influence, part of the soul's resources in time of trouble. From him she learns that, ‘married to the truth, she is a mistress, but otherwise a slave shut out of all liberty.’²

All great poets have their message to deliver us, from something higher than they. We venture on no unworthy comparison between him who reveals to us the beauty of this world's love and the grandeur of this world's passion and him who shows that love of God is the fruit whereof all other loves are but the beautiful and fleeting blossom, that the passions are yet sublimer objects of contemplation, when, subdued by the will, they become patience in suffering and perseverance in the upward path. But we cannot help thinking that if Shakespeare be the most comprehensive intellect, so Dante is the highest spiritual nature that has expressed itself in rhythmical form. Had he merely made us feel

2 To the ‘bestiality’ of certain arguments Dante says, ‘one would wish to reply, not with words, but with a knife.’ (Convito, Tr. IV. c. 14.)

3 Convito, Tr. IV. c. 2.