_R.B. to E.B.B._
[Post-mark, June 14, 1845.]
When I ask my wise self what I really do remember of the Prize poem,
the answer is--both of Chapman's lines a-top, quite worth any prize
for their quoter--then, the good epithet of 'Green Europe' contrasting
with Africa--then, deep in the piece, a picture of a Vestal in a
vault, where I see a dipping and winking lamp plainest, and last of
all the ominous 'all was dark' that dismisses you. I read the poem
many years ago, and never since, though I have an impression that the
versification is good, yet from your commentary I see I must have said
a good deal more in its praise than that. But have you not discovered
by this time that I go on talking with my thoughts away?
I know, I have always been jealous of my own musical faculty (I can
write music).--Now that I see the uselessness of such jealousy, and am
for loosing and letting it go, it may be cramped possibly. Your music
is more various and exquisite than any modern writer's to my ear. One
should study the mechanical part of the art, as nearly all that there
is to be studied--for the more one sits and thinks over the creative
process, the more it confirms itself as 'inspiration,' nothing more
nor less. Or, at worst, you write down old inspirations, what you
remember of them ... but with _that_ it begins. 'Reflection' is
exactly what it names itself--a _re_-presentation, in scattered rays
from every angle of incidence, of what first of all became present in
a great light, a whole one. So tell me how these lights are born, if
you can! But I can tell anybody how to make melodious verses--let him
do it therefore--it should be exacted of all writers.
You do not understand what a new feeling it is for me to have someone
who is to like my verses or I shall not ever like them after! So far
differently was I circumstanced of old, that I used rather to go about
for a subject of offence to people; writing ugly things in order to
warn the ungenial and timorous off my grounds at once. I shall never
do so again at least! As it is, I will bring all I dare, in as great
quantities as I can--if not next time, after then--certainly. I must
make an end, print this Autumn my last four 'Bells,' Lyrics, Romances,
'The Tragedy,' and 'Luna,' and then go on with a whole heart to my own
Poem--indeed, I have just resolved not to begin any new song, even,
till this grand clearance is made--I will get the Tragedy transcribed
to bring--
'To bring!' Next Wednesday--if you know how happy you make me! may I
not say _that_, my dear friend, when I feel it from my soul?
I thank God that you are better: do pray make fresh endeavours to
profit by this partial respite of the weather! All about you must urge
that: but even from my distance some effect might come of such wishes.
But you _are_ better--look so and speak so! God bless you.