IMLAC’S HISTORY (_continued_)—A DISSERTATION UPON POETRY.
“WHEREVER I went I found that poetry was considered as the highest
learning, and regarded with a veneration somewhat approaching to that
which man would pay to angelic nature. And yet it fills me with wonder
that in almost all countries the most ancient poets are considered as the
best; whether it be that every other kind of knowledge is an acquisition
greatly attained, and poetry is a gift conferred at once; or that the
first poetry of every nation surprised them as a novelty, and retained
the credit by consent which it received by accident at first; or whether,
as the province of poetry is to describe nature and passion, which are
always the same, the first writers took possession of the most striking
objects for description and the most probable occurrences for fiction,
and left nothing to those that followed them but transcription of the
same events and new combinations of the same images. Whatever be the
reason, it is commonly observed that the early writers are in possession
of nature, and their followers of art; that the first excel in strength
and invention, and the latter in elegance and refinement.
“I was desirous to add my name to this illustrious fraternity. I read
all the poets of Persia and Arabia, and was able to repeat by memory the
volumes that are suspended in the mosque of Mecca. But I soon found that
no man was ever great by imitations. My desire of excellence impelled me
to transfer my attention to nature and to life. Nature was to be my
subject, and men to be my auditors. I could never describe what I had
not seen. I could not hope to move those with delight or terror whose
interests and opinions I did not understand.
“Being now resolved to be a poet, I saw everything with a new purpose; my
sphere of attention was suddenly magnified; no kind of knowledge was to
be overlooked. I ranged mountains and deserts for images and
resemblances, and pictured upon my mind every tree of the forest and
flower of the valley. I observed with equal care the crags of the rock
and the pinnacles of the palace. Sometimes I wandered along the mazes of
the rivulet, and sometimes watched the changes of the summer clouds. To
a poet nothing can be useless. Whatever is beautiful and whatever is
dreadful must be familiar to his imagination; he must be conversant with
all that is awfully vast or elegantly little. The plants of the garden,
the animals of the wood, the minerals of the earth, and meteors of the
sky, must all concur to store his mind with inexhaustible variety; for
every idea is useful for the enforcement or decoration of moral or
religious truth, and he who knows most will have most power of
diversifying his scenes and of gratifying his reader with remote
allusions and unexpected instruction.
“All the appearances of nature I was therefore careful to study, and
every country which I have surveyed has contributed something to my
poetical powers.”
“In so wide a survey,” said the Prince, “you must surely have left much
unobserved. I have lived till now within the circuit of the mountains,
and yet cannot walk abroad without the sight of something which I had
never beheld before, or never heeded.”
“This business of a poet,” said Imlac, “is to examine, not the
individual, but the species; to remark general properties and large
appearances. He does not number the streaks of the tulip, or describe
the different shades of the verdure of the forest. He is to exhibit in
his portraits of nature such prominent and striking features as recall
the original to every mind, and must neglect the minuter discriminations,
which one may have remarked and another have neglected, for those
characteristics which are alike obvious to vigilance and carelessness.
“But the knowledge of nature is only half the task of a poet; he must be
acquainted likewise with all the modes of life. His character requires
that he estimate the happiness and misery of every condition, observe the
power of all the passions in all their combinations, and trace the
changes of the human mind, as they are modified by various institutions
and accidental influences of climate or custom, from the sprightliness of
infancy to the despondence of decrepitude. He must divest himself of the
prejudices of his age and country; he must consider right and wrong in
their abstracted and invariable state; he must disregard present laws and
opinions, and rise to general and transcendental truths, which will
always be the same. He must, therefore, content himself with the slow
progress of his name, contemn the praise of his own time, and commit his
claims to the justice of posterity. He must write as the interpreter of
nature and the legislator of mankind, and consider himself as presiding
over the thoughts and manners of future generations, as a being superior
to time and place.
“His labour is not yet at an end. He must know many languages and many
sciences, and, that his style may be worthy of his thoughts, must by
incessant practice familiarise to himself every delicacy of speech and
grace of harmony.”