have been;-in proportion as that vision was feeble and restricted, was his great mind less noble than it should have been. For confirmation, let us turn to the contrasted being of a poet mightier than he, in loftiness and delicacy and gorgeousness of imagining. Let the pure life-the allunselfish, spirit-loveliness of SHELLEY, refute the weak and wrongful thought, that "a brilliant imagination is seldom or never accompanied by a warm heart." * A startling blot were it upon the fair face of Nature, if these two of her best gifts to man, were thus incompatible,—if one destroyed the other. But it is not so. The heart is the very instrument upon which bright fancy sounds all tender melodies. Those most have hearts, who most have souls: and the simplest good man upon earth, who sees and worships the idea of moral beauty, in kindliness and earnestness of purpose, possesses in high degree the etherial fire, however deficient he may be in its more obvious manifestations. The true relation of the imagination to our moral and social character, appears to be generally but very little noticed. As the principle that takes cognizance of beauty, it properly embraces all that pleases us in human conduct, and lies at the very foundation of morals. It regards the qualities of action and of being, no less than those of sentiment or form. Virtue indeed may be defined as the poetry of conduct :-the very offspring of the creative faculty; for it is as much "an expression of the beautiful" as the cunning statue, or the magic painting. A deed of heroic daring and self-devoted generosity is a poem-higher than the epic. It is addressed to a higher taste; it awakens a deeper enthusiasm of admiration. It is moral beauty that constitutes the poetry of the drama: it contributes mainly to that of the narrative muse. Ethical writers have too much overlooked this bearing of their subject. They have been so occupied with the principles of the "law," as almost to lose sight of those of the incentive. They have contemplated results rather than causes,-tendencies rather than motives. Hence the cold utilitarianism of Hobbes and Paley. Hence the prevailing inclination to a mechanical philosophy, which would make ethics a department of mathematics. The fundamental maxim of the popular morality, appears to be, that "Honesty is the best policy." It is sothough, as Mrs. Childs has happily remarked, "policy never finds that art." The motto, however, is true as the expression of a fact, and not of a principle,-of an effect, and not of a cause. An inattention to this, has made the maxim hide a higher truth-that "Honesty is the best beauty." We accustom ourselves to look too much to the consequential benefits of well-doing, and too little to a sense of pleasure in the act,— too much to the succeeding, and too little to the accompanying gratification. And our moral sight becomes so strained by searching ever "the long-run," that it loses its susceptibility to the beauty immediately before it. And yet how superior in point of power and of dignity—in point of real self-enjoyment, is that incentive which, drawn from within, is ever present and enduring,-to that which, drawn from without, is too often uncertain and remote, and ever proportionally feeble. And further than this, the moral-like every other mental taste, is ever strengthened and refined by exercise; deriving power and nourishment from what it feeds upon;-its very gratification educing a higher capacity of enjoyment in the future. Nor does this view of morals at all supercede the great doctrine of expediency it only assigns it its proper sphere of operation. How * Blessington. ever a calculation of advantage may constitute the ultimate rightfulness of human action, it is obviously a consideration that can form no part of our admiration of the agent. Ratiocination does indeed determine the "right"-the scientific morality; it is a Moral Taste alone, that can make the "virtue"-the artistic morality. Were "utility," (in its common acceptation,) the measure of approval, the labors of the patient horse would be as justly entitled to the appellation "moral" as those of his master. False and ineffectual is all morality that makes not virtue ever self-sufficient:-its own being its highest inspiration,-its own action its best reward. It is the undue separation of these two great provinces, and the disproportioned regard paid to the objective, above the subjective, that makes our convictions in the first so much in advance of our persuasions in the last. All vainly do we arrive at "the knowledge of good and evil," if we attain not also to the spiritual "life." Well might the gloomy Manfred exclaim, "The tree of knowledge is not that of life. I have essayed and the wisdom of the world, * But they avail not." All insufficient are these to satisfy the soul. Not here can it find happiness, for these are but the means. "It is not for want of admirable doctrines," said a brother poet, "that men hate, and censure and deceive, and subjugate one another. . . . There is no want of knowledge respecting what is wisest and best in morals, government, and political economy, or at least what is wiser and better than what men now practise and endure. We want the creative faculty to imagine that which we know; we want the generous impulse to act that which we imagine; we want the poetry of life." The sceptic in the great gospel of human progression, has adduced this inequality of our growth in wisdom and in goodness, to justify his unbelief. If compelled to admit the intellectual-he has denied the moral advancement of the race; and has urged the contrast as a proof of innate hopeless imbecility. A true philosophy ever seeks to discriminate, rather than to confound;-to seek the cause, rather than to rest upon the result. If the reproach is just, that we do not act up to our own convictions,-that while approving the precept-" whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them,"--we are yet slow in carrying it out into a living practise, is not the very reason of it before us in the weakness of our sympathies,-in our neglect of that faculty which alone gives life to knowledge-which can alone make the feelings of another truly our own? If our fancy could but strongly realise the sensations of those around us, would not our own impel us to regard them? To quote again from Shelley's masterly "Defence of Poetry:"-" The great secret of morals is love; or a going out of our own nature, and an identification of ourselves with the beautiful which exists in thought, action, or person, not our own. A man to be greatly good, must imagine intensely and comprehensively: he must put himself in the place of another, and of many others: the pains and pleasures of his species, *Properly speaking, wisdom includes goodness;-for the good alone are wise; but the word has been used in the popular looseness of acceptation, as synonymous with knowledge. It has been well said that knowledge is of the head, but wisdom of the heart. The one is the abstraction, the other the application; the one the science, the other the art. must become his own. The great instrument of moral good is the imagination; and poetry administers to the effect, by acting upon the cause." Deep and scarce recognised is the truth which these words unfold; and warm is the hopefulness they enkindle-strong the faith in endeavor which they inspire. If compelled to mourn over the feebleness of the deed as compared with the thought, a high and encouraging wisdom teaches that, "It is our will Which thus enchains us to permitted ill. Not Not by precept, however, shall this "weakness" be overcome. so would we think to give a muscle strength. Equally vain is the attempt by teaching-to improve imaginative power. If we instruct the reason, we must educate the soul. It is not by the in-building of truth, but by the out-drawing of capacity, that we can develope a moral quality, or a delicate perception in the fine arts. All taste is but the sense, it is not " built," nor planted in the soul;-it is born with it, and makes part of it; and all that human might can do, is to strengthen this original capability by frequent exercise. The beauty and the goodness exist within: they but require to be developed-unveiled. Only by familiar employment on their appropriate objects, are they thus uncovered and "educed." It is their action that writes their character upon the mind. It has been observed, that as man has given less attention and improvement to the imaginative than to the rational part of his mental nature, so in its moral department he has exhibited less advance in goodness. than in knowledge. It is not true, however, that we are left without all evidence of progress even here. It needs no wide research through ancient history, to prove man's moral growth. A single glance at the dimmed chronicles of the Hebrews, will confirm the truth; and theology has ever thought it necessary to extenuate much of what is there portrayed, by reference to " the darkness of those days." If we turn to the later and fairer pages of classic record, a careful scrutiny will satisfy us that in the great aggregate, we have attained since then a higher moral standard, that there has been an onward march in nobleness of soulslight and imperfectly defined it may be,-but still progressive and decisive. If some have denied the evidence of this improvement, the Christian philosopher, at least, will hardly be willing to admit that the great Teacher of Morality has come into our world in vain. A most interesting study would it be, to trace the various measure of development in the differing provinces of creative power as marked upon the chart of Time ;-to observe and depict the branching growth of the tree of life in one direction, its slackened germination in another. But as yet, we could not fully apprehend-much less note and embody the delicate distinctions. If in epic art Homer may still be claimed as "prince of poets" in originality and liveliness of fancy,-in that variety and picturesqueness of description which gives life to narrative fiction,-yet a Milton surpasses him in grandeur of moral imagining,-a Shakspeare infinitely transcends him in intense-inspired conceptions of humanity. If in statuary and architecture-(the poetry of form, and that which is soonest and most easily approximated toward perfection,)-we have made no perceptible improvement since the days of Grecian glory, in the more complex arts of painting and of music, (and especially in the latter,) have we reason to believe that our advance has been neither slight nor unimportant. It is modern refinement that has given gardening to the fine arts. And what employment can be more congenial to the lover of the beautiful, than the tasteful disposition and intelligent cultivation of flowers-ever lovely-ever cheering flowers? What can exert a kindlier, healthier influence on the open heart, than frequent intercourse with their delicate and fairy forms? Symbols are they of all gentle meanings; the artist works of nature; the poetry of matter; nay, rather silent hymns of joyousness and aspiration of the vegetative Spirit. What messages of hope and love, and wisdom, do they not deliver. Do they receive their nour ishment and grace from the coarseness of earth,-they teach how, from the commonest-homeliest things, may be drawn a blessing and a beauty, "would we observingly distil it out." Are they ever upward-springing, heavenward-reaching-after light and warmth,-let us learn how resolute should be our struggles for the intellectual and the spiritual. they repay judicious care and training, with a wondrous increase of loveliness, what brightest promise do they type of the soul's improvability, if but the laws of its being are regarded,—if but a rightful system of development be earnestly sought and carried out. Do In connexion with the theory of a past advancement of the human race, a most seductive theme presents itself-in the relation of Imagination to the gradual elevation of the character of woman; and most of all, in the progressive influence of this principle in exalting and refining the affection which she inspires. The subject cannot be unnoticed, though it may not here be dwelt upon. Again and again, has it been remarked by close observers of the manners of olden time, that Love, in its true and comprehensive sense, appears to be almost the product of the Christian and chivalric age. We seek in vain through ancient poetry for that delicacy of sentiment, that tenderness of sympathy, that intimate union of soul, which distinguishes the present communion of the sexes, and which is so vividly stamped upon the creations of the modern muse. Were there no other ground for the enthusiast of hope to stand upon,here might he fix his unquiet thought, and build a glorious prophecy of happiness and greatness. Here at least, can he rest upon an evident proof, that a mighty spiritual progress has been made by man, and in that which most ennobles him. And who shall venture to assign the limits of this progress? Shall we indulge a dream of the high destiny held out in prospect to mankind, when all the faculties of his mind shall have been completely and harmoniously evolved?-Alas, imagination cannot as yet give form to that which shall be, and which its own agency shall bring about. Dim visions of unrealised splendor occasionally gleam for an instant upon the awakened mind-to dazzle and bewilder. Thought fails to comprehend itself. It bears within itself the infinite and eternal. The song that bursts forth in the exuberance of rejoicing power-ere it has filled its destined measure-subsides in very mystery of depth to a low and startled wail. Ask why the sunlight not forever Weaves rainbows o'er yon mountain river; Why aught should fail and fade that once is shown; Cast on the daylight of this earth Such gloom; why man has such a scope * Thy light alone, like mist o'er mountains driven, Through strings of some still instrument, Or moonlight on a midnight stream, Gives grace and truth to life's unquiet dream! THE BROKEN HEART.* 1. CANTO III. AURORA's smile awoke the World, Whose wings hang drooping o'er the soul, Like dead sails when ærial Powers, Refuse the stagnant waves to roll! 11. At last, beneath a myrtle bower, He paused, the slanting beams to shun, Just opening to the morning sun, Transfixed he gazed a moment mute- Deeply and true, As if it knew Its master-hand had turned to clay. Of this poor Gipsy maiden's strife, In past and present strove to find And melancholy of the mind- 111. Young Leila's cheek turned ashy white, With solemn mien she sought the maid- And bright tears shed, IV. Mean time, with many a pious thought, *First two Cantos published in Democratic Review for October, 1846. |