the works of edgar allan poe-5-第52部分

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〃Against　the　subtleties　which　would　make　poetry　a　study…not　a　passion…it
becomes　the　metaphysician　to　reason…but　the　poet　to　protest。　Yet
Wordsworth　and　Coleridge　are　men　in　years；　the　one　imbued　in　contemplation
from　his　childhood；　the　other　a　giant　in　intellect　and　learning。　The
diffidence；　then；　with　which　I　venture　to　dispute　their　authority　would　be
overwhelming　did　I　not　feel；　from　the　bottom　of　my　heart；　that　learning
has　little　to　do　with　the　imagination…intellect　with　the　passions…or　age
with　poetry。

〃'Trifles；　like　straws；　upon　the　surface　flow；
He　who　would　search　for　pearls　must　dive　below；'

are　lines　which　have　done　much　mischief。　As　regards　the　greater　truths；
men　oftener　err　by　seeking　them　at　the　bottom　than　at　the　top；　Truth　lies
in　the　huge　abysses　where　wisdom　is　sought…not　in　the　palpable　palaces
where　she　is　found。　The　ancients　were　not　always　right　in　hiding　…the
goddess　in　a　well；　witness　the　light　which　Bacon　has　thrown　upon
philosophy；　witness　the　principles　of　our　divine　faith　…that　moral
mechanism　by　which　the　simplicity　of　a　child　may　overbalance　the　wisdom　of
a　man。

〃We　see　an　instance　of　Coleridge's　liability　to　err；　in　his　'Biographia
Literaria'professedly　his　literary　life　and　opinions；　but；　in　fact；　a
treatise　_de　omni　scibili　et　quibusdam　aliis。　_He　goes　wrong　by　reason　of
his　very　profundity；　and　of　his　error　we　have　a　natural　type　in　the
contemplation　of　a　star。　He　who　regards　it　directly　and　intensely　sees；　it
is　true；　the　star；　but　it　is　the　star　without　a　ray…while　he　who　surveys
it　less　inquisitively　is　conscious　of　all　for　which　the　star　is　useful　to
us　below…its　brilliancy　and　its　beauty。

〃As　to　Wordsworth；　I　have　no　faith　in　him。　That　he　had　in　youth　the
feelings　of　a　poet　I　believe…for　there　are　glimpses　of　extreme　delicacy　in
his　writings…（and　delicacy　is　the　poet's　own　kingdom…his　_El　Dorado）…but
they　_have　the　appearance　of　a　better　day　recollected；　and　glimpses；　at
best；　are　little　evidence　of　present　poetic　fire；　we　know　that　a　few
straggling　flowers　spring　up　daily　in　the　crevices　of　the　glacier。

〃He　was　to　blame　in　wearing　away　his　youth　in　contemplation　with　the　end
of　poetizing　in　his　manhood。　With　the　increase　of　his　judgment　the　light
which　should　make　it　apparent　has　faded　away。　His　judgment　consequently　is
too　correct。　This　may　not　be　understood…but　the　old　Goths　of　Germany　would
have　understood　it；　who　used　to　debate　matters　of　importance　to　their
State　twice；　once　when　drunk；　and　once　when　sober…sober　that　they　might
not　be　deficient　in　formalitydrunk　lest　they　should　be　destitute　of
vigor。

〃The　long　wordy　discussions　by　which　he　tries　to　reason　us　into　admiration
of　his　poetry；　speak　very　little　in　his　favor：　they　are　full　of　such
assertions　as　this　（I　have　opened　one　of　his　volumes　at　random）　…〃Of
genius　the　only　proof　is　the　act　of　doing　well　what　is　worthy　to　be　done；
and　what　was　never　done　before；'…indeed？　then　it　follows　that　in　doing
what　is　unworthy　to　be　done；　or　what　_has　_been　done　before；　no　genius　can
be　evinced；　yet　the　picking　of　pockets　is　an　unw　orthy　act；　pockets　have
been　picked　time　immemorial；　and　Barrington；　the　pickpocket；　in　point　of
genius；　would　have　thought　hard　of　a　comparison　with　William　Wordsworth；
the　poet。

〃Again；　in　estimating　the　merit　of　certain　poems；　whether　they　be　Ossian's
or　Macpherson's　can　surely　be　of　little　consequence；　yet；　in　order　to
prove　their　worthlessness；　Mr。　W。　has　expended　many　pages　in　the
controversy。　_Tantaene　animis？　_Can　great　minds　descend　to　such　absurdity？
But　worse　still：　that　he　may　bear　down　every　argument　in　favor　of　these
poems；　he　triumphantly　drags　forward　a　passage；　in　his　abomination　with
which　he　expects　the　reader　to　sympathize。　It　is　the　beginning　of　the　epic
poem　'Temora。'　'The　blue　waves　of　Ullin　roll　in　light；　the　green　hills　are
covered　with　day；　trees　shake　their　dusty　heads　in　the　breeze。'　And　this
this　gorgeous；　yet　simple　imagery；　where　all　is　alive　and　panting　with
immortality…this；　William　Wordsworth；　the　author　of　'Peter　Bell；'　has
_selected　_for　his　contempt。　We　shall　see　what　better　he；　in　his　own
person；　has　to　offer。　Imprimis：

〃'And　now　she's　at　the　pony's　tail；
And　now　she's　at　the　pony's　head；
On　that　side　now；　and　now　on　this；
And；　almost　stifled　with　her　bliss；

A　few　sad　tears　does　Betty　shed。　。　。　。
She　pats　the　pony；　where　or　when
She　knows　not　。　。　。　。　happy　Betty　Foy！
Oh；　Johnny；　never　mind　the　doctor！'

Secondly：

〃'The　dew　was　falling　fast；　the…stars　began　to　blink；
I　heard　a　voice：　it　said…〃Drink；　pretty　creature；　drink！〃
And；　looking　o'er　the　hedge；　be…fore　me　I　espied
A　snow…white　mountain　lamb；　with　a…maiden　at　its　side。
No　other　sheep　was　near；the　lamb　was　all　alone；
And　by　a　slender　cord　was…tether'd　to　a　stone。'

〃Now；　we　have　no　doubt　this　is　all　true：　we　will　believe　it；　indeed　we
will；　Mr。　W。　Is　it　sympathy　for　the　sheep　you　wish　to　excite？　I　love　a
sheep　from　the　bottom　of　my　heart。

〃But　there　are　occasions；　dear　B…；　there　are　occasions　when　even
Wordsworth　is　reasonable。　Even　Stamboul；　it　is　said；　shall　have　an　end；
and　the　most　unlucky　blunders　must　come　to　a　conclusion。　Here　is　an
extract　from　his　preface　：…

〃'Those　who　have　been　accustomed　to　the　phraseology　of　modem　writers；　if
they　persist　in　reading　this　book　to　a　conclusion　_（impossible！）　will；　_no
doubt；　have　to　struggle　with　feelings　of　awkwardness；　（ha！　ha！　ha！）　they
will　look　round　for　poetry　（ha！　ha！　ha！　ha！）；　and　will　be　induced　to
inquire　by　what　species　of　courtesy　these　attempts　have　been　permitted　to
assume　that　title。'　Ha！　ha！　ha！　ha！　ha！

〃Yet；　let　not　Mr。　W。　despair；　he　has　given　immortality　to　a　wagon；　and　the
bee　Sophocles　has　transmitted　to　eternity　a　sore　toe；　and　dignified　a
tragedy　with　a　chorus　of　turkeys。

〃Of　Coleridge；　I　can　not　speak　but　with　reverence。　His　towering　intellect！
his　gigantic　power！　To　use　an　author　quoted　by　himself；　_'Tai　trouv？
souvent　que　la　plupart　des　sectes　ont　raison　dans　une　bonne　partie　de　ce
qu'elles　avancent；　mais　non　pas　en　ce　qu'elles　nient　；　'　and　_to　employ
his　own　language；　he　has　imprisoned　his　own　conceptions　by　the　barrier　he
has　erected　against　those　of　others。　It　is　lamentable　to　think　that　such　a
mind　should　be　buried　in　metaphysics；　and；　like　the　Nyctanthes；　waste　its
perfume　upon　the　night　alone。　In　reading　that　man's　poetry；　I　tremble　like
one　who　stands　upon　a　volcano；　conscious　from　the　very　darkness　bursting
from　the　crater；　of　the　fire　and　the　light　that　are　weltering　below。

〃What　is　poetry？…Poetry！　that　Proteus…like　idea；　with　as　many　appellations
as　the　nine…titled　Corcyra！　'Give　me；'　I　demanded　of　a　scholar　some　time
ago；　'give　me　a　definition　of　poetry。'　_'Tr鑣volontiers；'　_and　he
proceeded　to　his　library；　brought　me　a　Dr。　Johnson；　and　overwhelmed　me
with　a　definition。　Shade　of　the　immortal　Shakespeare！　I　imagine　to　myself
the　scowl　of　your　spiritual　eye　upon　the　profanity　of　that　scurrilous　Ursa
Major。　Think　of　poetry；　dear　B…；　think　of　poetry；　and　then　think　of　Dr。
Samuel　Johnson！　Think　of　all　that　is　airy　and　fairy…like；　and　then　of　all
that　is　hideous　and　unwieldy；　think　of　his　huge　bulk；　the