He is full
of feeling, and yet of such a kind that we can neither say it is mere
intellectual perception of what is fair and good, nor yet associate it
with that throbbing fervor which leads us to call sensibility by the
physical name of heart.
Charles Lamb made the most pithy criticism of Spenser when he called him
the poets' poet. We may fairly leave the allegory on one side, for
perhaps, after all, he adopted it only for the reason that it was in
fashion, and put it on as he did his ruff, not because it was becoming,
but because it was the only wear. The true use of him is as a gallery of
pictures which we visit as the mood takes us, and where we spend an hour
or two at a time, long enough to sweeten our perceptions, not so long as
to cloy them. He makes one think always of Venice; for not only is his
style Venetian,[301] but as the gallery there is housed in the shell of
an abandoned convent, so his in that of a deserted allegory. And again,
as at Venice you swim in a gondola from Gian Bellini to Titian, and from
Titian to Tintoret, so in him, where other cheer is wanting, the gentle
sway of his measure, like the rhythmical impulse of the oar, floats you
lullingly along from picture to picture.
"If all the pens that ever poet held
Had fed the feeling of their master's thoughts,
And every sweetness that inspired their hearts
Their minds and muses on admired themes,
If all the heavenly quintessence they still
From their immortal flowers of poesy,
If these had made one poem's period,
And all combined in beauty's worthiness;
Yet should there hover in their restless heads
One thought, one grace, one wonder at the best,
Which into words no virtue can digest.
Pages:
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248