absorbed. Most of this is saved, however, by putting the
comparison in a metaphorical form, thus: "The white light of truth, in
traversing the many sided transparent soul of the poet, is refracted
into iris-hued poetry."

Sec. 42. How much is conveyed in a few words by the help of the Metaphor,
and how vivid the effect consequently produced, may be abundantly
exemplified. From 'A Life Drama' may be quoted the phrase--

"I spear'd him with a jest,"

as a fine instance among the many which that poem contains. A passage in
the 'Prometheus Unbound,' of Shelley, displays the power of the metaphor
to great advantage:

"Methought among the lawns together
We wandered, underneath the young gray dawn,
And multitudes of dense white fleecy clouds
Were wandering, in thick flocks along the mountains
_Shepherded_ by the slow unwilling wind."

This last expression is remarkable for the distinctness with which it
realizes the features of the scene: bringing the mind, as it were, by a
bound to the desired conception.

Sec. 43. But a limit is put to the advantageous use of the Metaphor, by the
condition that it must be sufficiently simple to be understood from a
hint. Evidently, if there be any obscurity in the meaning or application
of it, no economy of attention will be gained; but rather the reverse.
Hence, when the comparison is complex, it is usual to have recourse to
the Simile. There is, however, a species of figure, sometimes classed
under Allegory, but which might, perhaps, be better called Compound
Metaphor, that enables us to retain the brevity of the metaphorical
form even where the analogy is intricate. This is done by indicating the
application of the figure at the outset, and then leaving the mind to
continue the parallel.' Emerson has employed it with great effect in
the first of his I Lectures on the Times':--"The main interest which
any aspects of the Times can have for us is the great spirit which gazes
through them, the light which they can shed on the wonderful questions,
What are we, and Whither we tend? We do not wish to be deceived. Here
we drift, like white sail across the wild ocean, now bright on the wave,
now darkling in the trough of the sea; but from what port did we sail?
Who knows? Or to what port are we bound? Who knows? There is no one
to tell us but such poor weather-tossed mariners as ourselves, whom we
speak as we pass, or who have hoisted some signal, or floated to