itecture of its own, and adorns nature with a new
thing. The thought and the form are equal in the order of time, but in
the order of genesis the thought is prior to the form. The poet has a
new thought; he has a whole new experience to unfold; he will tell us
how it was with him, and all men will be the richer in his fortune. For
the experience of each new age requires a new confession, and the world
seems always waiting for its poet. I remember when I was young how much
I was moved one morning by tidings that genius had appeared in a youth
who sat near me at table. He had left his work and gone rambling none
knew whither, and had written hundreds of lines, but could not tell
whether that which was in him was therein told; he could tell nothing
but that all was changed,--man, beast, heaven, earth and sea. How gladly
we listened! how credulous! Society seemed to be compromised. We sat
in the aurora of a sunrise which was to put out all the stars. Boston
seemed to be at twice the distance it had the night before, or was much
farther than that. Rome,--what was Rome? Plutarch and Shakspeare were
in the yellow leaf, and Homer no more should be heard of. It is much to
know that poetry has been written this very day, under this very roof,
by your side. What! that wonderful spirit has not expired! These stony
moments are still sparkling and animated! I had fancied that the oracles
were all silent, and nature had spent her fires; and behold! all night,
from every pore, these fine auroras have been streaming. Every one has
some interest in the advent of the poet, and no one knows how much it
may concern him. We know that the secret of the world is profound, but
who or what shall be our interpreter, we know not. A mountain ramble,
a new style of face, a new person, may put the key into our hands.
Of course the value of genius to us is in the veracity of its report.
Talent may frolic and juggle; genius realizes and adds. Mankind in good
earnest have availed so far in understanding themselves and their work,
that the foremost watchman on the peak announces his news. It is the
truest word ever spoken, and the phrase will be the fittest, most
musical, and the unerring voice of the world for that time.

All that we call sacred history attests that the birth of a poet is
the principal event in chronology. Man, never so often deceived, still
watches for the arrival of a brother who can hold him steady to a truth
until he has made it his