though they are there, but we
go to him for his attitude toward life and the universe, we go to
stimulate and fortify our souls--in short, for his cosmic philosophy
incarnated in a man.

What largeness of thought Tennyson brings to all his themes! There is
plenty of iron in his blood, though it be the blood of generations of
culture, and of an overripe civilization. We cannot say as much of
Swinburne's poetry or prose. I do not think either will live. Bigness
of words, and fluency, and copiousness of verse cannot make up for the
want of a sane and rational philosophy. Arnold's poems always have
real and tangible subject matter. His "Dover Beach" is a great stroke
of poetic genius. Let me return to Poe: what largeness of thought did
he bring to his subjects? Emerson spoke of him as "the jingle man,"
and Poe, in turn, spoke of Emerson with undisguised contempt. Poe's
picture indicates a neurotic person. There is power in his eyes, but
the shape of his head is abnormal, and a profound melancholy seems to
rest on his very soul. What a conjurer he was with words and meters
and measures! No substance at all in his "Raven," only shadows--a
wonderful dance of shadows, all tricks of a verbal wizard. "The
Bells," a really powerful poem, is his masterpiece, unique in English
literature; but it has no intellectual content. Its appeal is to the
eye and ear alone. It has a verbal splendor and a mastery over measure
and rhythm far beyond anything in Shelley, or in any other poet of his
time. It is art glorified; it is full of poetic energy. No wonder
foreign critics see in Poe something far beyond that found in any
other American, or in any British poet!

Poe set to work to write "The Raven" as deliberately as a mechanic
goes to work to make a machine, or an architect to build a house. It
was all a matter of calculation with him. He did not believe in long
poems, hence decided at the outset that his poem should not be more
than one hundred lines in length. Then he asked himself, what is the
legitimate end and aim of a poem? and answered emphatically, Beauty.
The next point to settle was, what impression must be made to produce
that effect? He decided that "melancholy is the most legitimate of all
poetic tones." Why joy or gladness, like that of the birds, is not
equally legitimate, he does not explain. Then, to give artistic
piquancy to the whole, he decided that there must be "some pivot upon
which the whole structure might turn."