lat
contradiction in terms.

I need scarcely observe that a poem deserves its title only inasmuch as
it excites, by elevating the soul. The value of the poem is in the
ratio of this elevating excitement. But all excitements are, through a
psychal necessity, transient. That degree of excitement which would
entitle a poem to be so called at all cannot be sustained throughout a
composition of any great length. After the lapse of half an hour, at
the very utmost, it flags--fails--a revulsion ensues--and then the poem
is, in effect, and in fact, no longer such.

There are, no doubt, many who have found difficulty in reconciling the
critical dictum that the "Paradise Lost" is to be devoutly admired
throughout, with the absolute impossibility of maintaining for it,
during perusal, the amount of enthusiasm which that critical dictum
would demand. The great work, in fact, is to be regarded as poetical,
only when, losing sight of that vital requisite in all works of Art,
Unity, we view it merely as a series of minor poems. If, to preserve
its Unity--its totality of effect or impression--we read it (as would
be necessary) at a single sitting, the result is but a constant
alternation of excitement and depression. After a passage of what we
feel to be true poetry, there follows, inevitably, a passage of
platitude which no critical prejudgment can force us to admire; but if,
upon completing the work, we read it again, omitting the first book
(that is to say, commencing with the second), we shall be surprised at
now finding that admirable which we before condemned--that damnable
which we had previously so much admired. It follows from all this that
the ultimate, aggregate, or absolute effect of even the best epic under
the sun is a nullity;--and this is precisely the fact.

In regard to the "Iliad," we have, if not positive proof, at least very
good reason for believing it intended as a series of lyrics; but,
granting the epic intention, I can say only that the work is based in
an imperfect sense of art. The modern epic is, of the supposititious
ancient model, but an inconsiderate and blindfold imitation. But the
day of these artistic anomalies is over. If, at any time, any very
long poems were popular in reality--which I doubt--it is at least clear
that no very long poem will ever be popular again.

That the extent of a poetical work is, _ceteris paribus_, the measure
of its merit, seems undoubtedly, when we thus state