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persons of the fables； they are but shadows； beautiful and faint； and their
poem is fit reading for sleepy summer afternoons。 But the characters in
the lyrics in 〃The Defence of Guinevere〃 are people of flesh and blood；
under their chain armour and their velvet； and the trappings of their
tabards。
There is no book in the world quite like this of Mr。 Morris's old
Oxford days when the spirit of the Middle Ages entered into him； with all
its contradictions of faith and doubt； and its earnest desire to enjoy this life
to the full in war and love； or to make certain of a future in which war is
not； and all love is pure heavenly。 If one were to choose favourites from
〃The Defence of Guinevere；〃 they would be the ballads of 〃Shameful
Death；〃 and of 〃The Sailing of the Sword；〃 and 〃The Wind；〃 which has the
wind's wail in its voice； and all the mad regret of 〃Porphyria's Lover〃 in its
burden。
The use of 〃colour…words；〃 in all these pieces； is very curious and
happy。 The red ruby； the brown falcon； the white maids； 〃the scarlet
roofs of the good town；〃 in 〃The Sailing of the Sword；〃 make the poem a
vivid picture。 Then look at the mad； remorseful sea… rover； the slayer of
his lady； in 〃The Wind〃：
〃For my chair is heavy and carved； and with sweeping green behind
It is hung； and the dragons thereon grin out in the gusts of the wind； On its
folds an orange lies with a deep gash cut in the rind； If I move my chair it
will scream； and the orange will roll out far； And the faint yellow juice
ooze out like blood from a wizard's jar； And the dogs will howl for those
who went last month the war。〃
〃The Blue Closet；〃 which is said to have been written for some
drawings of Mr。 Rossetti； is also a masterpiece in this romantic manner。
Our brief English age of romanticism； our 1830； was 1856… 60； when Mr。
Morris； Mr。 Burne Jones； and Mr。 Swinburne were undergraduates。
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Perhaps it wants a peculiar turn of taste to admire these strange things；
though 〃The Haystack in the Floods；〃 with its tragedy； must surely appeal
to all who read poetry。
For the rest； as time goes on； I more and more feel as if Mr。 Morris's
long later poems； 〃The Earthly Paradise〃 especially； were less art than 〃art
manufacture。〃 This may be an ungrateful and erroneous sentiment。
〃The Earthly Paradise；〃 and still more certainly 〃Jason；〃 are full of such
pleasure as only poetry can give。 As some one said of a contemporary
politician； they are 〃good； but copious。〃 Even from narrative poetry Mr。
Morris has long abstained。 He； too； illustrates Mr。 Matthew Arnold's
parable of 〃The Progress of Poetry。〃
〃The Mount is mute； the channel dry。〃
Euripides has been called 〃the meteoric poet；〃 and the same title
seems very appropriate to Mr。 Swinburne。 Probably few readers had
heard his nameI only knew it as that of the author of a strange mediaeval
tale in prosewhen he published 〃Atalanta in Calydon〃 in 1865。 I
remember taking up the quarto in white cloth； at the Oxford Union； and
being instantly led captive by the beauty and originality of the verse。
There was this novel 〃meteoric〃 character in the poem： the writer
seemed to rejoice in snow and fire； and stars； and storm； 〃the blue cold
fields and folds of air；〃 in all the primitive forces which were alive before
this earth was； the naked vast powers that circle the planets and farthest
constellations。 This quality； and his varied and sonorous verse； and his
pessimism； put into the mouth of a Greek chorus； were the things that
struck one most in Mr。 Swinburne。 He was； above all； 〃a mighty…
mouthed inventer of harmonies；〃 and one looked eagerly for his next
poems。 They came with disappointment and trouble。
The famous 〃Poems and Ballads〃 have become so well known that
people can hardly understand the noise they made。 I don't wonder at the
scandal； even now。 I don't see the fun of several of the pieces； except the
mischievous fun of shocking your audience。 However； 〃The Leper〃 and
his company are chiefly boyish； in the least favourable sense of the word。
They do not destroy the imperishable merit of the 〃Hymn to Proserpine〃
and the 〃Garden of Proserpine〃 and the 〃Triumph of Time〃 and 〃Itylus。〃
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Many years have passed since 1866； and yet one's old opinion； that
English poetry contains no verbal music more original； sonorous； and
sweet than Mr。 Swinburne wrote in these pieces when still very young；
remains an opinion unshaken。 Twenty years ago； then； he had enabled
the world to take his measure； he had given proofs of a true poet； he was
learned too in literature as few poets have been since Milton； and； like
Milton； skilled to make verse in the languages of the ancient world and in
modern tongues。 His French songs and Greek elegiacs are of great
excellence； probably no scholar who was not also a poet could match his
Greek lines on Landor。
What； then； is lacking to make Mr。 Swinburne a poet of a rank even
higher than that which he occupies？ Who can tell？ There is no science
that can master this chemistry of the brain。 He is too copious。
〃Bothwell〃 is long enough for six plays； and 〃Tristram of Lyonesse〃 is
prolix beyond even mediaeval narrative。 He is too pertinacious； children
are the joy of the world and Victor Hugo is a great poet； but Mr。
Swinburne almost makes us excuse Herod and Napoleon III。 by his
endless odes to Hugo； and rondels to small boys and girls。 Ne quid nimis；
that is the golden rule which he constantly spurns； being too luxuriant； too
emphatic； and as fond of repeating himself as Professor Freeman。 Such
are the defects of so noble a genius； thus perverse Nature has decided that
it shall be； Nature which makes no ruby without a flaw。
The