What a relief, after sermonizing and wailing had dulled the sense
with such a weight of cold abstraction, to be soothed by this ivory
lute!
Not that he wanted nobleness and individuality in his thoughts,
or a due sense of the poet's vocation; but he won us to truths, not
forced them upon us; as we listened, the cope
"Of the self-attained futurity
Was cloven with the million stars which tremble
O'er the deep mind of dauntless infamy."
And he seemed worthy thus to address his friend,
"Weak truth a-leaning on her crutch,
Wan, wasted truth in her utmost need,
Thy kingly intellect shall feed,
Until she be an athlete bold."
Unless thus sustained, the luxurious sweetness of his verse
must have wearied. Yet it was not of aim or meaning we thought most,
but of his exquisite sense for sounds and melodies, as marked by
himself in the description of Cleopatra.
"Her warbling voice, a lyre of widest range,
Touched by all passion, did fall down and glance
From tone to tone, and glided through all change
Of liveliest utterance.
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