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that ever makes his verse turbid； forgets that he is anything but a
poet； forgets sometimes that he is anything but a child； lies back
in his skiff； and looks at the clouds。 He plays truant from earth；
slips through the wicket of fancy into heaven's meadow； and goes
gathering stars。 Here we have that absolute virgin…gold of song
which is the scarcest among human products； and for which we can go
to but three poetsColeridge； Shelley； Chopin； ｛8｝ and perhaps we
should add Keats。 Christabel and Kubla…Khan； The Skylark； The
Cloud； and The Sensitive Plant （in its first two parts）。 The Eve of
Saint Agnes and The Nightingale； certain of the Nocturnes；these
things make very quintessentialised loveliness。 It is attar of
poetry。
Remark； as a thing worth remarking； that； although Shelley's diction
is at other times singularly rich； it ceases in these poems to be
rich； or to obtrude itself at all； it is imperceptible； his Muse has
become a veritable Echo； whose body has dissolved from about her
voice。 Indeed； when his diction is richest； nevertheless the poetry
so dominates the expression that we feel the latter only as an
atmosphere until we are satiated with the former； then we discover
with surprise to how imperial a vesture we had been blinded by
gazing on the face of his song。 A lesson； this； deserving to be
conned by a generation so opposite in tendency as our own： a lesson
that in poetry； as in the Kingdom of God； we should not take thought
too greatly wherewith we shall be clothed； but seek first ｛9｝ the
spirit； and all these things will be added unto us。
On the marvellous music of Shelley's verse we need not dwell； except
to note that he avoids that metronomic beat of rhythm which Edgar
Poe introduced into modern lyric measures； as Pope introduced it
into the rhyming heroics of his day。 Our varied metres are becoming
as painfully over…polished as Pope's one metre。 Shelley could at
need sacrifice smoothness to fitness。 He could write an anapaest
that would send Mr。 Swinburne into strong shudders （e。g。； 〃stream
did glide〃） when he instinctively felt that by so forgoing the more
obvious music of melody he would better secure the higher music of
harmony。 If we have to add that in other ways he was far from
escaping the defects of his merits； and would sometimes have to
acknowledge that his Nilotic flood too often overflowed its banks；
what is this but saying that he died young？
It may be thought that in our casual comments on Shelley's life we
have been blind to its evil side。 That； however； is not the case。
We see clearly that he committed grave sins； and one cruel crime；
but we remember also that he was an Atheist from his boyhood； we
reflect how gross must have been the moral neglect in the training
of a child who COULD be an Atheist from his boyhood： and we decline
to judge so unhappy a being by the rules which we should apply to a
Catholic。 It seems to us that Shelley was strugglingblindly；
weakly； stumblingly； but still strugglingtowards higher things。
His Pantheism is an indication of it。 Pantheism is a half…way
house； and marks ascent or descent according to the direction from
which it is approached。 Now Shelley came to it from absolute
Atheism； therefore in his case it meant rise。 Again； his poetry
alone would lead us to the same conclusion； for we do not believe
that a truly corrupted spirit can write consistently ethereal
poetry。 We should believe in nothing； if we believed that； for it
would be the consecration of a lie。 Poetry is a thermometer： by
taking its average height you can estimate the normal temperature of
its writer's mind。 The devil can do many things。 But the devil
cannot write poetry。 He may mar a poet； but he cannot make a poet。
Among all the temptations wherewith he tempted St。 Anthony； though
we have often seen it stated that he howled； we have never seen it
stated that he sang。
Shelley's anarchic principles were as a rule held by him with some
misdirected view to truth。 He disbelieved in kings。 And is it not
a mere factregret it if you willthat in all European countries；
except two； monarchs are a mere survival； the obsolete buttons on
the coat…tails of rule； which serve no purpose but to be continually
coming off？ It is a miserable thing to note how every little Balkan
State； having obtained liberty （save the mark！） by Act of Congress；
straightway proceeds to secure the service of a professional king。
These gentlemen are plentiful in Europe。 They are the 〃noble
Chairmen〃 who lend their names for a consideration to any
enterprising company which may be speculating in Liberty。 When we
see these things； we revert to the old lines in which Persius tells
how you cannot turn Dama into a freeman by twirling him round your
finger and calling him Marcus Dama。
Again； Shelley desired a religion of humanity； and that meant； to
him； a religion for humanity； a religion which； unlike the spectral
Christianity about him； should permeate and regulate the whole
organisation of men。 And the feeling is one with which a Catholic
must sympathise； in an age whenif we may say so without
irreverencethe Almighty has been made a constitutional Deity； with
certain state…grants of worship； but no influence over political
affairs。 In these matters his aims were generous； if his methods
were perniciously mistaken。 In his theory of Free Love alone；
borrowed like the rest from the Revolution； his aim was as
mischievous as his method。 At the same time he was at least
logical。 His theory was repulsive； but comprehensible。 Whereas
from our present via mediafacilitation of divorcecan only result
the era when the young lady in reduced circumstances will no longer
turn governess but will be open to engagement as wife at a
reasonable stipend。
We spoke of the purity of Shelley's poetry。 We know of but three
passages to which exception can be taken。 One is happily hidden
under a heap of Shelleian rubbish。 Another is offensive； because it
presents his theory of Free Love in its most odious form。 The third
is very much a matter； we think； for the individual conscience。
Compare with this the genuinely corrupt Byron； through the cracks
and fissures of whose heaving versification steam up perpetually the
sulphurous vapours from his central iniquity。 We cannot credit that
any Christian ever had his faith shaken through reading Shelley；
unless his faith were shaken before he read Shelley。 Is any safely
havened bark likely to slip its cable； and make for a flag planted
on the very reef where the planter himself was wrecked？
Why indeed （one is tempted to ask in concluding） should it be that
the poets who have written for us the poetry richest in skiey grain；
most free from admixture with the duller things of earththe
Shelleys； the Coleridges； the Keatsare the very poets whose lives
are among the saddest records in literature？ Is it that （by some
subtile mystery