Cincinnati daily press. [volume] (Cincinnati [Ohio]) 1860-1862, 1861-03-04

Poesy, though II seems unreal, Is the high
est truth It's apparent fiction, to the many
resulting only from the misrepresentation o
its spirit.
Poesy is from the soul to the soul; divine
in its origin divine in its teaching; an arr
end a science an inspiration and a history
a reminisence and a prophecy; the past and
future in the present, and eternity in sensa.
ton.
Too comprehensive and varying is Poesy
to be defined too much a subtle essence Ia
be grasped by the written word. Yet, all
feel IL more or less, and, TO the higher natures
it is the song Of the universe.
Poesy is the science of the beautiful, the
intuition of imagination, the idealization o.
feeling, the imagery Of emotion.
1t is the highest of arts, as it is the pro-
foundest of sciences the purest of senti.
ments, and the loftiest Of aspirations.
1t begins with the tiniest petal of the
lowliest blossom, but ends not with the suns
of Arcturus.
1t is contained in the bosom Of the violet,
but is not limited by the remotest star.
Poesy is the Hottest phase of thought, the
utterance of the supernal to mortal ears.
The fable of Orpheus and the charmed
rocks and trees is explained in Poesy, and in
its revelations are the finest possibilities of
man.
Where reason stumbles and philosophy is
blinded, Poesy moves onward with Argus
eyes.
Through famine and pestilenee, through
fire and tcmpest, she passes unframed.
The lightning can not destroy, nor the
water drown her: she is immortal as the
elements, as invulnerable as Fate.
All that is best and greatest is in Poesy (;
for it includes and absorbs them utterly.
Religion is the poetry of the spirit; love
the poetry of the heart; genius the poetry
ofthe mind.
Who'll loves not Poesy is inhumau, and Ma
ture to him is dumb forever. Though he
held the destiny of nations in his hand, aud a
million worshipers were at his feet, ~insensi-
BILE to Poesy, he would be uncrowned, if all
Golconda's jewels blazed upon his brow.
The poet is the emperor of intellect and
the sovereign of soul, the mystic minstrel
whose strains recall the past eternity, and
foreshadow the unborn future.
Consecrated and sanctiied are he and his
calling.
Nature has whispered her secret to him,
and Destiny has so softened as to press his
hand. The birds and brooks recognize him
in his high vocation, and through his being
the tide of Creation flows.
,Halos of beauty grid his brow, and blos-
SONS of love burst at his feet.
Yet, is his spirit darkened, and his voice
tremulous with grief; for through his
universal sympathy his heart aches for every
sorrow, and suffers for every pain.
His is the song of the nightingale that
grows the sweeter, the closer it presses
against the thorn.
In all greatness is grief, and on the base of
melancholy is reared the highest life.
The clouds come never down to the val
legs, but on the tops Of the mountains they
have their shadowy home.
Poesy is a sacred and a fearful gift, and
he who feels is a poet no less than he who
sings; for the art is in the sentiment as
much as in the expression.
The unwritten poems are greater than
those embalmed in time and chronicled for
immortality; and he who reads Poesy in
the universe, is often above the power to set
his s~ympathies to formal music.
The world of Poesy is the world I'M
Irnap 4 af hut hv f6o Go-- Ar -
farIof sphere, where the ideal and thep pos
sible embrace.
Dreams in wakefulness and sIumber open
the golden gates of that celestial sphere, and
the voices that speak to us, and the hands
that are joined in ours, and the lips that
press our OWE, and the hearts that pulsate
to every wave of good and truth, belong to
the Poets that have been, and will be, in the
Heaven of hope and the realm of the Here
after.
While the love of Poesy endures, there is
no fear of evil or of sin for that love purifes
and blesses as a mothers prayer.
Though Poesy be as a rock, and humanity
the waves that break upon It's craggy front,
the waters that have touched it will be
sweeter, and a nameless virtue in their every
drop.
Love Poesy as thy soul, as truth, as good
as love.
If the path it leads thee be tortuous and
hiIty, it is ever upward; and ifthou pausest,
ever and anon, with bleeding feet and weep
ing eyes; do not surrender its guiding
hand; for when thou dost expect it least, the
hearts Alden will be revealed, and every
longing of thy soul transmitted to fadeless
forms of Beauty and of Love. JUNIUS.