Ellsworth American. [volume] (Ellsworth, Me.) 1855-current, 1895-05-09
THE POWER OF POETRY.
BY FANNIE c. HINCKLEY.

The first English poem ever written
was "Beouwulf.' 1t was written in the
form of an allegory, but the author is not
known. C@dmon's paraphrase was writ
ten little subsequent to this.
After these were produced, a long period
of time elapsed before the poet again took
up his pen. Godfrey Chaucer is the first
English poet of which We have any real
history. He is called the father of English
poetry, and by his writings did much
toward settling the language, which was
then in very unsettled state. Besides
settling the language, another and per-
haps more important object was achieved.
The minds of The people, which had here
tofore been occupied with the political
affairs of the day, were directed to some
thing higher and nobler, and conse-
quently their natures We're softened and
elevated, and they We're brought long
step nearer perfection. And as year after
year more choice poetry was added to
their stock, each generation became
finer, and barbarism was forever left be-
hind.
We have all heard the story of Gen.
Wolfe; when about to storm Quebec,
amid the splashing of oars, he repeated
part of Gray's "illegy in n Country
Churchyerd," and remarked that he had
rat her be he author of that than have
the honor of taking Quebec.
Poetry has as much power over the
human mind as music. Now it brings up
memories tina have been for a time for
gotten, and carries us back to our child
hoods home. Now it takes US back to
our dear ones, and we seem to live over
our past lives again. And now it causes
the gentle tear to flow, as it awakens
some latent sorrow and makes it clearer
and more vivid, as the song from the
heart of some noble bard falls upon our
ear.
Coleridge says: Poetry has been to
me its own exceeding great reward; it
has soothed my Affections; it has multi
piled and refined my enjoyments; it has
endeared solitude, and it has given me
the habit of wishing to discover the good
and the beautiful in all that meets and
surrounds me-"
We may animate the canvas with the
features of one we love, we may cast
upon the gentle brow the calm sunshine
of her nature; we may represent near at
hand the favorite walks in which we
strayed, the silvery lake on which we
sailed. We may look on this representa-
ton of life and nature and dream it
reality; we may gaze till our senses reel
wit n rapturp But look again: the vision
becomes more calm, the associations less
vivid, and the tumult in our heart
subsidies. Look again, here and there a
new shade may be developed, here and
there an unfamiliar expression be caught;
and, look once again, it is what you have
seen before-it is changeless; it is cold
canvas.
But give this glowing subject to the
poet; surrender it entirely into his keep
ing. The changeless object lives; the mo-
tionless object moves; the silent object
speaks. The feelings are stirred. The
features lose their fixed expression and
are radiant with a train of passing
thoughts and images. Every feature
lives; every look tells. We not only see
the glen in which we wandered, but we
hear the rustic of the trees. We not only
see the lake but we hear the dip of the
oars and the murmuring of the breaking
waves. Every object has life, and is to
us reality We may gaze and turn away
and gaze again, but new images, new
sounds, new feelings, new associations