Burlington weekly free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1866-1928, 1907-06-20


tame and sordid to express their
thoughts. Their country is deined.
and only the poets can speak Of her in
fitting terms. All steps must go TO
music. Flags must fiutter from every
housetop. Gold Is only good to buy
And nothing Is worth doing
except to die In the glory of her
smile.
"Heroisr, Is poetry---the poetry OF
conduct. Its appeal Is universal. 1t
Is written in a language that all men
understand. Life runs on In It's low.
monotonous tenor, the mere prose OF
action; when all at once an action of
quite another sort catches and holds
every eye--action free. brave. unset
fish and bringing upon the doer some
tragic penalty which is readily and
nobly paid We hasten to claim kin
ship with the hero and while the mood
lasts live In the world of the Ideal
"Religioa itself, whatever more It
may be, is the poetry of morals. And
the more poetic it's form. the stronger
and more general its hold upon the
people. We may congratulate our
selves that our worship Is devoid OF
form and ceremony, but 1t might be
we'll for us to inquire whether the
fact is not due to certain poverty OF
nature that exempts us from the
charm OF richest poetry The inlet
tered worshipper, knowing by heart
every symbol of the divine tragedy,
responding to image and procession,
light and color and sweet sound, glow
ing and melting through every act of
the rich drama OF devotion, may not
of colder tempers.
There is such a thing as the poetry
of behavior Perhaps it would be more
exact to say, there was. For one may
be excused at times for doubling
whether manners be not one Of the
lost graces of a dead and buried world.
60 stand by the tomb of Washington,
where hundreds come and go each day
hundreds whose days are sweet and
whose nights are safe because he suf-
fered for them; see them draw near
its doors and gaze upon a spot where
reverant love should almost put the
shoes from off it's feet. II Is so holy
Yet you may be surprised If now and
was left for Asiatics to teach Amer
leans how they could bear themselves
at the grave of the Father of His
country.
Il speak not of the mere accessories
OF poetry-rhythm, diction, versifica-
uoi and the rest. These, we all know
do not make poetry, however much
they may assist It. These the spirit of
poetry compels, to serve it, as Pros
pero does Ariel The winged word
waits upon 1t. Ethereal music
breathes between it's lips.
What have the poets done for us?
They have made life affluent They
have enabled us to think better of our
selves. Why do we love Robert
Burns? Because he made the rudest
things romantic. Because he touched
the peasant, and he stood UP prince:
because he made the daisy as royal as
the rose: because he sang of the poor
cotter at his evening prayer and he
became as reverend as robed and
mitered priest before golden shrine.
And Wordsworth why do we turn TO
him? Because he makes us feel that
w.
why does Shakespeare live from are
to age? Because he gave the soul of
man its due; because he set woman
on her throne and spoke for every
passion OF the heart It's deepest, rich
est word. The poets are the great
truthtellers. 1t is only they who
speak tongue splendid enough to tell
he simple truth.
America should add a new clause IN
| litany-that it may please Thee to send
true poets unto Thy people Lord, we
| beseech Thee Perhaps we shall not ge,
| new poets until we deserve them or a;
least until we appreciate and honor those
We have. In the beautiful city where
have the happiness to 1--WE we have,
suppose % statues of the man on horse
| back. but not a single statue OF a poet A
| stranger might conclude that the national
| hero IS a cenfaur rather than a singer
We have had poets worthy to stand In
the worlds pantheon. Young Bryant. In
the dawn of the New World, chanting his
deathless song of death; Longfellow
breathing his sweet psalm Of life, tellina
the teal ful story of 'the lorn Acadiar
maid restoring through reverent study
of the past the tender grace Of a day
| that is Dead: Holmes, with the flashes Of
wit that do comfort and not burn. max
| ing perpetual sunshine in the soul; Poe
wrapping himself In the somber blu
| splendid cloud Of his unapproacha bic
genius; I4anier. using language like a VIC
hn, drawing undrea med-of melodies from
| familiar words. playing amid the mist!
and shadows OF death itself his gloriou.
| symphony to the ascending day: Elmer
| son, with serene unconcern, like his owr
angel Uriel tutoring the secrets OF etern
ty to the confusion OF the old deities O
Thought; Whittier tenderly austere, set
ting to his pale lips the sounding trimpe
| of embattled truth; Lowell, building
| bridge from dreamland for his lay, Oh
commenorating the deeds Of heroes il
his golden ode and Aldrich. latest com,
and latest gone voice more lyric tina.
the nightingales, with whose hushed
song the air is Still vibrating. Surely
| land that can point TO sons like these neeC
not despair OF her future. 1t was one o
that brave company who said to the poet
This shall be thy reward--that the idea
shall be real TO thee The ideal shall b.
real to thee! That Is the gospel Of poet
ry"
We have quoted from Justice Stafford
address to this extent because 1t Is helpful
for Americans to turn briefly from tn
rush and strsnuosity OF our hurrYnt