TRAGIC POETRY. LECTURE 1.* King Lear. THE subject which I ask you to carry in your thoughts during this brief course of lectures is-"Tragic Poetry, especially as illustrated by the four great dramas of Shakspeare." I do not propose to enter upon a strictly critical examination of these tragedies. I dwell upon them as they are illustrative of the aim and the scope of tragic poetry. I wish to inquire, how a true poet deals with the human heart when he awakens its solemn sympathies, and why it is that such sympathies-the sentiments of pity, sorrow, and even anguish-are stirred within the soul by the agency of the imagination. When I speak of the four great dramas of Shakspeare, I trust it is understood, that I am not expressing merely a private preference of my own-an individual judgment. Universal consent has recognised them as *December 6th, 1842. undoubtedly the highest efforts of his genius; and, what I wish you to observe is, that when the inspiration of the poet was in its loftiest region, that region was "Tragedy." The upper air of poetry is the atmosphere of sorrow. This is a truth attested by every department of art—the poetry of words—of music-of the canvas and of marble. Now, as poetry is a glorified reflection of life and nature, why is this? Simply because, when a man weeps, the passions that are stirring within him are mightier than those feelings which prompt to cheerfulness and merriment. The smile plays upon the countenance; the laugh is a momentary and noisy impulse; but the tear rises slowly and silently from the deep places of the heart. It is at once the symbol and the relief of overwhelming feeling-it is the language of those emotions which words cannot give utterance to. Words and smiles and laughter all have to do with impulses that are on the surface, and which we freely express to one another in the trivial and social intercourse of daily life; but let any one study his own heart, and he will know that there are passions, whose very might and depth give them a sanctity, which we instinctively recognise by veiling them from the gaze of others. They are the sacred things of the temple of the human soul, and the common touch would only profane them. In childhood, indeed, when its little griefs and joys are blended with that absence of self-consciousness which is both the bliss and the beauty of its innocence, tears are shed without restraint or disguise. But, when the self-consciousness of manhood has taught us that tears are the expression of those passions. which are too sacred for exposure, the heart will often in silence break rather than violate this admirable instinct of our nature. Indeed, the more a man reflects on these things, the more confirmed will be the spirit of reserve in him—the more will he shrink from "wearing his heart upon his sleeve." Hence it is that the highest department of poetic art belongs to tragedy, embracing, as it does, in its range the most awful emotions that human nature is capable of an old man's agony from the wrongs of filial impiety, as in King Lear; the heartwasting misery of criminal temptations and a bloodstained conscience, as in Macbeth; the strife of a young and noble spirit contending with vice and an adverse destiny, as in Hamlet; and the phrensy of an abandoned faith, as in Othello. If it has been shown that the highest department of the art belongs to tragic poetry, assuming, as it may do, either the epic or the dramatic form, it may still be asked-What are its moral uses? The inquiry is a just one; and, to the best of my ability, I will endeavour in some degree to give an answer to it-on this condition, however, that I am not expected to answer it in any mere utilitarian spirit. Indeed, one main design of these four lectures will be to show what salutary influences belong to tragic poetry-how the poet's sad imaginings are calculated to chasten, to elevate, and to purify-an agency which justified so sage and solemn a spirit as Milton's in styling the lofty, grave tragedians "In chorus or iambic, teachers best Of moral prudence, with delight received, * Paradise Regained, book iv. ver. 261. |