But in this, which is the one thing of
all others, since it contains them all, we cannot see the
forest for the trees. One brief impression obliterates
another. There is something stupefying in the recurrence of
unimportant things. And it is only on rare provocations that
we can rise to take an outlook beyond daily concerns, and
comprehend the narrow limits and great possibilities of our
existence. It is the duty of the poet to induce such moments
of clear sight. He is the declared enemy of all living by
reflex action, of all that is done betwixt sleep and waking,
of all the pleasureless pleasurings and imaginary duties in
which we coin away our hearts and fritter invaluable years.
He has to electrify his readers into an instant unflagging
activity, founded on a wide and eager observation of the
world, and make them direct their ways by a superior
prudence, which has little or nothing in common with the
maxims of the copy-book. That many of us lead such lives as
they would heartily disown after two hours' serious
reflection on the subject is, I am afraid, a true, and, I am
sure, a very galling thought. The Enchanted Ground of dead-
alive respectability is next, upon the map, to the Beulah of
considerate virtue. But there they all slumber and take
their rest in the middle of God's beautiful and wonderful
universe; the drowsy heads have nodded together in the same
position since first their fathers fell asleep; and not even
the sound of the last trumpet can wake them to a single
active thought.
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