Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol 58, No. 357, July 1845Various
History
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol 58, No. 357, July 1845
Various
England -- Periodicals; Scotland -- Periodicals
That ever long! The sweetest of thoughts are never satisfied with their
own deliciousness. Earthly delight, or heavenly delight upon earth,
penetrating the soul, stirs in it the perception of its native
illimitable capacity for delight. Bliss, which should wholly possess the
blest being, plays traitor to itself, turns into a sort of divine
dissatisfaction, and brings forth from its teeming and infinite bosom a
brood of winged wishes, bright with hues which memory has bestowed, and
restless with innate aspirations. Such is our commentary on the truly
Wordsworthian line, but it is not a line answerable to Chaucer's--
"And lusty thoughtes full of gret longinge."
Is this hypercriticism? It is the only criticism that can be tolerated
betwixt two such rivals as Chaucer and Wordsworth. The scales that weigh
poetry should turn with a grain of dust, with the weight of a sunbeam,
for they weigh spirit. Or is it saying that Wordsworth has not done his
work as well as it was possible to be done? Rather it is inferring, from
the failure of the work in his hand, that he and his colleagues have
attempted that which was impossible to be done. We will not here hunt
down line by line. We put before the reader the means of comparing verse
with verse. We have, with 'a thoughtful heart of love,' made the
comparison, and feel throughout that the modern will not, cannot, do
justice to the old English. The quick sensibility which thrills through
the antique strain deserts the most cautious version of it. In short, we
fall back upon the old conviction, that verse is a sacred, and song an
inspired thing; that the feeling, the thought, the word, and the musical
breath spring together out of the soul in one creation; that a
translation is a thing not given in _rerum natura_; consequently that
there is nothing else to be done with a great poet saving to leave him
in his glory.
And our friend John Dryden? Oh, he is safe enough; for the new
translators all agree that his are no translations at all of Chaucer,
but original and excellent poems of his own.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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