On poetic interpretation of natureShairp, John Campbell
Philosophy
On poetic interpretation of nature
Shairp, John Campbell
Nature in literature; Poetry -- History and criticism
The drama is the last form of poetry to which we would turn in hope
of finding rural objects and scenery described. Yet it is astonishing
how much of this kind can be culled from a careful search through
Shakespeare’s plays. Indeed it has been remarked how much of out-of-doors
life there is in Shakespeare’s dramas, how much of the action is carried
on under the open sky. No doubt the pressure of human action and emotion
is too absorbing to admit of detailed description—in most cases of more
than passing allusions. Yet engrossed though he is with stirring events
and thrilling emotions and powerful human characters, it is wonderful how
many are the side-glances that he and his characters cast at the Nature
that surrounds them. And these glances are like everything else in him,
rapid, vivid, and intense. As has been said, natural scenes “he so paints
by occurrences, by allusions, by the emotions of his characters, that we
seem to see them before our eyes, and to live in them.” There is hardly
one of his plays in which the season and the scene is not flashed upon
the mind by a single stroke more vividly than it could be by the most
lengthened description:—
“Lady! by yonder silver moon I swear,
That tips with silver all the fruit-tree tops.”
How these few words shed round us all the loveliness of the Italian
night! Or that other where the moonshine of the warm summer night
brightens the last scenes of the “Merchant of Venice,” and calls up,
as only moonlight can, all wild and fascinating memories of legend and
romance:—
“_Lorenzo._ The moon shines bright: In such a night as this,
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees,
And they did make no noise; in such a night
Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls,
And sigh’d his soul toward the Grecian tents,
Where Cressid lay that night.
“_Jessica._ In such a night
Did Thisbe fearfully o’ertrip the dew;
And saw the lion’s shadow ere himself,
And ran dismay’d away.
“_Lorenzo._ In such a night
Stood Dido with a willow in her hand
Upon the wild sea-banks, and waft her love
To come again to Carthage.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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