There is, too, no good reason why impulses which only begin to make up valuable attitudes in highly organised and discriminating minds should lead to attitudes less valuable or more fragile, more fixed and final than others. We must not allow the unique instance of Shakespeare to weigh too heavily; after all, _King Lear_, the most inexhaustible of his works, is not a thing which has great popular appeal. [70] We must, of course, distinguish art of this kind from the Christmas party or magazine kind of production, in which the author provides something (different and in a different place) for everybody. The works of Dickens might be cited as examples. CHAPTER XXVIII The Allusiveness of Modern Poetry Tehee! Tehee! O sweet delight! He tickles this age who can Call Tullia’s ape a marmosyte, And Leda’s goose a swan! _Anon_. We have distinguished between impulses which are involved at all stages of development, their course and fate naturally varying with the stage, and those which do not go off at all except in developed minds. The responses of the non-mathematical and the mathematical mind to a formula illustrate the difference. It is the use of responses not available without special experience, which more than anything else narrows the range of the artist’s communication and creates the gulf between expert and popular taste. In the second chorus of _Hellas_ in the middle of the second stanza the rhythm, tune, and handling, though not the metre, become suddenly uncharacteristic of Shelley. A fullness of tone, a queer, gentle cadence, and a leisurely ease of movement belong to the fifth and following lines: A mortal shape to him Was like the vapour dim Which the orient planet animates with light. Hell, sin, and slavery, came, Like bloodhounds mild and tame, Nor preyed until their Lord had taken flight. And this tone and movement are in clear contrast with the fever, the impetuosity, the shrillness and rapidity of the first stanza, or of the closing lines of the second: The moon of Mahomet Arose, and it shall set: While, blazoned as on heaven’s immortal noon, The Cross leads generations on. The difference is difficult to describe except perhaps: by the aid of a musical notation. It is like the difference between two voices, and in spite of the highly characteristic matter[71] of the lines, the reader feels that not Shelley but some other poet is speaking. What Shelley is doing becomes unmistakable in the third and last stanza. The corresponding lines, again in clear contrast with the lines surrounding them, have the same strange modulation: So fleet, so faint, so fair, The Powers of Earth and Air Fled from the folding-star of Bethlehem. Apollo, Pan and Love, And even Olympian Jove, Grew weak, for killing Truth had glared on them.