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him into such scenes as never had mortal eye beheld。 〃Don't you
wish you had？〃 as Turner said。 The one justification for classing
Shelley with the Lake poet is that he loved Nature with a love even
more passionate； though perhaps less profound。 Wordsworth's
Nightingale and Stockdove sums up the contrast between the two； as
though it had been written for such a purpose。 Shelley is the
〃creature of ebullient heart；〃 who
Sings as if the god of wine
Had helped him to a valentine。
Wordsworth's is the
… Love with quiet blending；
Slow to begin and never ending；
the 〃serious faith and inward glee。〃
But if Shelley； instead of culling Nature； crossed with its pollen
the blossoms of his own soul； that Babylonian garden is his
marvellous and best apology。 For astounding figurative opulence he
yields only to Shakespeare； and even to Shakespeare not in absolute
fecundity but in images。 The sources of his figurative wealth are
specialised； sources of Shakespeare's are universal。 It would have
been as conscious an effort for him to speak without figure as it is
for most men to speak with figure。 Suspended in the dripping well
of his imagination the commonest object becomes encrusted with
imagery。 Herein again he deviates from the true Nature poet； the
normal Wordsworth type of Nature poet： imagery was to him not a
mere means of expression； not even a mere means of adornment； it was
a delight for its own sake。
And herein we find the trail by which we would classify him。 He
belongs to a school of which not impossibly he may hardly have read
a linethe Metaphysical School。 To a large extent he IS what the
Metaphysical School should have been。 That school was a certain
kind of poetry trying for a range。 Shelley is the range found。
Crashaw and Shelley sprang from the same seed； but in the one case
the seed was choked with thorns； in the other case it fell on good
ground。 The Metaphysical School was in its direct results an
abortive movement； though indirectly much came of itfor Dryden
came of it。 Dryden； to a greater extent than is （we imagine）
generally perceived； was Cowley systematised； and Cowley； who sank
into the arms of Dryden； rose from the lap of Donne。
But the movement was so abortive that few will thank us for
connecting with it the name of Shelley。 This is because to most
people the Metaphysical School means Donne； whereas it ought to mean
Crashaw。 We judge the direction of a development by its highest
form； though that form may have been produced but once； and produced
imperfectly。 Now the highest product of the Metaphysical School was
Crashaw； and Crashaw was a Shelley manque； he never reached the
Promised Land； but he had fervid visions of it。 The Metaphysical
School； like Shelley； loved imagery for its own sake： and how
beautiful a thing the frank toying with imagery may be； let The
Skylark and The Cloud witness。 It is only evil when the poet； on
the straight way to a fixed object； lags continually from the path
to play。 This is commendable neither in poet nor errand…boy。 The
Metaphysical School failed； not because it toyed with imagery； but
because it toyed with it frostily。 To sport with the tangles of
Neaera's hair may be trivial idleness or caressing tenderness；
exactly as your relation to Neaera is that of heartless gallantry or
of love。 So you may toy with imagery in mere intellectual
ingenuity； and then you might as well go write acrostics： or you
may toy with it in raptures； and then you may write a Sensitive
Plant。 In fact； the Metaphysical poets when they went astray cannot
be said to have done anything so dainty as is implied by TOYING with
imagery。 They cut it into shapes with a pair of scissors。 From all
such danger Shelley was saved by his passionate spontaneity。 No
trappings are too splendid for the swift steeds of sunrise。 His
sword…hilt may be rough with jewels； but it is the hilt of an
Excalibur。 His thoughts scorch through all the folds of expression。
His cloth of gold bursts at the flexures； and shows the naked
poetry。
It is this gift of not merely embodying but apprehending everything
in figure which co…operates towards creating his rarest
characteristics； so almost preternaturally developed in no other
poet； namely； his well…known power to condense the most hydrogenic
abstraction。 Science can now educe threads of such exquisite
tenuity that only the feet of the tiniest infant…spiders can ascend
them； but up the filmiest insubstantiality Shelley runs with agile
ease。 To him； in truth； nothing is abstract。 The dustiest
abstractions
Start； and tremble under his feet；
And blossom in purple and red。
The coldest moon of an idea rises haloed through his vaporous
imagination。 The dimmest…sparked chip of a conception blazes and
scintillates in the subtile oxygen of his mind。 The most wrinkled
AEson of an abstruseness leaps rosy out of his bubbling genius。 In
a more intensified signification than it is probable that
Shakespeare dreamed of； Shelley gives to airy nothing a local
habitation and a name。 Here afresh he touches the Metaphysical
School； whose very title was drawn from this habitual pursuit of
abstractions； and who failed in that pursuit from the one cause
omnipresent with them； because in all their poetic smithy they had
left never a place for a forge。 They laid their fancies chill on
the anvil。 Crashaw； indeed； partially anticipated Shelley's
success； and yet further did a later poet； so much further that we
find it difficult to understand why a generation that worships
Shelley should be reviving Gray； yet almost forget the name of
Collins。 The generality of readers； when they know him at all；
usually know him by his Ode on the Passions。 In this； despite its
beauty； there is still a soupcon of formalism； a lingering trace of
powder from the eighteenth century periwig； dimming the bright locks
of poetry。 Only the literary student reads that little masterpiece；
the Ode to Evening； which sometimes heralds the Shelleian strain；
while other passages are the sole things in the language comparable
to the miniatures of Il Penseroso。 Crashaw； Collins； Shelleythree
ricochets of the one pebble； three jets from three bounds of the one
Pegasus！ Collins's Pity； 〃with eyes of dewy light；〃 is near of kin
to Shelley's Sleep； 〃the filmy…eyed〃； and the 〃shadowy tribes of
mind〃 are the lineal progenitors of 〃Thought's crowned powers。〃
This； however； is personification； wherein both Collins and Shelley
build on Spenser： the dizzying achievement to which the modern poet
carried personification accounts for but a moiety； if a large
moiety； of his vivifying power over abstractions。 Take the passage
（already alluded to） in that glorious chorus telling how the Hours
come
From the temples high
Of man's ear and eye
Roofed over Sculpture and Poesy；
* * * * *
From those skiey towers
Where Thought's crowned powers
Sit watching your dance； ye happy Hours！
Our feet now； every palm；
Are sandalled with calm；
And the dew of our wings is a rain of balm；
And beyond our eyes
The human love lies
Which makes all it gazes on Paradise。
Any partial explanation will break in our hands before it reaches
the root of such a power。 The root； we take it； is this。 He had an
instinctive perception （immense in range and fertility； astonishing
for its delicate intuition） of the underlying analogies the secret
subterranean passages； between matter and soul； the chromatic
scales； whereat we dimly guess； by which the Almighty modulates
through all the keys of creation。 Because； the more we consider it；
the more likely does it appear that Nature is but an imperfect
actress； whose constant changes of dress never change her manner and
method； who is the same in all her parts。
To Shelley's ethereal vision the most rarified mental or spiritual
music traced its beautiful corresponding forms on the sand of
outward things。 He stood thus at the very junction…lines of the
visible and invisible； and could shift the points as he willed。 His
thoughts became a mounted infantry； passing with baffling swiftness
from horse to foot or foot to horse。 He could express as he listed
the material and the immaterial in terms of each other。 Never has a
poet in the past rivalled him as regards this gift； and hardly will
any poet rival him as regards it in the future： men are like first
to see the promised doom lay its hand on the tree of heaven and
shake down the golden leaves。 ｛7｝
The finest specimens of this faculty are probably to be sought in
that Shelleian treasury； Prometheus Unbound。 It is unquestionably
the greatest and most prodigal exhibition of Shelley's powers； this
amazing lyric world； where immortal clarities sigh past in the
perfumes of the blossoms； populate the breathings of the breeze；
t