• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 16286 0

splendid talents, — so is the Editor of the “Federal Vision,“ of Milledgeville. Passages in the “Lost Pleiad”have been very much lauded. Some like the “Soul’s Destiny; “ ”To Allegra Florence in Heaven; “ ”To My Mother in Heaven,”and the Poem on “Hearing Van Weber’s Last Waltz.”I see that the papers everywhere are speaking disrespectfully of Willis’ puerilities and dilletantism. I really think well of “Luciferian Revelation,“ and want you to publish it soon, and send me the paper. I am writing a Poem you will like. “The Release of Fiommala,” I like. One ofthe other Sonnets I have altered a little, I think for the better. They were written right out of my heart, as I write everything. Poetry, with me, is the melodious expression of my very being. Tell Colton I sent him an article some time ago, but had no way to pay the postage, as I gave it to the Stage Driver in the road. Give him my love, for he is a tine fellow in every sense of the word. I intend to get him several subscribers in these parts soon — he may depend on that.

The remarks which I made to you in regard to Tennyson’s Poems, were not intended to be critical, as I was too much fatigued always when I saw you to talk as I could were you with me now. “The Gardener’s Daughter;” “Recollections of the Arabian Nights; “ and “Locksley Hall,”are the best. He is a lofty imitator of Shelley, without a titheof his force. He possesses fine ideality, but there is too much conventional grotesqueness of abandon, with too littleartistical skill, in him to be compared with Shelley. If you think he is even a musical imitator of Shelley, just get his Poems and disabuse your mind at once. He has fine ideality, but not the artistical force of Horne. One of his greatest and unpardonable faults consists in his not appealing, in any understandablelanguage, to any of the most universal feelings of the heart of Man. He does not sing Truth — that Angel-mission for the fulfilment of which the Poet was sent down by God out of Heaven. Poetry is the most godlike expression of that which is most true. It is, therefore, the loftiest medium of the most exalted truths.

You intimate that you will take a fraternal interest in my welfare and farm, but wish to do it in your “own way.” Thisis what I wish. I do not wish to urge you into any remarks you may deem it necessary to make about my writings. I feel confident you will do what is right, — Amen.

You say you have not touched a drop of the ashes of Hell since I left New York. That’s a man. For God’s sake, but morefor your own, never touch another drop.Why should a Man whom God, by nature, has endowed with such transcendent abilities, so degrade himself into the veriest automaton as to be moved only by the poisonous steam of Hell-fire ? Your body is a harp — not an evil-spirit-engine -made by the hands of God, in the most perfect manner, to be stricken by the spiritual fingers of your Heaven-born soul. Why, it is absolutely making monkey-motions at the dignity of God, as revealed in your own nature, to permit an animal appetite to weigh down the dove-like and Heaven-aspiring wings of that Angel of immortality which now lives in the temple of your body, — the delight and glory of the world.

You speak of Books sent — but I have seen none. I wrote for Bush’s Psychological work, recently published by Bidding.

You say “I am resolved not to touch adrop,” &c. Did you mean by this that if you touched many dropsthat you would not be impinging upon your promise? Think of this.

Give your wife and Mrs. Clemm my most earnest desire for their welfare and happiness, My wife sends them her sincerest love. Send me any paper that contains anything of yours. If you don‘t, I am determined to play Old Dick with you — if possible.Give my love to Bisco. Tell him I will give him a hearty shake of the hand when I return to Novum Eboracum, alias Sodom. Give my love to Colton. I have just finished eating one of the finest watermelons I ever saw,

“Sweet as that soul-uplifting hydromel

Ideian Ganymede did give to Jove

In the God-kingdoms of immortal love,

Dipt from Heaven