The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe - Edgar Allan Poe [1516]
In saying all this, I may be proving to you, that I have not capacity to understand what I am talking about. It may be so. I only vouch for the accuracy of my ear. The correctness of my taste is another affair. But as I rather deprecate such a conclusion let me add that the rules I am speaking of are, like other laws, but cobwebs for flies. Great though sometimes display themselves best in breaking through them. You will never find me cavilling at their dress.
I did not mean to deny the efficacy of a certain style of criticism in demolishing scribblers. I merely said it was not Judicial. It may make the critic as formidable to the rabble of literary offenders, as Jack Dalgliesh (sic) or Jack Portious himself, but it makes him odious too, and adds nothing to his authority in the estimation of those whose approbation for his sentence cuts off the sufferer from the poor privilege of complaining, and the poor consolation of sympathy. Jeffrey’s nearest approach to it was in his review of Byron’s first publication. I am old enough to remember that it provoked a reaction highly favourable to Byron. Nothing else could have given such triumphant success to the English Bards &c. As to Blackwood; I admire Wilson, but he is an offence unto me by the brutal arrogance of his style of criticism. I have no doubt he demolished the poor Tailor. But “who breaks a butterfly upon the wheel?” Supported by the powerful party whose organ he is, he may never feel that he injures himself by such things; but he does. His criticisms will have the less weight with the impartial.
I do not think we differ about the (Greek text:] xxxxx (:Greek text). I have seen much sweet poetry in which there was nothing new but the application or combination of old thoughts. But this is one mode of creation. I do not think you will go beyond this. I am glad you do not know who your dreamer is. He will keep his secret, and take care not to complain.
Mr. White writes me that he is labouring under a woful lack of matter. Like poor Tom “I have no food for him.” I will