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 -
. . . in such a night
Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew -
. . . in such a night
Stood Dido, with a willow in her hand,
Upon the wild sea-banks, and waved her love
To come again to Carthage.
And those last lines of all are so drenched and intoxicated with the
fairy-dew of that natural magic which is our theme, that I cannot do
better then end with them.
And now, with the pieces of evidence in our hand, let us go to those
who say it is vain to look for Celtic elements in any Englishman, and
let us ask them, first, if they seize what we mean by the power of
natural magic in Celtic poetry; secondly, if English poetry does not
eminently exhibit this power; and, thirdly, where they suppose
English poetry got it from?
I perceive that I shall be accused of having rather the air, in what
I have said, of denying this and that gift to the Germans, and of
establishing our difference from them a little ungraciously and at
their expense. The truth is, few people have any real care to
analyse closely in their criticism; they merely employ criticism as a
means for heaping all praise on what they like, and all blame on what
they dislike.
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