received in the first reading of the early ballads. The contrast is striking. There the emphasis was on the movement and action of the story-what was called the "objective" side; here it is on the "subjective" side, the expression of human emotion. The stories of the ballads told of events in the tangible world of things; the emotion of the lyric poem, on the other hand, is intangible, and has its seat in the spirit of the singer. But has not the lyric its objective side, too? Is it all spirit and feeling, or is there something that answers to the series of actual events that carry forward the interest of the narrative poem? The question leads to a consideration of

STRUCTURE IN LYRIC POETRY.

Structure of some sort, it readily appears, lyric poetry must have: otherwise it is simply incoherent emotion—no art at all. But this negative statement is not enough; we know that much of the pleasure that a good lyric gives is in the orderly progress of it, its concentrated power, its sense of accomplished finality. What then is this structure in the lyric, corresponding to the chain of events that make up the substance of a narrative poem? The key to the matter lies in the stanza. Structure implies separate parts, and their relation to one another. And in the case of lyrics, of course, the parts are stanzas, each with its own idea, and each, consequently, separate from every other. A poem in which the stanzas relate themselves to each

other in bringing out a larger meaning, then, would furnish a simple illustration of structure in lyric poetry. Such a one is Campbell's Ye Mariners of England, in which the maritime glories of England are passed in review. The first stanza is introductory: it addresses itself to those who would be called upon to defend England in another war upon the seas; the spirit it breathes is the thrill of battle and the glory of victory. The three stanzas that complete the poem deal with the three stages of England's naval prowess: first in the past, the memorable days of Blake and Nelson; then in the present, when the country rejoices in her feeling of security; and finally in the future, when men of later times shall celebrate the valiant deeds of England's present defenders. That each step of the poem is complete within the stanza is emphasized by the similar ending of each, as a sort of refrain, or chorus:

While the stormy winds do blow;

While the battle rages loud and long

And the stormy winds do blow.

And the completion of the larger idea is emphasized, and its effect heightened, by the slight change in the ending of the last stanza of all:

When the storm has ceased to blow;

When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.

Another poem in which the stanzas are related together according to time order is Wordsworth's She Was a Phantom of Delight. The first stanza is the picture of a girl with the elusive charm of youthful gaiety; the second, the same girl grown a woman, the rich sympathy of her nature beginning to appear; the third, the "perfect woman," in all her serene maturity, yet with her earlier mystic charm still upon her. No less interesting is it to observe in both these poems that in a few stanzas may be summed up the whole significance of a nation's naval history or of a complete human life; that the structure of a lyric poem, in other words, helps to bring about the intense concentration of feeling that marks the strongest poems.

Another principle of structure may be observed in the lyrics that focus all their power upon a single utterance at the end. Lovelace, in the lines to Lucasta, sums up a fundamental idea of chivalry in the words,

I could not love thee, Dear, so much,
Loved I not Honour more.

But their full significance is realized only in the light of the situation brought out in the first part of the poem, a lover called away to the wars, who must justify himself against the reproaches of his disappointed mistress. Milton, too, in the beginning of his sonnet on his blindness, tells us the circumstances leading to his anxious self-questioning, after which we

are ready to realize the depth of conviction with which he utters the memorable last line,—

They also serve who only stand and wait.

In nothing does the concentrated unity of lyric feeling more clearly appear than in the relation of the beginning of a poem to its end; and so it becomes interesting to give some special attention to that. In some instances a personal experience is dwelt upon until it acquires the significance of a universal truth; in some, the force of a general law is focused upon an individual experience, vitalizing it and giving it larger meaning. In either case there is development from a lower tone to a higher, from milder, impersonal interest to intensity of spiritual conviction. Bryant's To a Waterfowl is an instance. The first stanzas describe the bird, fixed in purpose, steady in flight; further contemplation brings out the aspects in which the bird's life and man's destiny find common ground; and at the end the human feeling has swept away all thought of the physical presence of the bird, and addresses it as a warrant for human trust in the divine. The thought progresses in a similar direction in Holmes's poem, The Chambered Nautilus. The shell attracts attention first as a curiously beautiful specimen in natural history; but by degrees the thought is transferred to the wider principle of development stage by stage, until it comes to a climax in the high seriousness of the last stanza, applying the meaning

of the shell's growth to the development of the poet's own soul. The poem of Burns addressed to a fieldmouse has a more abrupt transition, but the principle is the same, first an accidental circumstance, dwelt upon until the mind is familiar with its significant aspect, then the application of the meaning as a large truth bearing upon the human spirit. Wordsworth's Ode to Duty is somewhat different: its beginning is general and impersonal; but soon the personal note enters, and by the last stanza the feeling has changed to one of deep concern to the poet himself.

It would be unfair to dismiss this part of the subject without saying that there is of course a wide difference in the closeness with which the stanzas of lyric poems are bound to a certain principle of order. In some poems, in fact, like Lamb's Old Familiar Faces, or A Boy's Song, by James Hogg, the stanzas seem to stand separate, independent of any strict principle of order; but even in these there can be felt an increase of emotional stress, and this sense of climax is itself a fair substitute for a more rigid principle of arrange

ment.

Structure, then, the lyrics have, and must have, just as much as the narrative poems. In fact, structure of one kind or another is necessary in all art, whether it be painting, sculpture, literature, or music. That, however, is too large a matter to go into here: what space is left must be devoted to an important inquiry that underlies all that has thus far been said about lyric poetry. Lyrics, it has been shown, express hu