.. 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._"[294]
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 than 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?
GEORGE SAND[295]
The months go round, and anniversaries return; on the ninth of June
George Sand will have been dead just one year. She was born in 1804; she
was almost seventy-two years old when she died. She came to Paris after
the revolution of 1830, with her _Indiana_[296] written, and began her
life of independence, her life of authorship, her life as _George Sand_.
Pages:
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333