I dream'd
that God was Silence. Air was dead,
And
life a corpse laid out. The clouds had died
Of
sunless cold. O'er all things snow was spread,
Mute
as the billows of a frozen sea;
And,
voiceless, the eternel wind swept wide
Under
dumb skies, o'er steel-like sea and land.
Echo
herself had perish'd, but reply
From
her none needed was, where time forgot
The
letters of his name, and sound was not,
And
motion soundless; and all victory
Crown'd
freezing Death, who, with world-covering hand,
And
sword-like pen - and with an inward laugh -
On
Mind's vast grave, wrote dead Hope's epitaph
In ice
for ink: "Her Dream was Liberty."
Elliott returns to foxhunters in Sonnet 40. The poet has no time for
this expensive hobby and he adds in a long footnote that the rich spend
millions on their pastime. Sonnet 41continues along the same line of
thought. The wealthy farmer who has time for hunting "is proud to be a
tyrant" and despises the "happy" poor who have at least "a comfortable
workhouse" provided for them. Then, in page after page of footnotes,
Elliott reports on a long speech by Lord Stanley opposing the bill to
repeal the Corn Laws. The speech is received by huge applause from the
lord's followers. Elliott is of course incensed and is very hostile to
these "kinglings" who he charmingly describes as cockroaches, beetles
and vermin!
Sonnets 45 & 46 tell of the
end of the year ... and the end of life. Sonnets 47 & 48 pose
questions about mankind's fear of death, reflecting Elliott's own
worries. The final two sonnets dwell on the power of the Almighty, and
thoughts that the bard would be remembered for "the sadness of my
slander'd lays." An interesting comment.
After the final sonnet, Elliott
resumes his ruminations about the sonnet form which we saw in the
opening sonnet of "The Year Of Seeds." The bard then makes the
following statement:- "After
much theory, and some practice, I venture to propose the measure of
this sonnet as a pattern to english sonnetteers; for while, to me, the
Petrarchan, in our language, is, at once, immelodious and inharmonious,
the music of this, in its linked unity, is both sweet and
various, and when closed
by an alexandrine, majestic."
While
considering the poet's views on the sonnet form, it is interesting to
view another short poem by Elliott called "Powers of the Sonnet."
Powers
of the Sonnet
Why
should the tiny harp be chained to themes
In
fourteen lines, with pedant rigour bound?
The
sonnet's might is mightier than it seems:
Witness
the bard of Eden lost and found,
Who
gave this lute a clarion's battle sound.
And
lo! another Milton calmly turns
His
eyes within, a light that ever burns,
Waiting
till Wordsworth's second peer be found!
Meantime,
Fitzadam's mournful music shows
That
the scorned sonnet's charm may yet endear
Some
long deep strain, or lay of well-tolled woes;
Such
as in Byron's couplet brings a tear
To
manly cheeks, or over his stanza throws
Rapture and grief, solemnity and fear.