Last words of Thomas Carlyle - Warburg Institute

;WOTTON REINFRED 101much, but her most precious gift is the wish andaptitude to cultivate himself to become what he wascapable of being.'*Are not all men, while under strong excitement,poets ? said the Oxonian.''Scarcely,' answered Burridge ;'the hen does butcackle when you excite her, she will not sing.''A false simile ! ' cried the other.*The hen'scackling may be musical to hens ; for it is the law ofnature that all living beings sympathise with beingsorganised like themselves. Human passion is poeticalto men, and makes men poets.The rude Indian defieshis fellow savage in gorgeous tropes ; the peasant is apoet when he first sees the wonders of the cifcy, a poetwhen he trembles at the moonshiny churchyard, a poetwhen he goes to church in sunlight with his weddingcompany and his bride.'*Umph !'inarticulated Dalbrook.'Now the poet is simply always what these areonly now and then,' continued the other, ' and hisfine frenzy, when he utters it,*Yet thisis poetry.'frenzy, you observe, must be fine,' saidWotton, * and therein lies the puzzle of the problem.The poet is an artist and does not sing from anyDelphic tripod ;he has need of forethought as well asfury, and many times, I doubt, finds it no such smoothmatter.'' True, he is an artist,' said the other ;* his mindis stored with imagery and beautiful remembrances