etting. And even when set for the
voice by a master, although there is a gain in as far as the charm is
brought home to the senses, yet there is a loss in proportion to the
beauty of the song; for if it is delicate the finer spiritual grace
departs, and if it is ardent the passion is liable to scream, and, above
all, there is a vague but appreciable loss of identity; so that on the
whole we please ourselves best with the literary form. There is the same
balance of gain and loss in the relation of the drama to the stage. The
gain is in proportion to the excellence of the acting, and the loss in
proportion to the beauty oL the play. It is well then that, as the lyric
poem no longer demands the lyre, the poetical drama has become, though
more recently, independent of the stage. Each has its own perspective of
life, its own idea of Nature, its own brilliancy, its own dulness, and
finally its own public; and notwithstanding the objections of some
critics, it will soon be admitted that a work may be strictly and
intrinsically dramatic, and yet only fit for the study--that is, for
ideal representation. For there is a theatre in every imagination, where
we produce the old masterpiece in its simplicity and dignity, and where
the new work appears and is followed in plot and action, and conflict of
feeling, and play of character, and rhythm of part with part, if not
with as keen an excitement, at least with as fair a judgment, as if we
were criticizing the actors, not the piece. And were all theatres
closed, the drama--whether as the free and spontaneous outflow of
observation, fancy, and humour, or as the intense reflection of the
movement of life in its animation of joy and pain--would remain one of
the most natural and captivating forms in which the creative impulse of
the poet can work. When we look at its variety and flexibility of
structure--from the lyrical tragedy of AEschylus to a "Proverbe" of De
Musset; at its diversity of spirit--from the exuberance of a comedy of
Aristophanes and the caprice of an Elizabethan mask to the serenity of
"Comus" and Tasso, and the terror of "Agamemnon" and "Macbeth;" at its
range of expression--from, the full-toned Greek and English Iambic to
the plain but sparkling prose of Moliere, and from that again to the
intricate harmonies of Calderon, Goethe, and Shelley; with its use of
all voices, from vociferous mob to melodious daughters of Ocean, and its
command of all colour, from the gloom of