The triumph of truth

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

THE

Preface

Something introductory is expected to appear on the opening of every literary work, as a clew to conduct the reader, by a direct way, into the author's designs ; to arouse attention by anticipation of what is to be found in the sequel, or to apologize for an unexpected entrance into the rank of authors. The first edition of this work was sent abroad without patron, preface, or dedication, as a fameless stranger, dependant alone on its own merits, and submitted to meet whatever destiny should be awarded at the bar of literary criticism or public opinion. The edition soon went off, and found its way to the reading community ; where, according to report, it generally met with warm and kindly reception, opening the way for a second edition.

The author, being solicitous to aid the cause of truth and righteousness, believing that, by the aid and blessing of Heaven, this humble effort would subserve that noble end, has resolved to bring out another edition of the work, which, he intends, shall have a wider circulation than the former.

The first edition was executed in great haste ; and, in the pressure of business, some typographical errors passed into the v.ork, unnoticed at the time. The work, however, has been revised with much care and labour, the errors corrected, and some important emendations made : hence the author ardently hopes that the present improved edition will reward the reader's toil, and beguile his tedious hours.

It is no ordinary pleasure to a writer, who is labouring for the good of mankind, to leave behind him sentiments, argumrnis, and tokens of feeling, copies of his own mind, so expressed and imbodied, that he can, through that medium, converse with the living on earth while his lips are silent in dust, and his spirit gone to the eternal world.

But it would be merely vanity in the author to cherish the thought of pleasing all his readers. As the different parts of matter abound with variety, so the intellectual world contains various casts of mind : every mind has a peculiar, native temperament ; moves on its own level, and has a sphere and element of its own. Education, however, has a powerful influence in moulding and controlling the natural tendencies of the human passions. But, after all that can be done in the cultivation of different minds, there will remain some innocent, predominating inclinations, that will preserve individual identity. This accounts for the great diversity in the preferences and tastes of mankind respecting many things, and particularly literary matters : each one is pleased with the subject, style, and composition that agrees with the tendency of his own mind. Hence, some are only delighted with prose, while others are captivated with poetry ; some are pleased with sentimental reading, others admire romance, and tragical stories of love and murder. Yet all, who are susceptible of emotions of benevolence and compassion, feel the melting pow^er of pathetic subjects, communicated either in verse or prose.

Those who possess a cast of mind congenial with the taste and inclination of the author, will move along in his humble orbit, enjoy the delightful charm of poetic magnetism, and find themselves at home in the subject ; while others of different tastes and temperaments, susceptible of no attraction to a poet's toil, will calmly open the volume, and, after reading the title-page, lay it down without a desire to know what it contains. So every reader takes the liberty to choose his authors, as the bee to select her flowers. But there is this difference : the bee is wiser ; she is always in pursuit of something that is truly good ; honey she will have ;

and no flower will please the bee unless it contain the delicious element that supports her life. She does not trifle away her time, nor spend her strength for naught.

Though it be admitted that the love of music is a universal passion, still there may be found a native cause why some are sensibly moved by the common charm of instrumental music, and yet have no inclination nor passion for the melody of sublime, poetic composition, breathing sentiments tender, moral, and divine. The melody of poetry is complex, and though susceptible to the ear, it is felt and relished, mostly, by the powers of mind. But music, proper, is adapted to the sensibility of the nervous organs : there it acts on those tender, physical fibres, and imparts a soothing, tranquilizing sensation to the whole system ; thence, by sympathetic affinity, the softer passions of the mind are touched, and become excited by those nervous conductors.

So all rational beings, according to their diflferent degrees of susceptibility, are affected by the power of music. And who does not know that some species of animals feel also the subduing charm of instrumental melody !*

* While the author was approaching the village of Rochester on the close of a fine day, a number of musicians, seated on the deck of the boat in which he was travelling, were playing a lively air. As the boat was passing under a bridge that led from the bank to the entrance of a flouring-mill, suddenly a lusty rat, with all his native shyness and caution, being charmed by the music, left his hiding-place in the mill, leaped on the deck of the boat near where the writer stood, and ran toward the group of musicians. The sight aroused him partly from his reverie. Alarmed to find himself among strangers, he leaped suddenly down the hatchway, and so took passage for Buffalo.

For the following account we are indebted to Dr. Adam Clarke :—

A musician was brought to play on his instrument while they were feeding a savage lion in the Tower of London.

O TRIUMPH OF TltUTH.

The doctrine is, therefore, true, that to be affected by music requires neither the power nor exercise of reason. So, then, this conclusion must stand, that the effect of instrumental music on the human race is merely a delightful nervous sensibility, and not a feast of intellectual enjoyment. It is true, nevertheless, that to compose music, to play correctly, and to judge of the merit of a musical performance, require the exercise of the mental faculties. Yet the mere effect of music, apart from other considerations, is only a rich entertainment for ihe sensitive fibres and animal passions. But when sentiments are expressed in praise to God, the sense of the sacred words understood and felt, while the sweet-toned voices form the melody, there is a mental pleasure enjoyed in common with the corporeal sensibilities and animal feelings.

It is equally true that music, unconnected with words and ideas, affects all alike, as far as their constitutions and casts are similar. The Christian and infidel are charmed alike by music ; they realize the same composed state of the passions, and the same happy, nervous softness of feeling. The lion in the tower, and the rat in the mill, mentioned in the note, were both affected by the same cause, and in a smilar manner. Music also strangely suspends the power of certain diseases, by allaying the irritation of the nerves, and quieting the excited passions.

By the preceding observations we are necessarily brought to this conclusion, that the melody of heaven, so often referred to, differs as much from the music performed on earth, by human art, as the mind differs from

The beast immediately left his food, came toward the grating of his den, and began to move in such a way as to show himself affected by the music. The musician ceased, and the lion returned to his food : he recommenced, and the lion left off his prey, and was so affected, as to seem, by his motions, to dance with delight. This was repeatedly tried, and the effects were still the same. — See Commentary, 1 Sam. xvi.

the body. The melody of heaven does not consist in what is philosophically called sound, produced by the vibration of the air on the fibres or drum of the natural ear. The music in the world of happy spirits must be, then, wholly intellectual ; for, in that high celestial state, there are no corporeal natures, nor physical organs, to participate in harmonical sounds ; and no supernatural being there could be excited by sounds, if musical sounds could be produced where no material atmosphere exists.

This argument does not lessen, in our view, the perfection or the bliss of heaven. It is, indeed, a glorious and delightful place. Still no material sun shines there, nor is material light needed : the eternal Divinity illuminates that spiritual world. The inhabitants of heaven have no downy beds, nor weary nerves requiring sleep ; they have no material tenements there, nor tables pressed with viands, — neither bright terrestrial gold, nor manufactured robes. These things, like earthly sounds, are indispensable here, but would be useless in the celestial world. Every thing is perfect there, and perfectly adapted to the blissful mode of that heavenly life, of which we now have only imperfect conceptions. "We see through a glass darkly." The words used to carry our thoughts up to immortality and heaven are figures of speech, borrowed from the things of earth ; and these figures, like defective mirrors, give but imperfect images or ideas of the things they are designed to represent ; still we cannot speak of spiritual things without them. But the frequent use of these symbolical phrases imperceptibly leads us to form incorrect notions of spiritual things ; even to materialize all the glory and perfection of the heavenly world.

But to return to the doctrine under consideration in the premises, which is, that some, who are charmed bymusic, are not delighted with poetry. And wherefore, if the assertion advanced by Dr. Blair be true, that " man is both a poet and a musician by nature ]" The saying is too broad and vague to be critically correct. It is true that man by nature loves music, and reference has been made to the cause. It is not the poetry which is sung that delights all who hear it ; but the melody, which is made by the choir, produces the transporting effect on the multitude, while the few are pleased with both. All are excited by music, as before stated, and the cause is obvious. The tender fibres, that abound in the construction of the human body, are so formed as to vibrate at the touch of melodious sounds. Hence the love of music is an original law of instinct in human nature ; but poetry, apart from its inspiration or essence, is only an art, designed to convey a kind of melody to the musical ear. It is a fact well known, that all instruments and mediums of melody are not esteemed alike by all the lovers of music. Hence, if some do not delight in the sound of verse, and throw it aside as a dull organ of music, it should excite neither displeasure nor wonder.

Music, as before stated, is merely sound, which strikes on the drum of the ear, and there comes in contact with the nervous organs, which, being excited, diffuse enlivening sensations through the whole fibrous system. The tribes of men, in distant time, were acquainted with these sensations : they perceived that nature was productive of wild, artless melody ; and they felt its charm. So nature taught them music. They perceived also, that, as they expressed their thoughts by vocal signs, their words had sounds more or less melodious ; and that not only some words, but some arrangement of words, were more musical and flowing than others : these facts, together vidth an instinctive passion for melody, led the primitive nations to form their rude, imperfect songs. And the first attempt of this kind was the origin of poetry among them ; and the one who accomplished the work was doubtless favoured with a turn of mind adapted to the task — hence he became the bard. The ruling object with them was to satiate their native desire for melody.

Hence it appears that poetry originally was designed for musical purposes, to bring out the enraptured emotions and fire of the soul in sounding verse ; so as in a pleasing manner to unite instruction with melody, and sense with sound. Though some do not favour this association, yet they highly esteem the thoughts and sentiments contained in poetical works ; but that variegated, muse-wrought garb in which they appear, is for ever out of vogue with them, and they will not spend their time, nor perplex themselves to straighten out the poetical plaits and curls, and dress the thoughts anew, in plain prosaic habiliments.

The preceding thoughts are not introduced here to effect a change in the harmless inclinations of any one, but merely to show, by reasons founded on the principles of intellectual philosophy, why some admire poetry, while others have a strong aversion to it.

The writer is aware that some in the reading world are slow and cautious of admitting a new work among . their favourite authors until it shall be reviewed, and obtain a broad seal of approbation from some of the critics of the day, especially if the author be a native of the romantic hills of America, and unknown to the celebrated patrons of the muses in the old world.

It is acknowledged that the literature of every country should be guarded by a vigilant and critical care, for on this depends much of the improvement of the age in the arts and sciences. Hence the imperfections and errors, in all works designed for the public eye, should be detected and exploded. But it is well known that, among the professed critics of our day, some are learned, judicious, and benevolent : these are ever ready to award the credit due to works of usefulness and merit ; while others are merely pretenders to literary skill, captious and envious in spirit, disapproving of every work that does not flow in the channel of their own taste and views. As some admire what is comparatively imperfect on the painted canvass, and mark for defects some of the most beautiful touches of the pencil ;

iO TRIUMPH OF TRUTH,

SO a deficiency in taste and knowledge becomes the highest standard by which many form their opinions of literary works. For the labour of this class of readers no compliments are due : their defective criticisms may pass for profound learning among the ignorant, but among the wise for no more than sheer vanity.

Various reasons conspired to influence the author to compose this work in verse, which, to his understanding, were sufficiently weighty, though others may think differently, and appeal from his judgment to their own, and set his opinion aside. The consideration, that verse is more nervous and impassioned than prose, had some influence on his mind. Moreover, the laws of poetry have the prerogative of abbreviating language : much can be expressed in a condensed form, and, through its peculiar construction, may be committed to memory with greater ease, and retained longer, as it often makes a deeper impression on the mind. Besides, poetry accords more with the taste and inclination of the author : his thoughts have been strangely inclined to flow in verse ; and, while a youth, he was often excited and charmed with the ivhirl, the 7'ush, the flight, and flotv of poetry.

The author, in composing this work, has preferred rhyme to blank verse, because it has a greater power of melody, and, therefore, it is more easily imprinted on the mind. Some writers, however, of great renown think that rhyme fetters thought, and impedes the flight of genius ; hence they have assigned it a province in the middle regions of poetry. But this accommodation is not required by the power of true genius ; for such is the richness of the English language, that a perfect, poetical mind, has no more difficulty in expressing his highest and warmest conceptions in rhyme, than an operative mason has in turning right angles, in any place, with square bricks.

No mode of composition can make a weak, low conception vast and sublime. True sublimity lies in ideal conception ; and to think sublimely requires an intellect of the first order. If this endowment be wanting, it is in vain to seek for modes of composition and a style by which to mount into the regions of sublimity. Blank verse does neither exalt nor expand ideas : it merely indulges the writer with more freedom of expression, which, it is supposed, the poet needs. But this freedom is often abused by some writers, in letting their sentences run down to a prosaic level, where the verse loses all the attractive attributes that constitute poetry, except its mechanical form.

The easy, flowing style, that allows the sentences to run from one line into another, which, some suppose, is alone pecuHar to blank verse, maybe fully maintained in connection with rhyme. To illustrate this point by example, if the reader will excuse the selection, I will introduce here a paragraph, from page 56 of this work, where the author, in support of an argument, attempts to show the speed of thought : —

" How swift thought travels ! — lo ! the cannon's flash, The bright-wing'd lightning, and the whirlwind's dash, Much slower move ! — Hoarse thunder's leaping sound, Hurl'd orbs careering through the starr'd profound, And Time, swift charioteer — all fly behind The speed of thought. Sunlight, our servant kind, Along the extended void, each minute flies Twelve million miles to bless our waking eyes — But swifter, thought ! Yes, this wing'd power of soul Can travel round the globe, call at each pole, Visit the moon, the portajs of the sun ; Thenpe step from world to world, through systems run, O'er fields of stars, where blazing comets stray. To nature's verge — trace back Time's travell'd way Some thousand years, to where creation rose — And back — then onward to all Nature's close, — To heaven's metropolis where seraphs burn, (And but one minute gone,) to Earth return Without the least fatigue, but ready quite To spread her wings and take another flight."

The question, " What is poetry V may be admitted here, and receive a passing, momentary consideration. The learned very well know that poetry does not consist in the mere shuffling of words, to see how variously they may be combined and transposed, like the useless changes in a moving kaleidoscope.

The genius, or soul of that which we call poetry, is everywhere discovered in the material universe. The earth, the sea, and the starry heavens, are full of the essence of poetry. Order, beauty, variety, life, light, motion, and perfection, all rush on the enraptured gaze : while mingled tones and voices, thundering cataracts, roar of winds and waves, and all the wild harmony of nature, play upon the delighted ear. Yes, the essence of poetry is beheld in the twinkling of the stars — in the electric flash — and heard in the dire earthquake and rolling thunder. It appears in the golden tints of the rising day, and in the crimson radiance of the setting sun — in the rainbow hues, and in the vivid flashings of the Aurora Borealis — in the revolution of worlds, and changes of seasons. It is seen also in the varied beauties of the flower garden, and in the fields, where the sportive breezes dance on the waves of the bending grain. It is heard in the responsive bleating of flocks, and in the changeful notes of birds — in the artless laugh of playful mutes, and prattle of infant tongues. These delightful scenes opening, with all these varied sounds rising, and coming up from every part of creation, form the poetry of nature ; and, on her altar of inspiration, the enrapturing fire continually l»irns.

To imitate these effects of the laws of matter and instinct — to laud the wisdom and goodness of the Creator — and to mould every thought into harmonious verse, is the work of the poet.

One apparent attribute of poetry is the mechanical arrangement of words in its construction, adapted to a measured scale of art, by which thoughts and sentiments are so expressed, as both to arouse the passions and play upon the musical ear. Hence poetry is classed among the fine arts. But the inspiration or soul of poetry, which lives in the thoughts and sentiments, and moves in the whole machinery of verse like a wheel within a wheel, is invention, which combines the talent of imagery, and the conception and arrangement of thought. This inventive power is not the offspring of art, but the endowment of nature. Among the ancient heathen bards this gift was honoured with the personification and title of the Goddess of poetry or song. Hence, to her bewitching highness invocations were frequently made, to obtain her smile, and the needful fire of her inspiration. And here it must be admitted, that what was necessary to constitute poetry in ages past is necessary to constitute it now.

It appears, however, that some have formed erroneous opinions of the lofty powers of this ancient art ; and have strangely laboured to limit its province to the wild, romantic field of fable. It is not strange that skeptical writers should imagine that poetry has no proper element or work but fiction. They must know that the Holy Bible, which they vilify and hold up to public scorn, abounds in exalted poetical strains. As skeptical oracles, they doubtless would wish to delude the world into the belief that the Bible, with all its inspired and sublime poetry, is no more than an artful fable.

We may truly say,nhat the soul of poetry is of celestial descent, and was born free ; therefore it should not be trammelled, nor driven by erring critics from its native alliance with reason, philosophy, and truth, and left to wander, like a poor maniac, on a barren desert. The power of poetry has no bounds ; it vibrates through all time and space, is familiar with all subjects, flies from description to argument, plays on the sympathy of the human heart, and bursts into holy raptures at the altar of devotion.

The author, though an advocate for versification, is, nevertheless, convinced that prose has in some things advantages over poetry ; yet poetry has some peculiar excellences of its own, which will draw enraptured admirers as long as the fine arts are taught, and as long as religion and reason shine. Works, however, that bear the name of poetry should not only display the mechanical aspect of the art, but should possess the peculiar spirit and attributes of poetic composition.

Poetry is designed both for intellectual and mechanical music ; and differs as much from prose as the harmonious notes in a musical composition differ from the monotonous tones of the voice in common conversation. The mechanical music of poetry lies in the harmonious arrangement of accented and unaccented syllables that form the feet of verse ; and these feet are held subservient to the poet's design : he can make his numbers move on with a majestic, solemn tread ; or, if he please, he can make his verse bound and skip like a sportive roe.

So verse, properly constructed, is made to assume the spirit and nature of the theme on which it seizes ; its modifications keep pace with the diversity of changes and movements in the subject. As we follow the verse, while it thus travels with its theme, we hear it roar amid the storm, rage and thunder on the battle ground, groan and lament in broken tones over scenes of wo and death ; next we hear it burst abruptly in wild firs of rapture ; then away it rides gently, calmly, on the zephyr's wing amid the flowery vales. Thus the verse keeps along with the theme ; rises when it mounts, and falls when it descends. It gives to each character introduced peculiar attributes adapted to the part he is acting ; and endows each speaker with a manner, style, and arguments, impassioned or calm, according to his part and rank ; and colours every thing in the distance, and around it, with the native hues of life. Thus the reader is made to hear, to see, to feel, and enjoy, the fulness of the subject.

It is known to every nice observer that poetry and painting have some obvious similarities : words, skilfully and harmoniously arranged, with their various shades of meaning, give to language soft, expressive beauties, equal to light and shade produced by the combination of colours on the painted canvass. A limner can easily transfer a piece of descriptive poetry to his pictorial canvass ; and a poet can as easily transfer a painted design, with all its parts, beauties, and glowing tints, to his descriptive page. There is a secret with the artist in applying the finishing touches to his design : the work may appear easy to the eye of a beholder ; still none but a master can do it. So of poetry, which is the picturing of thought, the language of action, where living nature is imitated, inanimate things personified and made to live a poetic life.

Design, imagery, ardour, imitation, and action, are the winged attributes of poetry, which form its life, beauty, and sublimity. Prose can move forward without the aid of wings : it is more independent and uniform, less impetuous, like a traveller, who with even pace trudges onward up hill and down ; while poetry, like a steam-car instinct with flame and motion, rolls, thundering onward with accelerated force, throwing, seemingly, every thing around it into sportive movements, like an automaton or magical dance. A passage, from page 60 of this work, will aid the illustration of this view of the subject : —

" There, on its track, the locomotive stands ! Snorts like a war-horse, waiting for comniands — The time is come I — The master " Ready !" cries : Swift, with its pompous train, the engine flies ; Far, in the distance, leaves the gazing crowd, Like Mars, drives onward, breathing fire and cloud ! O'er gulfs and plains, 'mid changing scenes advance, The trees take motion, whirl in lively dance : All things alike appear to skip and play, In merry movements, round th' enchanted way."

Prose is like a stream flowing along in jts wonted channel by the common laws of gravity, rippling now and then. But poetry is like a fitful water-work, designed for pleasure, ornament, and convenience. The fountain, at first, is compelled into ducts, thence it receives a greater mechanical force which sends it upward, through numerous apertures, in sportful, elegant jets ; then, as if to regale the gleeful eye, as the hidden force declines, the jets turn, forming silvery arches in the air, thence the branchy fountain, falling by its own gravity, plunges precipitately into the reservoir, and steals away silently, as if on the wings of the muses.

The style and construction of poetry should be clear as a crystal or a reflecting mirror, so as to give back, instantly, all the ideal images presented in it. It should resemble the open-work of a fruit canister or vase, constructed of golden wire, designed to show the reddened peach, and yellow orange, through the openings of its frame. For poetry is but an ornamental mode of exhibiting ideas : it adds no intrinsic richness to thought ; but the art displayed in its design is merely to invite attention to the mental entertainment contained within. If the reader cannot easily grasp the ideas designed to be communicated in the work, the solace and refreshment of the mind is defeated, and no exterior embellishment can atone for this egregious defect : for there is but little pleasure to be derived from the bare feet of poetry, where the meaning is obscured, by far-fetched or inadequate phrases, or lost iu the tiresome maze of endless circumlocution. Soon as the empty sounds of the words die, leaving no sentiments impressed on the mind, the labour of the writer is lost.

The author, moreover, is inclined to indulge a high veneration for poetry, because its existence is coeval with the Holy Bible. Jehovah's messages to our degenerate world came down on sainted souls by inspiration ; and sounded from the lips of holy bards in lofty figures of resounding verse. There, on those sacred pages, lies the ample field of truth and ancient lore — there poetry abounds in primitive sublimity ; yes, in bold, native Hebrew it appears, fraught with terrific images, rolls like a mountain torrent, and sweeps along in awful, majestic strains.

Considering the origin and antiquity of poetry, the author has been led to infer that it was designed as one grand, effectual organ, to communicate the will of God to man, and to proclaim the wonders of Almighty power, displayed in creation, redemption, and providence.

In the execution of his plan the author has endeavoured to keep himself within the limits of the title, resorting to conjecture only when silence or obscurity barred his course, and compelled him to adopt it ; choosing, however, always to place the connective, doubtful ideas, along the line of probability. The several parts of the poem will be found necessary constituents of the whole : each part sustaining some fit relation to the general design ; as, in an extended chain, every link is indispensable to the entire series.