Religion
When the poet invokes in his splendid frenzy the shining spheres of heaven, the murmuring fountains, and the rushing streams; when he calls upon the earth to hearken and and bids the wild sea listen to his song: when he communes with the shweet secluded valleys and the haughty-headed hills, as if those masses of brute matter were endowed whit sense and thought- we do not smile, we do not sneer, we do not reason, but we feel. A secret chord is touched within us; a slumbering sympathy is awakened into life. Who has not felt an impulse of hatred, and perhaps expressed it in a senseless curse, agaist a fiery stroke of sunlight, or a sudden gust of wind? Who has not felt a pang of pity for a flower torn and trampled in the dust; a shell dashed to fragments by the waves? Such emotions or ideas last only for a moment; they do not belog to, they are the fossil fanciest of bygone age; they are a heritage of thought from the chilhood od our race. For there was a time when they possessed the human mind. The was a time when the phrases of moder poetry were the facts of ordinary life. There was a time whem man lived in fellowship with Nature, believing tha all things which muved or changed had minds and bodie kindred to his own.
Winwood Reade
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