important though it is in itself, could hardly be bettered as an example of vagueness. Its intemperate tameness on a heroic theme almost amounts to audacity. The essential in any poem that describes a person is a distinct image; it demands self-confidence, a sincere intimacy with the subject; such details as are used must be evocative. But our poetess betrays ignorance and its timidity at every line. What image and what outline does she leave us? This might be any theatrical king from any country. 'Glittering helm and greave' is a non-committing, undescriptive description of any army before soldiers wore red coats, and conveys no more of Persia than of France; an eye flashing defiance to earth and sky, being unthinkable, is a safe way out of a difficulty; while the 'single bark' and its inmate, 'alone and in despair', give a sense of insignificance where they should convey dignity and pathos.
We almost feel a need to apologize for turning, as we now turn, to any poem so celebrated as Byron's Isles of Greece, but its very familiarity makes it the better test:
A king sate on the rocky brow
Which looks o'er seaborn Salamis;
And ships, by thousands, lay below,
And men in nations; all were his;
He counted them at break of day—
And when the sun set, where were they?
Lord Byron makes but scant appeal to modern people, yet all will at least admit that this is poetry. It may be grandiloquence, but it is defined; the image of the king stands out strong and bold, and six lines give a picture that is remembered.
It would be a fruitful and diverting task to make an anthology of vague poems, though the choice would be embarrassingly large, and here we can do no more than give a specimen or two for illustration. The Minstrel's Hour (1829) is as good as any:
