Phantasmagoria and Other Poems

"How shall I be a poet?How shall I write in rhyme?You told me once 'the very wishPartook of the sublime.'Then tell me how! Don't put me offWith your 'another time'!"The old man smiled to see him,To hear his sudden sally;He liked the lad to speak his mindEnthusiastically;And thought "There's no hum-drum in him,Nor any shilly-shally.""And would you be a poetBefore you've been to school?Ah, well! I hardly thought youSo absolute a fool.First learn to be spasmodic –A very simple rule."For first you write a sentence,And then you chop it small;Then mix the bits, and sort them out

Just as they chance to fall:The order of the phrases makesNo difference at all.'Then, if you'd be impressive,Remember what I say,That abstract qualities beginWith capitals alway:The True, the Good, the Beautiful –Those are the things that pay!"Next, when you are describingA shape, or sound, or tint;Don't state the matter plainly,But put it in a hint;And learn to look at all thingsWith a sort of mental squint.""For instance, if I wished, Sir,Of mutton-pies to tell,Should I say 'dreams of fleecy flocksPent in a wheaten cell'?""Why, yes," the old man said: "that phraseWould answer very well."Then fourthly, there are epithets

That suit with any word –As well as Harvey's Reading SauceWith fish, or flesh, or bird –Of these, 'wild,' 'lonely,' 'weary,' 'strange,'Are much to be preferred.""And will it do, O will it doTo take them in a lump –As 'the wild man went his weary wayTo a strange and lonely pump'?""Nay, nay! You must not hastilyTo such conclusions jump."Such epithets, like pepper,Give zest to what you write;And, if you strew them sparely,They whet the appetite:But if you lay them on too thick,You spoil the matter quite!"Last, as to the arrangement:Your reader, you should show him,Must take what information heCan get, and look for no im-

mature disclosure of the driftAnd purpose of your poem."Therefore, to test his patience –How much he can endure –Mention no places, names, or dates,And evermore be sureThroughout the poem to be foundConsistently obscure."First fix upon the limitTo which it shall extend:Then fill it up with 'Padding'(Beg some of any friend):Your great SENSATION-STANZAYou place towards the end.""And what is a Sensation,Grandfather, tell me, pray?I think I never heard the wordSo used before to-day:Be kind enough to mention one'EXEMPLI GRATIA.'"And the old man, looking sadlyAcross the garden-lawn,

Where here and there a dew-dropYet glittered in the dawn,Said "Go to the Adelphi,And see the 'Colleen Bawn.''The word is due to Boucicault –The theory is his,Where Life becomes a Spasm,And History a Whiz:If that is not Sensation,I don't know what it is."Now try your hand, ere FancyHave lost its present glow – ""And then," his grandson added,"We'll publish it, you know:Green cloth – gold-lettered at the back –In duodecimo!"Then proudly smiled that old manTo see the eager ladRush madly for his pen and inkAnd for his blotting-pad –But, when he thought of PUBLISHING,His face grew stern and sad.