n--!0MPS07f 4TS i i^ 1 \ ; 1 ! 1 Mi f /J [J/ i':::JffAM!Jf r Class i Book CcB/iigfeN" COFYRfGHT DEPOSm FRANCIS THOMPSON Essays by Benjamin Fisher By the Author — Benjamin Fisher **Life Harmonies" Selected Poems (1914) Franklin Publishing Company Canton, Ohio J^rcunjyJ UiwnnhMnv •SJJ IAX1A»«XX. i^uionnnnuDiuiiiiiSiumuiiiiiuiiiiiinuuL ^^i,ti,MaMUifti^4iiMMMBiMiWa i Mil l ,;i , iM T'RATfaS rHOM.VSOJf iSSATS "Br mj^jAMiJf TiSHeii FRAmUh PVBLlSHmC COMPAftY CANTOS. OHIO. { m\mamm\imi^m\\mnmmmm»ism\mmmmmm^A i> ii Copyright, 1917, by Clarence A. Fisher .JUN 15 1317 ©CIA4G7458 i ®0 #ur Jear ^t«ter "^ tnnxt ial\ase life Ijae been to U8 a tonstsmt mspira- tton m all tl]at ts gooh an& beawttful anh true. PREFACE Sometime in the summer of 1910 the author of these essays chanced to obtain a volume of Francis Thompson's poems which had then been recently published in America. He be- came greatly interested in the work of Thomp- son and read and studied the poems with much enthusiasm. It happened that a few months later he found Thompson's essay on Shelley which had then but recently been put into book form and published in the United States, and this was read with especial delight. The Shel- ley essay prompted the writing of articles simi- lar in form on the life and works of Thompson, and in the fall of 1910 the two essays here pub- lished were written, the author at the time intending them for magazine publication. When they were completed, however, he be- came interested in the final preparation of his first book of poems, "Life Harmonies," and in the meantime the essays on Thompson were laid aside for future use. The works of Thompson although receiving recognition in England, the home of the poet, were known to but few in America at this time, and it was the author's hope that the articles might to some extent be the means of aweiken- ing a still greater interest and appreciation in the life and works of Thompson in this country; and it is believed that although Thompson is known now to many, yet the publication of the essays may be the means of bringing to others a realization of the beauty and greatness of Thompson's literary work, a^ well as consti- tuting in themselves a contribution to good literature. It is hoped that the book may fall into the hands of some who do not even know of Thompson and who have not read the mar- velous works of his genius, and especially for the benefit of these, it has been thought well to include a brief biographical sketch of Francis Thompson, and by way of added in- terest to the volume, a brief biography of the author. Clarence A. Fisher Canton, Ohio May, 1917 PAGE CONTENTS Portrait of Francis Thompson 6 Biographical Sketch of Francis Thompson - - - 17 Portrait of Benjamin Fisher 22 Biographical Sketch of Benjamin Fisher - - - - 25 Francis Thompson, the Poet 33 Francis Thompson's Poetry 53 Works of Francis Thompson 63 Biographical Sketch of Francis Thompson BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH of FRANCIS THOMPSON Francis Thompson was born at Preston in Lancashire, England, on the 16th day of De- cember, 1859. His father. Dr. Charles Thomp- son, was a physician who practised his profes- sion there and later at Ashton-under-Lyne. Very early in life he began to read much poetry; his early reading being mostly from Shakespeare, Scott and Coleridge. Later we find him a constant companion of Milton, Shelley and Shakespeare. In 1870 he was sent to Ushaw, a college near Durham. Here he enjoyed a fortunate freedom — the full oppor- tunity of reading the classics. Even during his college life his extreme sensitiveness, like that of Shelley's youth, made him happiest when alone. He studied for the priesthood but in his nineteenth year being found unfitted, he was advised to give up the idea much to the dis- appointment of his parents. Leaving Ushaw he went to Owens College at Manchester to qualify for his father's pro- 18 FRANCIS THOMPSON fession, that of medicine, and although distin- guishing himself in Greek and classic work he had no success as a medical student. He says, of this period in his life: ''I hated my scientific and medical studies and learned them badly. Now (in after life) even that bad and reluctant knowledge has grown priceless to me." While at Manchester he would go to the libraries and to the galleries and museums, thus perhaps unconsciously fitting himself for his after work. Failing in his college examinations on more than one occasion and broken down with a nervous illness, like De Quincey he be- came addicted to the use of opium. He went to London carrying all his wealth with him, which consisted of two volumes, one in either pocket, "Aeschylus" and "Blake." However, there he found but little employment, had no money, suffered intensely all the pangs of hunger and dismay, and finally a complete mental and physical wreck, he wais for the time being rescued by a Mr. McMaster who took him into his employ in a boot-shop and secured clothes and lodging for him. Francis remained FRANCIS THOMPSON 19 some months with Mr. McMaster and it was at this time that he sent several manuscripts to the magazines. One of these manuscripts was sent to Wilfrid Meynell, editor of "Merry Eng- land." He left what little employment he had and again became an outcsist on the streets of Lon- don, where in extreme despair he was found and befriended by a "girl of the streets" who gave him what aid she might until his later rescue by Wilfrid Meynell. In the Spring of 1888 Mr. Meynell found Thompson and befriended him; and through his influence and that of his wife, Alice Mey- nell, Francis was rescued from the streets of London and started on his great literary way which soon brought fame. His "Poems" pub- lished in 1893 ran through several editions re- ceiving praise from the reviewers and from Browning; then followed "Sister Songs" in 1895, and "New Poems" in 1897. He had suffered greatly from bodily disease and melancholy, especially toward the last, and said upon the publication of "New Poems": 20 FRANCIS THOMPSON '^Though my aims are unfulfilled, my place in- secure, many things warn me that with this volume, I am probably closing my brief poetic career." His biographer, Everard Meynell, tells us that Thompson never lost confidence in the satisfaction that his poetry was immortal; and this must have been his constant inspira^ tion during these troublesome times. Thompson's early experiences had broken down his health and ten days before his death he was sent to the Hospital of St. John and St. Elizabeth in London, and there at the age of forty-eight, on November 13, 1907, he passed away at dawn. Everard Meynell in the closing paragraphs of his admirable "Life of Francis Thompson" beautifully says : "Suffering alone, he escaped alone, and left none strictly bound on his ac- count. He left his friends to be busy not with his ashes but his works." Wilfrid Meynell wrote, "Devoted friends lament him no less for himself than for his singing. But let none be named the benefactor of him who gave to all more than any could give to him. He made all men his debtors, leaving to those who loved him the memory of his personality, and to Eng- lish poetry an imperishable name." ]9J(i Biographical Sketch of the Author Benjamin Fisher BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH of THE AUTHOR Benjamin Franklin Fisher was born at Steu- benville, Ohio, on the 22nd day of December, 1873. His father wsis Dr. Benjamin H. Fisher, a physician and surgeon who successfully prac- tised his profession there for many years. Dr. Fisher served as a surgeon in the Civil War, and continued in his profession until his death in November, 1906. He was married in early life to Elizabeth Rittenhouse who was born at Hopedale in Jefferson County, Ohio. Benja- min was one of four children, Bartley, Jennie, Benjamin and Clarence, the first of whom died at the age of six years, Jennie and Clarence still surviving. Benjamin's early education was obtained in the public schools of Steubenville, where he was graduated from the High School in 1892. He then went to Depauw University at Green- castle, Indiana, and pursued collegiate studies there for about two years. His first literary 26 FRANCIS THOMPSON work wsis begun at this time in some brief articles and poems which appeared in the col- lege publications. Leaving college in 1895 he made an extended tour of Europe, travelling almost continuously for a year, giving much attention to the study of foreign languages and art. Returning home, he entered Oberlin Col- lege where he continued his studies, and later in 1899 returned to Depauw University. In all of his college work especial attention and study was given to literature and the fine arts. Some- what later he made another tour of Europe, contributing while abroad, and after his return, articles to various American magazines and newspapers. It was following the laist tour that he seriously began his poetical work. Within a few years' time, although engaged in business affairs, he wrote a considerable number of poems intend- ing them for later book publication. The poems of this period were, however, laid aside by reason of the requirements and time needed for business affairs, and only a few of them found their way into the published collection in 1914. FRANCIS THOMPSON 27^ In 1903 he made a tour of Mexico into the far interior, and somewhat later the entire western section of the United States, contrib- uting while on these tours several articles to magazines and newspapers. His father and mother to whom he was greatly attached died in 1906. Shortly afterward he became presi- dent of a manufacturing company at Loudon- ville, Ohio, where he remained in business until his death. On July 19, 1915, he was married to Miss Cleo Redd of Loudonville. During the latter years of his life almost every moment possible was devoted to his poetical works, and in the early Spring of 1914 his first collection of poems was published under the title "Life Harmonies." He immediately set out to complete other works in which he had been interested for years, and just prior to his death had completed for publication a number of poems and prose works. In the midst of these labors he was stricken down by a sudden illness, and unex- pectedly passed away on Thursday, the 26th day of October, 1916. On a beautiful autumn day, Sunday, the 29th of October, he was buried in the little cemetery at Loudonville. 28 FRANCIS THOMPSON The later years of his life were filled with little acts of kindness to those whom his charity could reach. His success in business, which came so late, was to have been only a means to the accomplishment of higher purposes in life — ^'Incessant Spirit like a tireless goad, Compelling effort to unwonted trials. Why dost thou urge me onward o*er the road Of weary struggle through life's mazy wiles? With failures scorned and pleasures all subdued, I strive and strain to' reach those higher goals Where labor shall achieve some human good — Some influence sweet, or love in humble souls. So, shall thy force relentless keep her sway; E'en though I lose the common joys of life. My heart shall triumph in some golden day. With lives made better through my pain and strife. Thou gracious tyrant, wield thy chast'ning goad And drive me upward o'er thy skyey road." ''ASPIRATION", a Sonnet. His constant companionship with Nature kept him always close to God. In death there was to him the triumph over life — FRANCIS THOMPSON 29 "There pride is debased, humility exalted, suffering recompensed and sacrifice rewarded, in the vast harmony of that universal law *The Infinite Love of God.*" Francis Thompson, the Poet. An Essay FRANCIS THOMPSON THE POET Genius has been called ''divine inspiration" by some, simple "mind-concentration" by others; but the acknowledged fsiilure of all arbitrary definition demands that science de- clare it "the physical expression of a subcon- scious state of psychic receptivity." Thus we cannot have power without performance or "faith without works." In the artistic expression of Francis Thomp- son's conceptions we behold not the spark of genius, but the fire; not promise, but fulfill- ment; not a faculty for analyzation, but a power for wonder. He has had superiors in amount and variety of finished poetic produc- tion, but in those strange and beautiful heights and depths of pure poetic reach and achieve- ment, he has had scarcely an equal in a genera- tion. Comparisons among great men are usually our begging justification for a failure of true comprehension or an inability of clear exposi- tion. Thompson was like Shelley in figurative 34 FRANCIS THOMPSON opulence; he was like Keats in his pure sensu- ^ ousness ; he was likei^ CrashawNin his metaphysi- cal mysticism, and like Milton in his pure religious enthusiasm. He was similar, in cer- tain traits, to many others who left to the world (of which he, like Paul, held himself to be the least) the highest expression of some beauty of thought or feeling, which alone is true art. Yet, in native faculty and unique accomplish- ment, Thompson is distinctly individusJ — and individuality is the first mark of genius. He is comparable to another only as the violet is com- parable to the rose: the petals, the stamens, the leaves are there; but the colors, the odors, the forms, and their combination into the per- fect flower, are absolutely different and dis- similar. The flower of Genius is beyond meas- urement and comparison — almost "beyond mortal thought." With Shelley it flourished in Italian sunshine; with Milton it grew in the gloom of blindness; with Thompson it blos- somed in the murk of London byways. As we have intimated, scarcely any such pro- duction, equal in those subtle revelations of FRANCIS THOMPSON £5 pure poetic spontaneity, has appe2ured in our language in a generation, as Francis Thomp- son's poems, not to forget that other master- work — the prose poem on Shelley. Profess- edly a Catholic, naturally a mystic, and studi- ously a classicist, with a sweet, unconscious inclination to the most innocent pantheism, — his was a nature strange and complicated, in- fluenced and tempered by many rare interests, and revealed in a poetry of almost universal though moderate aspirations. Like a child of the gods, he grasps for the richest splendor of the skies; like an ardent mystic, he delves in the depths of metaphysics ; like a darling of Na- ture, he lounges amid (lowers in the sunshine; like a religious ascetic, he seeks the depths of humiliation to reach a heaven of ecstacy. In a single poem of moderate length, "The Hound of Heaven," he touches all the chords of the spirit-harp, sounding infinite airs of feel- ing and thought harmonized into a symphony of rare and universal import. His was "the wayward souF* indeed, for the life of the home- less outcast was poisoned with such an utter 36 FRANCIS THOMPSON misery that it found no final relief even in the impulsive outbursts of absolute bitterness, — a violent struggle between faith and despair, confused with every element of sensuous de- light and religious restriction. *'My freshness spent its wavering shower i* the dust; And now my heart is as a broken fount, Wherein tear-drippings stagnate, spilt down ever From the dank thoughts that shiver Upon the sighful branches of my mind. Such is; what is to be? The pulp so bitter, how shall taste the rind? I dimly guess what Time in mists confounds; Yet ever and anon a trumpet sounds From the hid battlements of Eternity;'* from "The Hound of Heaven.'' A comprehension of such ^'rare Effusions" requires a consideration of the poet's environ- ment. In all the varied and wandering airs — those sky-lost songs of love and longing — the most insistent, the most piercing, the most overwhelming tone is that of sheer and utter wretchedness, felt not fancied, — the terrible hunger and want of the poet's life in London slums. If poetry of such "divine intention" could thrive in the dreary arches of the Thames, what a marvelous bloom of heavenly FRANCIS THOMPSON £7 perfectness might have flourished in a summer clime! The merciless cruelty of his pain, touched by some subtle magic of music-fancy, sanctified the expression of his woe ''into some- thing rich and strange," — a solace to our own sorrow, a comfort to our own distress. Our constant wonder is that the mournful note of torment did not become a wail of de- spair, or sink into common scorn or blighting disbelief. Perhaps the drugs which eased his anguish in ''that nightmare-time which still doth haunt my dreams," lent to his mental sight a rarer view. Perhaps those strange, in- toxicating trances brought him clearer visions, giving to his "twenty withered years" — ^his "mangled youth," a new heaven and a new earth. Whatever the spell, it was an enchant- ing wine, a bewitching potion, whether its source were physical or mentsJ; for it made the sensitive wind-harp of his soul dumb to the storms of hatred and despair, but trembling in responsive modulation to every tender breath of gratitude and hope. Enough, then, of this "wailful sweetness"; of "the fierce kisses of misery that hiss against 38 FRANCIS THOMPSON his tears"; of that deadly night when he whis- pered to his heatrt, "Now, if the end be here!" True, his poems are not always bright with sun- shine — not always glad with gorgeous blos- soms. His skies were often cloudy and his flowers of sombre hue. Yet, could ever noon- tide be more glorious, or ever earth-bloom be richer than the fitful radiance or the varied ex- uberance of his Verse? To the contemplation of every phase of beauty, — the unconscious, natural, child-like worship of all things lovely, whether color or form, material or subjective, Thompson owes much of the charm of his composition. But it is the worship of the artist, not the dumb won- der of the sight-seer. It is the inspired hymn of the seraph, not the formal chant of the syco- phant. Like the impassioned Greek who brought his deities down to his fireside, he knows his gods, communes with them, loves them. His interpretations of Nature's meanings re- veal not only the constant faith of the lover, but the familiar intimacy of the companion. His treatment of her was not intensely spiritual FRANCIS THOMPSON 39 or profoundly religious, but cordially worship- ful. He views her in serious temper or watches her in playful levity. He is with her in sacred solitude or attends her most secret revels. No humor of her being or phase of her aspect escapes him; no smile or frown, no appearance or posture, save only that highest, most holy import in spiritual mystery and ideality which Shelley interprets in that exquisite lyrical poem — the "Hymn to Intellectual Liberty." Yet how dear, how faithful his servitude, how exact his exposition of the forms and fancies of Nature's manners and moods ! No English poet has so skillfully painted, with sudden dash of the brush — with rapid flash of the fancy, a thousand complete pictures each in a mere epithet or phrase, — not even the more polished, the more graceful Keats. Such astounding swiftness of delineation, such amazing variety of portrayal, flaring for an instant from the burning ardor of his imagination, bewilder us with their infinite diversity, oppress us with their overwhelming richness. 40 FRANCIS THOMPSON His are not the great frescoes of Raphael, his are not the great sonatas of Beethoven; but the numberless miniatures and portraits of his word-painting, the scherzos and valses of his word-music are complete if not grand, perfect if not ambitious. Idea and personification, thought and metaphor, feeling and analogy, are all blent and mingled with scenery and imagery of infinite forms and colors. His poetry is a flashing diamond of thought set in an opal-aureole of embellishment; a magnifi- cent orchid of passion in a jungle of tropical green; a sun-burst of wisdom in a prison-cloud l