are baled up! and by what accident it is that these are
exposed, when so many secrets sleep in nature! Hence the
necessity of speech and song; hence these throbs and
heart-beatings in the orator, at the door of the assembly,
to the end namely that thought may be ejaculated as Logos,
or Word.

Doubt not, O poet, but persist. Say 'It is in me,
and shall out.' Stand there, balked and dumb,
stuttering and stammering, hissed and hooted, stand
and strive, until at last rage draw out of thee that
dream-power which every night shows thee is thine
own; a power transcending all limit and privacy, and
by virtue of which a man is the conductor of the
whole river of electricity. Nothing walks, or creeps,
or grows, or exists, which must not in turn arise
and walk before him as exponent of his meaning. Comes
he to that power, his genius is no longer exhaustible.
All the creatures by pairs and by tribes pour into
his mind as into a Noah's ark, to come forth again
to people a new world. This is like the stock of air
for our respiration or for the combustion of our
fireplace; not a measure of gallons, but the entire
atmosphere if wanted. And therefore the rich poets,
as Homer, Chaucer, Shakspeare, and Raphael, have
obviously no limits to their works except the limits
of their lifetime, and resemble a mirror carried
through the street, ready to render an image of every
created thing.