No More Learning

It is as to the relation of this 'wit' to,
and its effect on, his poetry that they have been at variance. To his
contemporaries the 'wit' was identical with the poetry. Donne's 'wit'
gave him the same supremacy among poets that learning and humour and
art gave to Jonson among dramatists. To certain of his Dutch admirers
the wit of _The Flea_ seemed superhuman, and the epitaph with which
Carew closes his _Elegy_ expresses the almost universal English
opinion of the seventeenth century:

Here lies a king that ruled as he thought fit
The universal monarchy of wit;
Here lies two flamens, and both those the best,
Apollo's first, at last the true God's priest.

It may be doubted if Milton shared this opinion. He never mentions
Donne, but it was probably of him or his imitators he was thinking
when in his verses at Cambridge he spoke of

those new-fangled toys and trimmings slight
Which take our late fantastics with delight.

Certainly the growing taste for 'correctness' led after the
Restoration to a discrimination between Donne's wit and his poetry.
'The greatest wit,' Dryden calls him, 'though not the greatest poet of
our nation. ' What he wanted as a poet were just the two essentials
of 'classical' poetry--smoothness of verse and dignity of expression.
This point of view is stated with clearness and piquancy in the
sentences of outrageous flattery which Dryden addressed to the Earl of
Dorset in the opening paragraphs of his delightful _Essay on Satire_:

'There is more of salt in all your verses, than I have seen in
any of the moderns, or even of the ancients; but you have
been sparing of the gall, by which means you have pleased
all readers, and offended none. Donne alone, of all our
countrymen, had your talent; but was not happy enough to
arrive at your versification; and were he translated into
numbers, and English, he would yet be wanting in the dignity
of expression. That which is the prime virtue, and chief
ornament, of Virgil, which distinguishes him from the rest
of writers, is so conspicuous in your verses, that it casts a
shadow on all your contemporaries; we cannot be seen, or
but obscurely, while you are present. You equal Donne in the
variety, multiplicity, and choice of thoughts; you excel him
in the manner and the words. I read you both with the same
admiration, but not with the same delight.

He affects the metaphysics, not only in his satires, but
in his amorous verses, where nature only should reign; and
perplexes the minds of the fair sex with nice speculations of
philosophy, when he should engage their hearts, and entertain
them with the softnesses of love.
In this (if I may be
pardoned for so bold a truth) Mr. Cowley has copied him to
a fault; so great a one, in my opinion, that it throws
his Mistress infinitely below his Pindarics and his latter
compositions, which are undoubtedly the best of his poems and
the most correct. '

Dryden's estimate of Donne, as well as his application to his poetry
of the epithet 'metaphysical', was transmitted through the eighteenth
century. Johnson's famous paragraphs in the _Life of Cowley_ do little
more than echo and expand Dryden's pronouncement, with a rather vaguer
use of the word 'metaphysical'. In Dryden's application it means
correctly 'philosophical'; in Johnson's, no more than 'learned'. 'The
metaphysical poets were men of learning, and to show their learning
was their whole endeavour; but unluckily resolving to show it in
rhyme, instead of writing poetry, they only wrote verses, and very
often such verses as stood the trial of the fingers better than of
the ear. ' They 'drew their conceits from recesses of learning not very
much frequented by common readers of poetry'. Waller is exempted
from being a metaphysical poet because 'he seldom fetches an amorous
sentiment from the depths of science; his thoughts are for the most
part easily understood, and his images such as the superficies of
nature readily supplies'.

Even to those critics with whom began a revived appreciation of
Donne as a poet and preacher, his 'wit' still bulks largely. It
is impossible to escape from it. 'Wonder-exciting vigour,' writes
Coleridge, 'intenseness and peculiarity, using at will the almost
boundless stores of a capacious memory, and exercised on subjects
where we have no right to expect it--this is the wit of Donne. ' And
lastly De Quincey, who alone of these critics recognizes the essential
quality which may, and in his best work does, make Donne's wit the
instrument of a mind which is not only subtle and ingenious but
profoundly poetical: 'Few writers have shown a more extraordinary
compass of powers than Donne; for he combined what no other man has
ever done--the last sublimation of dialectical subtlety and address
with the most impassioned majesty. Massy diamonds compose the very
substance of his poem on the Metempsychosis, thoughts and descriptions
which have the fervent and gloomy sublimity of Ezekiel or Aeschylus,
whilst a diamond dust of rhetorical brilliancies is strewed over the
whole of his occasional verses and his prose. '

What is to-day the value and interest of this wit which has arrested
the attention of so many generations? How far does it seem to us
compatible with poetry in the full and generally accepted sense of
the word, with poetry which quickens the imagination and touches
the heart, which satisfies and delights, which is the verbal and
rhythmical medium whereby a gifted soul communicates to those who have
ears to hear the content of impassioned moments?

Before coming to close quarters with this difficult and debated
question one may in the first place insist that there is in Donne's
verse a great deal which, whether it be poetry in the full sense
of the word or not, is arresting and of worth both historically
and intrinsically.