The easy height he
speaks from in his Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, as if he
were equal to any of the company there assembled, is as good as
any particular excellence in it.
But though it is full of good
sense and humanity, it is not transcendent poetry. For
picturesque description of persons it is, perhaps, without a
parallel in English poetry; yet it is essentially humorous, as
the loftiest genius never is. Humor, however broad and genial,
takes a narrower view than enthusiasm. To his own finer vein he
added all the common wit and wisdom of his time, and everywhere
in his works his remarkable knowledge of the world, and nice
perception of character, his rare common sense and proverbial
wisdom, are apparent. His genius does not soar like Milton's,
but is genial and familiar. It shows great tenderness and
delicacy, but not the heroic sentiment. It is only a greater
portion of humanity with all its weakness. He is not heroic, as
Raleigh, nor pious, as Herbert, nor philosophical, as
Shakespeare, but he is the child of the English muse, that child
which is the father of the man. The charm of his poetry consists
often only in an exceeding naturalness, perfect sincerity, with
the behavior of a child rather than of a man.
Gentleness and delicacy of character are everywhere apparent in
his verse. The simplest and humblest words come readily to his
lips. No one can read the Prioress's tale, understanding the
spirit in which it was written, and in which the child sings _O
alma redemptoris mater_, or the account of the departure of
Constance with her child upon the sea, in the Man of Lawe's tale,
without feeling the native innocence and refinement of the
author.
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