palace, temple, or landscape would have affected in reality.  On the other hand the most lively and spirited verbal description I can give raises a very obscure and imperfect idea of such objects; but then it is in my power to raise a stronger emotion by the description than I can do by the best painting.  This experience constantly evinces.  The proper manner of conveying the affections of the mind from one to the other is by words; there is great insufficiency in all other method of communication; and so far is a clearness of imagery, from being absolutely necessary to an influence upon the passions, that they may be considerably operated upon without presenting any image at all, by certain sounds adapted to that purpose.”  If by image is meant only what the eye can see, Burke is undoubtedly right.  But this is obviously not our restricted meaning of the word when we speak of poetic imagery; and Burke’s error becomes apparent when he proceeds to show that there “are reasons in nature why an obscure idea, when properly conveyed, should be more affecting than the clear.”  He does not seem to have considered that the idea of an indefinite object can only be properly conveyed by indefinite images; any image of Eternity or Death that pretended to visual distinctness would be false.  Having overlooked this, he says, “We do not anywhere meet a more sublime description than this justly celebrated one of Milton, wherein he gives the portrait of Satan with a dignity so suitable to the subject.

“He above the rest
In shape and gesture proudly eminent
Stood like a tower; his form had not yet lost
All her original brightness, nor appeared
Less than archangel ruined and the excess
Of glory obscured:  as when the sun new risen
Looks through the horizontal misty air
Shorn of his beams; or from behind the moon
In dim eclipse disastrous twilight sheds
On half the nations; and with fear of change
Perplexes monarchs.”

“Here is a very noble picture,” adds Burke, “and in what does this poetical picture consist?  In images of a tower, an archangel, the sun rising through mists, or an eclipse, the ruin of monarchs, and the revolution of kingdoms.”  Instead of recognising the imagery here as the source of the power, he says, “The mind is hurried out of itself, [rather a strange result!], by a crowd of great and confused images; which affect because they are crowded and confused For, separate them, and you lose much of the greatness; and join them, and you infallibly lose the clearness.”  This is altogether a mistake.  The images are vivid enough to make us feel the hovering presence of an awe-inspiring figure having the height and firmness of a tower, and the dusky splendour of a ruined archangel.  The poet indicates only that amount of concreteness which is necessary for the clearness of the picture,—–­only the height and firmness of the tower and the brightness of the sun in eclipse.  More concretness would