immortality the beatings of old England’s mighty heart.  He therefore did not go, nor needed he, to books to learn what others had done:  he just sucked in without stint, and to the full measure of his angelic capacity, the wisdom and the poetry that lived on the lips, and in the thoughts, feelings, sentiments, and manners of the people.  What he thus sucked in, he purged from its drossy mixtures, replenished with fresh vitality, and gave it back clothed in the grace and strength of his own clear spirit.  He told the nation better—­O how much better!—­than any other could, just what it wanted to hear,—­the very things which its heart was swelling with; only it found not elsewhere a tongue to voice them, nor an imagination to body them forth.[11]

[11] The times, far from being a hindrance to a great poet, were, indeed, from fortunate local and national conditions, the most propitious that modern times could offer.  In a few points they might be prejudicial to Shakespeare’s poetry, but on the whole he had cause to bless his happy star.  The conflict with scholastic philosophy and religious fanaticism was not indeed over; yet Shakespeare came at a precious moment of mental freedom, after the struggle with Popery, and before that with the Puritans.  He could thus in his poetry give to the age the basis of a natural mode of feeling, thought, and life, upon which Art prospers in its purest form.  In many respects the age itself was in this favourable to the Poet.  It maintained a happy medium between crudeness and a vitiated taste:  life was not insipid and colourless, as it is nowadays:  men still ventured to appear what they were; there was still poetry in reality.  Our German poets, in an age of rouge and powder, of hoops and wigs, of stiff manners, rigid proprieties, narrow society, and cold impulses, had indescribable trouble in struggling out of this dulness and deformity, which they had first to conquer in themselves before they could discern and approve what was better.  In Shakespeare’s time, nature was still alive:  the age was just halting on the threshold of these distorted views of false civilization; and if our Poet had to combat against the first approaches of the disease, he was yet sound and free from it himself.  He had the immense advantage of being at one with his age, and not at odds with it.  When he sought materials for his poetry, he did not need, like our painters, to dive into past worlds, restore lost creeds, worship fallen gods, and imitate foreign works of art:  from his national soil he drew the power which makes his poetry unrivalled.  The age favoured him from another side also.  He appeared at that auspicious period when the Drama had in England already obtained acceptance and, love; when the sympathy of the people was most alive; and when, on the other hand, the public were not yet corrupted with oversensibility.  He took that in hand which most actively engaged the spirit of the people; and he carried it through