It cannot be doubted that a certain refractoriness to form is a typical feature of the Basque character.  The sense of form is closely in sympathy with the feminine element in human nature, and the Basque race is strongly masculine.  The predominance of the masculine element—­strength without grace—­is as typical of Unamuno as it is of Wordsworth.  The literary gifts which might for the sake of synthesis be symbolized in a smile are absent in both.  There is as little humour in the one as in the other.  Humour, however, sometimes occurs in Unamuno, but only in his ill-humoured moments, and then with a curious bite of its own which adds an unconscious element to its comic effect.  Grace only visits them in moments of inspiration, and then it is of a noble character, enhanced as it is by the ever-present gift of strength.  And as for the sense for rhythm and music, both Unamuno and Wordsworth seem to be limited to the most vigorous and masculine gaits.  This feature is particularly pronounced in Unamuno, for while Wordsworth is painstaking, all-observant, and too good a “teacher” to underestimate the importance of pleasure in man’s progress, Unamuno knows no compromise.  His aim is not to please but to strike, and he deliberately seeks the naked, the forceful, even the brutal word for truth.  There is in him, however, a cause of formlessness from which Wordsworth is free—­namely, an eagerness for sincerity and veracity which brushes aside all preparation, ordering or planning of ideas as suspect of “dishing up,” intellectual trickery, and juggling with spontaneous truths.

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Such qualities—­both the positive and the negative—­are apparent in his poetry.  In it, the appeal of force and sincerity is usually stronger than that of art.  This is particularly the case in his first volume (Poesias, 1907), in which a lofty inspiration, a noble attitude of mind, a rich and racy vocabulary, a keen insight into the spirit of places, and above all the overflowing vitality of a strong man in the force of ripeness, contend against the still awkward gait of the Basque and a certain rebelliousness of rhyme.  The dough of the poetic language is here seen heavily pounded by a powerful hand, bent on reducing its angularities and on improving its plasticity.  Nor do we need to wait for further works in order to enjoy the reward of such efforts, for it is attained in this very volume more than once, as for instance in Muere en el mar el ave que volo del nido, a beautiful poem in which emotion and thought are happily blended into exquisite form.