It is, indeed, in the very nature and essence of genius to be for ever occupied intensely with Self, as the great centre and source of its strength.  Like the sister Rachel, in Dante, sitting all day before her mirror,

      “mai non si smaga
    Del suo ammiraglio, e siede tutto giorno.”

To this power of self-concentration, by which alone all the other powers of genius are made available, there is, of course, no such disturbing and fatal enemy as those sympathies and affections that draw the mind out actively towards others[53]; and, accordingly, it will be found that, among those who have felt within themselves a call to immortality, the greater number have, by a sort of instinct, kept aloof from such ties, and, instead of the softer duties and rewards of being amiable, reserved themselves for the high, hazardous chances of being great.  In looking back through the lives of the most illustrious poets,—­the class of intellect in which the characteristic features of genius are, perhaps, most strongly marked,—­we shall find that, with scarcely one exception, from Homer down to Lord Byron, they have been, in their several degrees, restless and solitary spirits, with minds wrapped up, like silk-worms, in their own tasks, either strangers, or rebels to domestic ties, and bearing about with them a deposit for posterity in their souls, to the jealous watching and enriching of which almost all other thoughts and considerations have been sacrificed.

“To follow poetry as one ought (says the authority[54] I have already quoted), one must forget father and mother and cleave to it alone.”  In these few words is pointed out the sole path that leads genius to greatness.  On such terms alone are the high places of fame to be won;—­nothing less than the sacrifice of the entire man can achieve them.  However delightful, therefore, may be the spectacle of a man of genius tamed and domesticated in society, taking docilely upon him the yoke of the social ties, and enlightening without disturbing the sphere in which he moves, we must nevertheless, in the midst of our admiration, bear in mind that it is not thus smoothly or amiably immortality has been ever struggled for, or won.  The poet thus circumstanced may be popular, may be loved; for the happiness of himself and those linked with him he is in the right road,—­but not for greatness.  The marks by which Fame has always separated her great martyrs from the rest of mankind are not upon him, and the crown cannot be his.  He may dazzle, may captivate the circle, and even the times in which he lives, but he is not for hereafter.