Yet even in these poems it is impossible not to perceive that the natural tendency of the poet's mind is to great objects and elevated conceptions. The poem entitled FIDELITY' is for the greater part written in language as unraised and naked as any perhaps in the two volumes. Yet take the following stanza and compare it with the preceding stanzas of the same poem. "There sometimes doth a leaping fish Send through the tarn a lonely cheer; Thither the rainbow comes-the cloud- But that enormous barrier holds it fast." Or compare the four last lines of the concluding stanza with the former half: "Yes, proof was plain that, since the day On which the Traveller thus had died, Or by his Master's side: How nourish'd here through such long time And gave that strength of feeling, great Can any candid and intelligent mind hesitate in determining, which of these best represents the tendency and native character of the poet's genius? Will he not decide that the one was written because the poet would so write, and the other because he could not so entirely repress the force and grandeur of his mind, but that he must in some part or other of every composition write otherwise? In short, that his only disease is the being out of his element; like the swan, that, having amused himself, for a while, with crushing the weeds on the river's bank, soon returns to his own majestic movements on its reflecting and sustaining [P. W., v., p. 43. S. C.] [The second line of this stanza is now "When this ill-fated Traveller died." S. C.] surface. Let it be observed that I am here supposing the imagined judge, to whom I appeal, to have already decided against the poet's theory, as far as it is different from the principles of the art, generally acknowledged. I cannot here enter into a detailed examination of Mr. Wordsworth's works; but I will attempt to give the main results of my own judgment, after an acquaintance of many years, and repeated perusals. And though, to appreciate the defects of a great mind it is necessary to understand previously its characteristic excellences, yet I have already expressed myself with sufficient fulness, to preclude most of the ill effects that might arise from my pursuing a contrary arrangement. I will therefore commence with what I deem the prominent defects of his poems hitherto published. The first characteristic, though only occasional defect, which I appear to myself to find in these poems, is the inconstancy of the style. Under this name I refer to the sudden and unprepared transitions from lines or sentences of peculiar felicity-(at all events striking and original)-to a style, not only unimpassioned but undistinguished. He sinks too often and too abruptly to that style, which I should place in the second division of language, dividing it into the three species; first, that which is peculiar to poetry; second, that which is only proper in prose; and third, the neutral or common to both. There have been works, such as Cowley's Essay on Cromwell, in which prose 3 This is an eloquent declamation against Cromwell, in the guise of an argument, the defence of "the late man, who made himself to be called Protector," being put into the mouth of one whose appearance was "strange and terrible," and whose figure was taller than that of a giant or" the shadow of any giant in the evening." This personage turns out to be the Wicked One himself, and the discourse which he utters is, indeed, most dramatically appropriate to him, however unserviceable to the cause of Cromwell. After despatching the Protector's religion and morals, disparaging his powers, reducing his parts to diligence and dissimulation, and making away with his achievements at home and abroad, or bringing them very nearly to nothing, the Evil One's opponent proceeds to demolish his intellectual pretensions; and here he attacks him on the side of his speeches, which Mr. Carlyle has lately brought forth from the shadows in which they have so long been lying. According to this essay, all the war and bloodshed at the time of the and verse are intermixed (not as in the Consolation of Boethius,' or the ARGENIS of Barclay," by the insertion of poems supposed to have been spoken or composed on occasions previously related in prose, but), the poet passing from one to the other, as the nature of the thoughts or his own feelings dictated. Yet this mode of composition does not satisfy a cultivated taste. There is something unpleasant in the being thus obliged to alternate states of feeling so dissimilar, and this too in a species of writing, the pleasure from which is in part derived from the preparation and previous expectation of the reader. A portion of that awkwardness is felt which hangs upon the introduction of songs in our modern comic operas; and to prevent which the judicious Metastasio (as to whose exquisite taste there can be no hesitation, whatever doubts may be entertained as to his poetic genius) uniformly placed the aria at the end of the scene, at the same time that he almost always raises and impassions the style of the Rebellion, was on account of "a little ship-money," or, to revenge the loss of three or four ears,"-not to decide whether the country was to be governed by an absolute or a limited monarchy; whether the Church of England should be approximated to Rome or maintained in the spirit of the Reformation; whether ecclesiastical rulers were to fine, scourge, mutilate, and immure for life in wretched prisons any who opposed their views and proceedings, or whether they must learn to uphold the Church in a manner more conformable to Christianity. Yet Cowley, while he thus could represent the cause of Hampden, exalts that of Brutus !-whom Dante places for his rebellion in the lowest deep of punishment; such is poetical injustice! Methinks this whole discourse against old Noll is like "the shadow of a giant in the evening"-big and black, but of no force or substance. Cowley wrote eleven other discourses by way of essays in verse and prose, ib., p. 79–148. This remarkable writer and worthy man died July 28, 1667, aged forty-nine. S. C.] 4 [An. Manl. Sever. Boëtii Consolationis Philosophiæ, Lib. v. Boëtius or Boëthius was born about A.D. 470. S. C.] 5 [The Argenis, quoted at p. 275, towards the end of chap. ix., is a sort of didactic romance, in imitation of the Satyricon of Petronius. The author, John Barclay, was born 1582, died 1621. He flourished at the Court of James I. (who was delighted with his Satyricon Euphormionis) -and published, besides several prose works, a collection of poems in two vols. 4to. It is said that his prose is superior to his verse, but that all his works discover wit and genius. S. C.] recitative immediately preceding. Even in real life, the differ ence is great and evident between words used as the arbitrary marks of thought, our smooth market-coin of intercourse, with the image and superscription worn out by currency; and those which convey pictures either borrowed from one outward object to enliven and particularize some other; or used allegorically to body forth the inward state of the person speaking; or such as are at least the exponents of his peculiar turn and unusual extent of faculty. So much so indeed, that in the social circles of private life we often find a striking use of the latter put a stop to the general flow of conversation, and by the excitement arising from concentred attention produce a sort of damp and interruption for some minutes after. But in the perusal of works of literary art, we prepare ourselves for such language; and the business of the writer, like that of a painter whose subject requires unusual splendor and prominence, is so to raise the lower and neutral tints, that what in a different style would be the commanding colors, are here used as the means of that gentle degradation requisite in order to produce the effect of a whole. Where this is not achieved in a poem, the metre merely reminds the reader of his claims in order to disappoint them; and where this defect occurs frequently, his feelings are alternately startled by anticlimax and hyperclimax. I refer the reader to the exquisite stanzas cited for another purpose from THE BLIND HIGHLAND BOy; and then annex, as being in my opinion instances of this disharmony in style, the two following: [The popular Italian dramatic poet, Pietro Metastasio, whose original name was Trapassi, was born at Rome on the 3d of January, 1698, died April 12th, 1782. Metastasio, though not born to affluence or gentility, was pursued through life by the favors of the rich and powerful, as well as the admiration of the crowd. He was a favorite of Nature in such a way as made him also a favorite of Fortune, and possessed all admirable qualities of mind and person that are understood at first sight. He took the ecclesiastical habit and the title of Abate, though his life and writings, so closely connected with the stage, were not much in accordance with the exterior of a grave spiritual calling. But the Church of Rome has never disdained attractive worldly alliances. S. C.] 'And one, the rarest, was a shell, Which he, poor child, had studied well; And hollow;-you might sit therein, "Our Highland Boy oft visited The house which held this prize: and, led And found the door unbarred."7 7 [Mr Wordsworth has interposed three new stanzas between the firs and second of the quotations, and has altered the first thus: "The rarest was a turtle-shell Which he, poor child, had studied well; As the pearly car of Amphitrite, That sportive dolphins drew." The history of the Blind Boy's choice of a vessel is now told in nine stanzas (besides a tenth at the end of the whole poem)-originally in these three: Strong is the current: but be mild, A bee-hive would be ship as safe As that in which he sails. But say what was it? Thought of fear! A Household Tub, like one of those Close to the water he had found This vessel, pushed it from dry ground, He paddled up and down. Vol. ii., p. 72-3, edit., 1807. There are some lovers of poetry, and Mr. Wordsworth's especially, who cannot help preferring these three stanzas to the nine of later date; if the words in italics could be replaced by others less anti-poetic. The ad |