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ceded, when a number of successive lines can be rendered, even to the most delicate ear, unrecognisable as verse, or as having even been intended for verse, by simply transcribing them as prose : when if the poem be in blank verse, this can be effected without any alteration, or at most by merely restoring one or two words to their proper places, from which they had been transplanted 19 for no assignable cause or regson but that of the author's convenience; but if it be in rhyme, by the mere exchange of the final word of each lize for some other of the same meaning, equally appropriate, dignified, and euphonic.

The answer or objection in the preface to the anticipated re- ។

19 As the ingenious gentleman under the influence of the Tragic Muse contrived to dislocate, “ I wish you a good morning, Sir! Thank you, Sir, and I wish you the same," into two blank-verse heroics :

To you a morning good, good Sir! I wish.

You, Sir! I thank; to you the same wish I. In those parts of Mr. Wordsworth’s works which I have thoroughly studied, I find fewer instances in which this would be practicable than I have met in many poems, where an approximation of prose has been sedulously and on system guarded against. Indeed, excepting the stanzas already quoted from The SAILOR'S MOTHER, I can recollect but one instance: that is to say, a short passage of four or five lines in The BroTHERS,* that model of English pastoral, which I never yet read with unclouded eye. “ James, pointing to its summit, over which they had all purposed to return together, informed them that he would wait for them there. They parted, and his comrades passed that way some two hours after, but they did not find him at the appointed place, a circumstance of which they took no heed: but one of them, going by chance into the house, which at this time was James's house, learnt there, that nobody had seen him all that day.” The only change which has been made is in the position of the little word there in two instances, the position in the original being clearly such as is not adopted in ordinary conversation. The other words printed in italics were so marked because, though good and genuine English, they are not the phraseology of common conversation either in the word put in apposition, or in the connexion by the genitive pronoun Men in general would have said, “ but that was a circumstance they paid nu attention to, or took no notice of;" and the languige is, on the theory of the preface, justified only by the narrator's being the Vicar. Yet i! any ear could suspect, that these sentences were ever printed as metre, on those very words alone could the suspicion have been grounded.

* [P.W. I. S. C.1

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mark “that metre paves the way to other distinctions,"24 is con. tained in the following words. “ The distinction of rhyme and metre is regular and uniform, and not, like that produced by (what is usually called) poetic diction, arbitrary, and subject

to infinite caprices, upon

which no calculation whatever can be made. In the one case the reader is utterly at the mercy of the poet respecting whate nagery or diction he may choose to connect with the passion. But is this a poet, of whom a poet is speaking ? No surely! rather of a fool or madman: or at best of a vain or ignorant phantast! And might not brains so wild and so deficient make just the same havoc with rhymes and metres, as they are supposed to effect with modes and figures of speech ? How is the reader at the mercy of such men ? If he continue to read their nonsense, is it not his own fault? The ultimate end of criticism is much more to establish the princi. ples of writing, than to furnish rules how to pass judgment on what has been written by others; if indeed it were possible that the two could be separated. But if it be asked, by what princi. ples the poet is to regulate his own style, if he do not adhere closely to the sort and order of words which he hears in the market, wake, high-road, or plough-field ? I reply ; by princi. ples, the ignorance or neglect of which would convict him of being no poet, but a silly or presumptuous usurper of the name. By the principles

of grammar, logic, psychology. In one word by such a knowledge of the facts, material and spiritual, that most appertain to his art, as, if it have been governed and applied by good sense, and rendered instinctive by habit, becomes the representative and reward of our past conscious reasonings, insights, and conclusions, and acquires the name of Taste. By what rule that does not leave the reader at the poet's mercy, and the poet at his own, is the latter to distinguish between the lan. guage suitable to suppressed, and the language, which is charac. teristic of indulged, anger? Or between that of rage and that of jealousy? Is it obtained by wandering about in search of angry or jealous people in uncultivated society, in order to copy their words? Or not far rather by the power of imagination

20 (Preface, p. 316. S. C.]

21 [Ib., pp. 325-6. S. c.)

proceeding upon the all in each of human nature ? By medita. / tion, rather than by observation ? And by the latter in conse quence only of the former ?

As eyes, for which the former has pre-determined their field of vision, and to which, as to its organ, it communicates a microscopic power ? There is not, I firmly believe, a man now living, who has, from his own inward experience, a clearer intuition, than Mr. Wordsworth himself, that the last mentioned are the true sources of genial discrimination. Through the same process and by the same creative agency will the post distinguish the degree and kind of the excitement produced by the very act of poetic composition. As intuitively will he know, what differences of style it at once inspires and justifies; what intermixture of conscious volition is natural to that state ; and in what instances such figures and colors of speech degenerate into mere creatures of an arbitrary purpose, cold tech. nical artifices of ornament or connexion. For, even as truth is its own light and evidence, discovering at once itself and false. hood, so is it the prerogative of poetic genius to distinguish by parental instinct its proper offspring from the changelings, which the gnomes of vanity or the fairies of fashion may have laid in its cradle or called by its names. Could a rule be given from without, poetry would cease to be poetry, and sink into a

chanical art. It would be μόρφωσις, not ποίησις. The rules of the Imagination are themselves the very powers of growth and production. The words to which they are reducible, present only the outlines and external appearance of the fruit. A deceptive counterfeit of the superficial form and colors may be elaborated; but the marble peach feels cold and heavy, and children only put it to their mouths. We find no difficulty in admitting as excellent, and the legitimate language of poetic fervor self-impassioned, Donne's apostrophe to the Sun in the second stanza of his PROGRESS OF THE SOUL.


“ Thee, eye of heaven! this great Soul envies not ;

By thy male force is all, we have, begot,
In the first East thou now beginn'st to shine,
Suck'st early balm and island spices there,
And wilt anon in thy loose-rein'd career
At Tagus, Po, Seine, Thames, and Danow dine,

And see at night this western world of mine :
Yet hast thou not more nations seen than she,
Who before thee one day began to be
And, thy frail light being quench’d, shall long, long outlive theo

Or the next stanza but one :

“ Great Destiny, the commissary of God,

That has mark'd out a path and period
For everything! Who, where we offspring took,
Our ways and ends see'st at one instant: thou
Knot of all causes! Thou, whose changeless brow
Ne'er smiles nor frowns ! O! vouchsafe thou to look,
And show my story in thy eternal book, &c.”

As little difficulty do we find in excluding from the honors of unaffected warmth and elevation the madness



pseu dopoesy, or the startling hysteric of weakness over-exerting itself, which bursts on the unprepared reader in sundry odes and apos. trophes to abstract terms. Such are the Odes to Jealousy; to Hope, to Oblivion, and the like, in Dodsley's collection and the magazines of that day, which seldom fail to remind me of an Oxford copy of verses on the two SUTTONS, commencing with

“ Inoculation, heavenly maid ! descend !”

It is not to be denied that men of undoubted talents, and even poets of true, though not of first-rate, genius, have, from a mistaken theory, deluded both themselves and others in the opposite extreme. I once read, to a company of sensible and well-edu. cated women, the introductory period of Cowley's preface to his “Pindaric Odes, written in imitation of the style and manner of the odes of Pindar. “If” (says Cowley) “a man should under. take to translate Pindar, word for word, it would be thought that one madman had translated another; as may appear, when he, that understands not the original, reads the verbal traduction of him into Latin prose, than which nothing seems more raving." I then proceeded with his own free version of the second Olympic, composed for the charitable purpose of rationalizing the Theban Eagle.

“ Queen of all harmonious things,

Dancing words and speaking strings,
What god, what hero, wilt thou sing ?
What happy man to equal glories bring?
Begin, begin thy noble choice,
And let the hills around reflect the image of thy voice.
Pisa does to Jove belong,
Jove and Pisa claim thy song,
The fair first-fruits of war, th’ Olympic games,
Alcides offer'd up to Jove;
Alcides, too, thy strings may move,
But, oh! what man to join with these can worthy prove :
Join Theron boldly to their sacred names;
Theron the next honor claims;
Theron to no man gives place,
Is first in Pisa's and in Virtue's race;
Theron there, and he alone,

Ev’n his own swift forefathers has outgone.” One of the company exclaimed, with the full assent of the rest, that if the original were madder than this, it must be incurably mad. 22

22 (But is not this equally delirious, close as it keeps to the Pindaric images ? It is the exordium of the first Pythian, characterized by “lightning energy” in an article on Pindar by Mr. Coleridge's late editor. Q. Review, March, 1834

O thou whom Phæbus and the quire
Of violet tressed Muses own,
Their joint treasure, golden Lyre,
Ruling step with warbled tone, &c., &c.
In thy mazes, steep'd, expire
Bolts of ever-flowing fire.
Jove's eagle on the sceptre slumbers
Possest by thy enchanting numbers :
On either side, his rapid wing,
Drops, entranc'd, the featherd king;
Black vapor o'er his curved head,
Sealing his eyelids, sweetly shed ;
Upheaving his moist back he lies,
Held down by thrilling harmonies.

Surely this is but a brilliant chaos. “Hyacinthine locks” have been kindly received at the bounteous hand of Milton, though no one in this age of the world quite understands the epithet, or has seen that black or ferrugineous, or ensanguined Power inscribed with woe ;” the ancient hya. cinth. The sound is beautiful, and we imagine the sense to be right; but

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