TO THE PATRONS OF THE SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER. THE startling cost at which this work has been established, and is sustained, and the backwardness of many subscribers in fulfilling their part of our mutual compact, call indispensably for an appeal; not to their liberality-but to their justice. If punctual payments are ever necessary, they are pre-eminently so in the case of such a publication,-purely literary-almost wholly original-and destitute of the vital aid which newspapers derive from advertisements. My ALL is at stake, in this enterprise.-It is a venture, stimulated indeed by some hope of emolument; but founded largely, also, upon the well warranted expectation of rallying Southern talents and Southern public spirit, around the drooping and well nigh prostrate banner of Southern Literature. Since it has now acquired claims also upon Southern JUSTICE,-can it be, that these are urged in vain? Subscribers then, who are in arrear-and let them remember, that payment is due in advance-will, I trust, without delay, transmit the amounts they owe, to me, at Richmond; by mail, at my risk and cost;-taking proper evidence of the fact and date of mailing; and retaining a memorandum of each note sent. Richmond, Va., Nov. 4th, 1837. THOMAS W. WHITE. Editors and Publishers who take an interest in the success of the Messenger, will confer a favor on its Proprietor by inserting in their several Journals the above Card, as also the Prospectus and Terms of the Messenger. CONTENTS. NO. XII.-VOL. III.-DECEMBER, 1837. 717 706 St. Ursula................... 746 713 713 An Oration, delivered by John Tyler, at York 747 The Vision of Agib. An Eastern Tale........ 753 759 760 761 764 The Lyceum. No. IV. On the practice of Ap- 764 718 Origin of Language in the British Islands. Translated from "La Revue Française," by Samuel -F. Glenn...... 766 Napoleon and Josephine. By a Virginian...... Judge Henry Thompson, of La Fayette, Alabama, having kindly volunteered to aid in giving circulation to the Messenger in his State, the Editor takes this method of thanking him for the proffer. Judge T. is therefore authorized to receive subscriptions for the Messenger, and to give receipts for the same. Robert Hill and Edward N. Dabney, and such other persons as they may employ for that purpose, are authorized collecting agents of the Southern Literary Messenger in Virginia. Thomas L. Jones, for the Southern and Southwestern States. Col. A. H. Pemberton, in any part of the above States, to which he may be drawn by his other general collecting business. Dr. William H. Williams, in North Carolina. Notes on any of the Banks in the United States, which are quoted in Bicknell's Reporter, at not less than 2 per cent. below par, will be received for the Messenger. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.* The history of this eminent man presents a singular phenomenon. Until nearly the close of a long literary life, contempt and ridicule were his almost universal portion. The chosen few, who appreciated his genius, scarcely ventured to express their dissent from the general voice. They were secret worshippers at his shrine. It was the fashion to despise him; and the puniest pretender had but to scoff at Wordsworth, to obtain, in his own mind, and in that of the public, a reputation for taste. Yet, strange to say, during all this time, the poet was silently working a revolution in the No. XII. $5 PER ANNUM. defiance of preconceived notions and existing habits of "Our daily world's true worldlings rank not me! Again : taste and literature of the age, which was long felt before it was recognized and acknowledged. The poetry of passion and of sense was gradually giving way before that of thought and of sentiment. Piety, benevolence, love, patriotism; all the purer and nobler sentiments of the heart; the upward aspirations of the heaven-born spirit,-were silently triumphing over the cravings of unholy passions-the disenchanting precepts of a false and cynical philosophy. This happy revolution, in letters and in taste, was chiefly effected, we repeat, by the simple, solitary, soul-trusting Words-Wings have we, and as far as we can go, worth, who, from his shrine among the mountains, sent Blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood, We may find pleasure; wilderness and wood, forth strains of ærial music, which, long-neglected, have Which with the lofty sanctifies the low. at length found an echo in the hearts of thousands. Dreams, books are each a world; and books we know, What a noble spectacle does not this man present, who, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: confiding in his own pure thoughts and religious aspi-Round these with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, rations, labored on, unmindful of the neglect as of the Our pastime and our happiness will grow." contempt of the world, for nearly half a century, until at length the voice of fame, for him long silent, breaks forth in lofty notes of praise! Yes-he has not "gone to dust without his fame." He has lived long enough, and still lives, to enjoy the late, but not for that the less consoling, justice of his contemporaries. The evening of his days is bright with the halo of renown; a "pomp of clouds" attends the setting luminary, which, like the autumnal sun, looms largest just before it sinks beneath the horizon. "Honorate l'altissimo poeta”—“honor to to the bard," is now the general acclamation— "The words rebound, And yet again— [Sonnet 40, p. 100. "Nor can I not believe but that hereby [Son. 41. All this is very true and very beautiful; and yet we cannot but believe that such a course of life is calculated to emasculate the mind-to impair that vigorous Until all voices in one voice are drowned." tone of thought and feeling, which can only be mainYet this general enthusiasm should not make us blind tained by mixing freely with our fellow men, and by to the defects of the poet, as we were long unjust to his taking an active part in the contests of society, and merits. His faults, which are striking, proceed from the material interests of life. Too much addiction to the same causes whence spring his peculiar beauties. the world renders men frivolous, or sordid, or artificial; The chief of these is, that he has lived too much alone. excessive love of solitude makes them sensitive, singu"The world," exclaims he, "is too much with us,”- lar and impracticable. Of the two extremes, the latter, and it has been, accordingly, his aim to shut it out alto- however, is unquestionably more favorable to the poetigether. This has made him too regardless of the arti-cal temperament. ficial tastes and conventional opinions of mankind, Wordsworth is generally placed at the head of what which cannot be contemned or neglected with impunity. is called the Lake school of Poetry. This classification That man must possess a commanding influence indeed, is too sweeping and indiscriminate. The distinguishwho can succeed in captivating the public taste, in uttering characteristic of that school, is an affectation of The object of this sketch is to notice more particularly the expression and sentiment, which might be called poetical Euphuism. This is not Wordsworth's fault. His VOL. III.-90 "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty." Alone she cuts and binds the grain, No nightingale did ever chant Such thrilling voice was never heard Will no one tell me what she sings? Or is it some more humble lay, [Memorial of the Tour in Scotland, p. 109. Is not this the very music of language? Do not these words float in airy waves, until the sense is charmed and lulled into delicious reverie, as by the "lascivious pleasings of a lute?" But we have been irresistibly seduced into these general remarks. We must now proceed to the more immediate subject of this paper. most striking characteristics, are simplicity of feeling and unadorned vigor of language. The former sometimes degenerates into triviality or mawkishness; the latter often sinks into baldness of diction. Despising, too, mere external grandeur, and all conventional pretensions, he has taken for his favorite theme, the inborn and essential dignity of man, which it has been his delight to celebrate, even when found under the humblest garb and plainest exterior. But, like all exclusive theorists, he has pushed his system too far, and often shocks good taste by the coarseness of his character and the vulgarity of his scenes. These words are used here in a physical and not a moral sense; for few poets are so little amenable to the charge of offending delicacy or principle. A writer, to please, should be happy in the choice of his subjects, and, in this regard, Wordsworth often fails egregiously. Say what we will, people will not feel the same interest in pedlars, beggars and idiots, as in personages of a character more exalted, refined, or attractive. This may be wrong; it is nevertheless true; and we must make up our minds, if we wish for success, to take the world as we find it. A certain degree of independence of the popular taste is praiseworthy; but, as we have already said, he who despises it altogether, must be prepared for neglect, and not complain if the general suffrage does not reward his real merits. We have spoken of the baldness which sometimes characterizes our author's language, In aiming at a Doric simplicity of style, he becomes at times so flat and prosaic, that the testimony of the eye is required, to know that what we are reading is metrical. This remark, however, applies chiefly, if not exclusively, to his blank verse. We think that one of the greatest services which he has rendered to literature, is his successful attempt to banish that gaudy, meretricious style; those conventional phrases and hack-ideas, grand thoughts, and eminently poetical lines. neyed figures, which many worthy people deem indispensable to poetry, nay, even regard as constituting its principal charm. The poet has written several essays in vindication of his system, and, although we by no means concur with him in all his notions, which are, besides, not expressed in a very lucid manner, we think there can be no doubt of the merit of the reform to which we have just alluded. Justly discarding the mere tinsel of language, together with those ready made phrases, which serve the mere mechanical poet, like printed formula, he has resorted to the native strength and simplicity of the English tongue for plain words, which clothe his noblest thoughts in a phraseology at once elegant, appropriate and forcible. The genius of Wordsworth is eminently lyrical. There is a spirit, a harmony, a movement in his productions of this form which, by turns, soothes and arouses the soul. Indeed, there is no poet who seems to have a more exquisite ear for the musical qualities of language, which he selects and combines for his varied purposes, with an instinctive sense of melody and harmony truly admirable. As an example, we will but cite one passage, which all will admit to be enchanting for its musicbreathing mellifluence. "Behold her single in the field Until we read the sonnets of Wordsworth, it was our opinion, that this was not a form of poetry suited to the genius of our language. We thought it did not supply a sufficient number of similar terminations; that it did not admit of a sufficient variety of inflexions, for the purposes of this difficult form of versification. Milton, indeed, has some glorious sonnets—but, with all their merits, they are rough and irregular. They have been nobly redeemed from oblivion by a few happy But they are not wrought with the fine polish and artist-like finish which become the sonnet. They are certainly the better on that account, if such care would have sacrificed their bolder beauties. Shakspeare and other English poets have written sonnets; but with all their unquestioned beauties, they have never become popular, and their merits are independent, if not in despite, of the form in which they are composed. The sonnets of Wordsworth, and he has written many, are perfect gems; though this word, as implying mere brilliancy and polish, does not give an adequate idea of their merits. Within the narrow compass of this miniature outline, the wings of his imagination have full sweep; the soarings of his spirit, ample career. Perhaps the greatest proof which he has given of his genius, is the uniform and high excellence which he has displayed in this most cramping and difficult form of composition. Nowhere, in the English, or any other, language, does the same amount of poetry furnish us so many striking thoughts and beautiful passages, which catch the ear, and take possession of the soul, and are repeated by day and by night, until they become as popular as proverbs, as familiar as household words; yet without losing their unfading charm and perennial freshness. Indeed, we have been frequently not a little amused, yet somewhat indignant, at hearing professed scoffers at Wordsworth, quoting shining passages, like those to which we have alluded, without being aware of the source whence they came. Can there be a greater proof of merit, than this involuntary | virtue and of piety. Listen, if you can, to these beauhomage, extorted from the mouth of proclaimed scep- tiful lines, without being solemnly impressed with the tics? In reference to this aptitude for quotation, some loveliness, the majesty, the divinity of nature. one has pithily observed, that Wordsworth should have written nothing but epigraphs. How often are the following happy descriptions of the ultra-radical creed cited by persons, who are unconscious of their author? But to return to the sonnets. The poet himself has happily expressed the difficulties which they involve, as well as the reason why they have been such a favorite receptacle for his noblest thoughts. "Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room; With what felicity and truth a moral lesson is naturally educed from the thought illustrated in these beautiful lines! How precious is that divine alchemy, which enables the poet to turn everything into gold, and empowers him, like the melancholy Jacques, to find Tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Indeed, one of the chief merits of Wordsworth consists in the fine vein of philosophy which runs through all his writings. His beauties are not merely external. There is always more than meets the ear; or, at least, a "faint undertone," which addresses itself to the listening spirit. He seems to exercise his high calling with trembling awe, and a religious sense of the high responsibility which devolves upon him, to whom has been given, "the art and the faculty divine." He speaks with the voice of a sage, and employs the charm of poetry for the purpose of inculcating serious truths, and recommending the humblest as well as the highest duties of man. He is a high-priest of the nine, and seems ever actuated by the spirit of the ancient days, when The sacred name Of poet, and of prophet, was the same. He is a utilitarian in the best and highest sense of the word. He has not cultivated letters, as the means of fortune or of worldly renown. To him, poetry has been, like religion, "its own exceeding great reward." He has made the muse emphatically the handmaid of "It is a beauteous evening, calm and free; Again [Miscell. Sonnets, No. 32, p. 99. "The stars are mansions built by nature's hand; [Miscell. Sonnets, Part 4, No. 8. p. 102. Such is this man's idolatry of nature—such his spiritual conception of all things, that were he not a christian, he would be a pantheist, a worshipper of the Anima Mundi, as he is already, in sentiment at least, a Platonist. He might almost exclaim in the beautiful language of Virgil: Principio cœlum, ac terras, camposque liquentes, Yet is he not dead to the beauties and grandeur of Art, though spiritually alive to the charms and majesty of Nature. Witness the following sonnet composed upon Westminster Bridge: a "Earth has not anything to show more fair: [Miscell. Son. Part 2. No. 26. p. 104. And yet there are those who say that this man is not poet! Eyes have they and they do not see; ears have they and they do not hear. The taste of the age has the exaggerated, it preferred to those severer charms been false. The gaudy, the meretricious, the violent, and milder beauties which are revealed only to the pure in spirit. It is not every one who is admitted behind the veil; who is allowed to approach the sanctuary with uncovered eyes. There is a profound remark of the great Archæologist Winkelman, that in art as in literature, there are three epochs which are always traversed in recurring cycles: the rude, the perfect, and the exaggerated; of which the last, which has been that of our age, is the worst. "We are of the lower empire," exclaimed Byron, with a truth, which it is to cal than national, and were generally undertaken to be regretted, had so little influence upon his own lofty genius. We prefer the artificial theatre to this fair world, which God made and declared that it was good. The painted face of the meretricious actress is more beautiful in our sight, than the roseate hue which blooms upon the cheek of innocence and virtue. We cramp and crib ourselves within the narrow mansions which are the works of our own hands, when we might step forth in the majesty of nature, gratify the pride, to glut the revenge, or augment the territory of monarchs. Kings, ministers, fleets and armies, excited, directed, and carried on these contests. With them the people had little to do. Nothing seemed to awaken a general interest in the civilized world, or to give a popular or universal character to political passions. At length the foundations of society began to heave and all Europe trembled as with an earthquake, whose volcanic elements found vent in the French revolution, preceded, however, by the humbler, yet not less important, one of America, which had been conBut we rejoice in the confidence that we see indications ducted with a prudence, a moderation and success, of a purer taste, a chaster appetite; of which no most encouraging to the cause of political reform. Men stronger proof can be furnished than the increasing ad-gazed upon the spectacle with trembling awe, yet sanmiration of Wordsworth. The true creed, the high instincts; the soaring aspirations, the "superstitions of the heart," of the genuine poet, are they not all to be found in the following beautiful and philosophical sonnet-the last we shall present, before proceeding to those of a political character ? "Our footstool, earth-our canopy, the skies." "The world is too much with us; late and soon, We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! [Miscell. Son. Part 35. p. 99. guine anticipations. The young and ardent, especially, gave up their souls to unbounded hope, and scarcely listened with patience to the whispered warnings of the experienced and the sage. Alas! the sun which had risen with such beaming splendor upon the moral universe, was destined to undergo a dark and bloody eclipse. The philosophers and philanthropists, who had given the first impulse to the movement, were soon rudely pushed aside by unprincipled demagogues and sanguinary fanatics, who turned their fair land into a vast slaughter-house; one revolting scene of hideous saturnalia. To be deemed a patriot, a man had but to blaspheme God, to violate the laws of nature, to outrage humanity, to disregard all ties, to repudiate every principle; in fine, to vulgarize, to barbarize, and to brutalize himself. In the eloquent language of Burke, it seemed to be "the conspiracy of a whole nation, to exterminate, from the face of the earth, the very idea of a gentleman." A people, the most polished and humane upon earth, became suddenly, by a horrid transformation, the coarsest, the vilest, the most ferocious. They impiously essayed to dethrone God the Creator; they attempted to exterminate the Christian religion; they deified a strumpet in the streets of Paris; they abolished the marriage tie; they scoffed at modesty, chastity and virtue, as well as piety; they respected neither property nor personal rights; they involved their country in universal bankruptcy, with its Of Wordsworth's political opinions, we know little but what can be gathered from his writings, which, however, furnish strong internal evidence of the sentitiments of his youth and the convictions of his age. We prefer, indeed, to derive our knowledge of the opinions of a great man from his works, which have the sanction of his deliberate approval, and present himself as the exponent of his creed. He seems, like Southey and Coleridge, to have been an early en-hideous train of crime, injustice, and misery. Never thusiast in the cause of liberty, and like them, to have had the world witnessed so appalling a spectacle. The pushed his opinions to a degree of speculative boldness, mind revolts, the heart sickens at the dire recollection. in harmony with the ardor of the poetical temperament. Is it matter of surprise then that disappointed enthuHe witnessed the opening of that awful drama, the siasts, men of delicate feelings and conscientious scruFrench Revolution, and seems to have hailed it as the ples, should have been driven by horror and disgust, to advent of a political Millennium. His eager spirit, repudiate doctrines which seemed to have engendered teeming with love of the beautiful and yearning for the so infernal a progeny? Is it to be wondered at, if they good and the right, saw in it the dawning of a new gave all their talents to the powers that be, in their era, under the guidance of the genius of Universal effort to repel the sanguinary inundation of such inEmancipation. The human mind seemed to be prepared famous principles and still more revolting deeds? How for great events. It had been slowly awaking from the many of us, we ask, would have found our political slumbrous apathy in which, for ages, it had lain. The principles able to stand so formidable a test-to go period of the great Protestant Reformation, and of the through so fiery an ordeal? But the great mistake is wars which succeeded it, had been an epoch of popular to ascribe these effects to liberty, which are attributable enthusiasm, as had been that of the Crusades. When only to the corrupting influence of pre-existing tyranny. the spirit of religious ardor expired in the breasts of We repel the foul accusation, that freedom is responthe people, they seemed to sink into a state of political sible for such consequences, which we charge without indifference. The strifes of nations became mere con- scruple to the debasing and depraving spirit of despotests between governments, for personal or material tism, which had rendered its emancipated slaves unfit interests, in which the people at large were merely the for those blessings to which man is as much entitled as instruments and the victims. Wars were rather politi-to the air he breathes. We will not palliate these |