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The anchor of his purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of his heart, and soul
Of all his moral being.

And his resolution 'never to submit' to vain repining, is finely seen in the lines which follow these

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In another of his poems, the fourth book of The Excursion, he declares that

If the time must come, in which his feet
No more shall stray where meditation leads,
By flowing stream, through wood, or craggy wild,
the unprison'd mind

May yet have scope to range among her own,
Her thoughts, her images, her high desires:

and if the dear faculty of sight should fail,' he consoles himself by observing that he will still be able

To remember,

What visionary powers of eye and soul
In youth were his; when stationed on the top
Of some huge hill-expectant, he beheld
The sun rise up, from distant climes return'd
Darkness to chase, and sleep, and bring the day,
His bounteous gift! or saw him toward the deep
Sink-with a retinue of flaming clouds


And although the fervent raptures' of those young days of sensibility are for ever flown,' 'and,' he continues,

Since their date my soul hath undergone

Change manifold, for better or for worse:
Yet cease I not to struggle and aspire

Heavenward; and chide the part of me that flags,
Through sinful choice, or dread necessity.

Since those soul-animating strains' were hushed, in which Milton bade us ''bate not a jot of heart or hope, but move right onward,' never has the moral or courageous cheerfulness been so nobly inculcated. Moreover, in that sublime Ode in which he teaches us that though our bodies live in time, our souls dwell ever in eternity, whose attribute for all that it contains is immortality, he indulges for a moment in a passionate regret for the departed light that lay about us in our infancy,' and then rises to his wonted strength of thankful satisfaction

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O joy! that in our embers
Is something yet doth live,
That nature still remembers
What was so fugitive!

And having lodged among the eternal truths of his life the knowledge which these 'high instincts' bore about them, he exclaims,

What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight;

Though nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendour in the grass or glory in the flower,

He can still find abundant blessing in what is left;

In the primal sympathy

Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;

In the faith that looks through death,-
In years that bring the philosophic mind.

The appreciant patience of his thoughtful heart discerning, that if the vision splendid' of heaven-remembered glory has faded into common light, Earth fills her

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lap' with instructions as well as 'pleasures of her own,' and that

Another race hath been and other palms are won,

If you will compare the last stanza of an ode of Wordsworth having for its motto an extract from the ballad of Sir Patrick Spence, with the sixth paragraph of an ode of Coleridge, bearing the same motto, you will see how much more dignified and just and valuable than the unprofitable and false dejection of the more metaphysical bard is the temper in which the other, while he sees that time has suspended what nature gave him at his birth,' evokes as ministers of comfort those other faculties which life and the world evolve, and which are the offspring of the human heart by which we live,'—

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Where joys are perfect, neither wax nor wane.

The same loftiness of spirit which will not be fretted ⚫ and cannot be ennuyé, but 'makes the happiness it does not find,' is visible in the dignity which he gives to common things. Byron delights in nothing but the exquisite and faultless; but surely it is a coarser sensibility which is only moved by some image of perfection than that which can be satisfied with the small degree of beauty which the actual and the ordinary presents. And in this we gain a view of that disposition and faculty which give to Wordsworth a loftier rank as man and moralist than any praise of poetry implies. Knowing that the world around us and all that it contains is the highest work of heaven's great King, and is declared, by him to be good and perfect, he has seen that the truest excellence of grace and loveliness must be found in the daily realities that encompass us, and we may conceive that he has aimed to find in nature and in life that same satisfaction and approval which the incarnate eye of the Mightiest and Most Pure beheld in what he


The marks of deep and comprehensive thought that in Mr. Wordsworth's higher poems declare him to be a philosophic reasoner of the highest order, declare that in those smaller pieces which have been called puerile or infantile we must search for some profounder purpose than has yet appeared. Accordingly, it has appeared to me that proceeding on the notion I have indicated, his object in that class of his poems has been to show what man might feel, or ought to feel, or what Deity intended that he should feel, rather than to declare that such feelings are the self-selected emotions of his own natural temper,-to show that in the flight of butterflies, the opening of a celandine, the trials of a shepherd and the walk of a beggar, there is enough to gratify a healthy sense of the beautiful, to fill the demands of a proper interest, and to move the sensibilities of a correct heart; and who that remembers that these are the scenes which the Infinite created for perfect and contemplates for pleasing, and of these was the discourse of Christ, will deny that his is the true system of taste? -Those poets who only speak of Africa and golden joys,' and those moralists who feed the expectant hopes of struggling goodness with pictures of gorgeous splendour and exciting incidents in Paradise, err alike in truth of perception and in wisdom of policy, and encourage views that are both devious and discontented. As the faculties of man grow more exalted and purified, he finds higher gladness in tamer things; and it is plain that the promised joy which the righteous will attain will be accomplished not by elevating in degree the objects of pleasure, but by refining in kind the sensibilities of the observer. The punishment of Adam lay less in any actual change of the home of his days than in that blunting of his susceptibilities by sin, which made what once seemed paradise appear a sterile world; and conscience is the sworded cherub which keeps him from the joy he once tasted. Thus it seems that Mr. Wordsworth's theories are supported by his theology, and that we must accept his æsthetics until we can confute his creed."


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While Fancy, like the finger of a clock,
Runs the great circle, and is still at home.


Here will I lie in this green, silent spot,
Tiara'd by these lone and lofty hills,

And draw from nothingness the myriad shapes
It holds in unseen bands,-like wreaths of clouds
Slowly unbosom'd from the viewless air.

I will make golden shapes of shadows,-tower
And temple turreted in air,-and men

In myriads,-sights firm in their fleetingness,-
Firm to the feeling, fleeting to the eye.



WHEN we reached the village of M- , my companions left me, to pursue the route which led to their destination, and which was more westerly than my own. I had possessed Seward of all the information which related to the business I was wishing to have investigated, and I entertained very sanguine expectations of the successful result of his undertaking. interest which he manifested in the affair, and the earnestness which he brought to bear upon the enterprise convinced me that I had not misplaced the confidence which I had reposed in his friendship, nor mistaken the vigour of the character I had trusted to. The world is apt to err in the notion which it forms of the energy and depth of nature of those whose social profession is levity and jest. Versatility of attention and caprice of power lead to the impression that the same qualities characterise the feelings and the will; whereas

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