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 recitative immediately preceding.* Even in real life, the difference 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 concen tred 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 o mind and person that are understood at first sight. He took the ecclesias tical 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 disdaine] attractive worldly alliances.-S. C.]

"And one, the rarest, was a shell,

Which he, poor child, had studied well:
The shell of a green turtle, thin

And hollow;-you might sit therein,
It was so wide, and deep."

"Our Highland Boy oft visited

The house which held this prize; and, led
By choice or chance, did thither come

One day, when no one was at home,

And found the door unbarred."*

* [Mr. Wordsworth has interposed three new stanzas between the first and second of the quotations, and has altered the first thus:

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 thre1. Strong is the current; but be mild, Ye waves, and spare the helpless child! If ye in anger fret or chafe,

A bee-hive would be ship as safe
As that in which he sails.

But say what was it? Thought of fear!
Well may ye tremble when ye hear!

A Household Tub, like one of those
Which women use to wash their clothes.
This carried the blind Boy.

Close to the water he had found

This vessel, pushed it from dry ground,
Went into it; and without dread,

Following the fancies in his head,

He paddled up and down.

Vol. ii. pp. 72-3, edit. 1807.

There are some lovers of poetry, and Mr. Wordsworth's especially, whe can not 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 advantage of the real incident they think, is that, as being more simple and seeming natural, and capable of being quickly told, it detains the mind but a little while from the main subject of interest: while the other is so pecu liar that it claims a good deal of separate attention. The new stanzas are beautiful, but being more ornate than the rest of the poems, they look

rather like a piece of decorated architecture introduced into a building in an earlier and simpler style. Such are the whims of certain crazy lovers of the Wordsworthian Muse, who are so loyal to her former self that they sometimes forget the deference due to her at present.-S. C.]

*

[P. W. i. p. 186. Mr. Wordsworth has altered some lines in the fifth stanza of this deeply affecting poem, thus:

'Tis gone-like dreams that we forget
There was a smile or two-yet—yet
I can remember them, I see, &c.

Smiles hast thou, bright ones of thy own;
I can not keep thee in my arms;
For they confound me;-where-where is
That last, that sweetest smile of his ?
After

[P. W. ii. p. 29.

"Joy and jollity be with us both!"

the poem now ends thus:

Alas! my journey, rugged and uneven,

Through prickly moors or dusty ways must wind;
But hearing thee, or others of thy kind,

As full of gladness and as free of heaven,

I, with my fate contented, will plod on,

S. C.]

And hope for higher raptures, when Life's day is done. S. C.]

Joy and jollity be with us both!
Hearing thee or else some other,
As merry a brother

I on the earth will go plodding on

By myself cheerfully till the day is done."

The incongruity, which I appear to find in this passage, is that of the two noble lines in italics with the preceding and following. So vol. ii. page 30.*

"Close by a Pond, upon the further side,
He stood alone; a minute's space, I guess,

I watch'd him, he continuing motionless :
To the Pool's further margin then I drew;

He being all the while before me full in view."+

Compare this with the repetition of the same image, in the next stanza but two.

Or lastly, the second of the three following stanzas, compared both with the first and the third.

* [P. W. i. p. 117. The poem is entitled Resolution and Independence, and is sometimes spoken of as The Leech-gatherer.]

+ [Mr. Wordsworth has now done away the original ixth stanza to which these five lines belonged, and concludes the viiith thus:

Beside a pool bare to the eye of heaven

I saw a Man before me unawares:

The oldest man he seemed that ever wore gray hairs.

instead of:

And I with these untoward thoughts had striven,
I saw a Man, &c.

some regret the old conclusion of stanza xiv.

“He answered me with pleasure and surprise;
And there was, while he spake, a fire about his eyes.”

which now stands thus:

"Ere he replied, a flash of mild surprise

Broke from the sable or bs of his yet vivid eyes."-S C.]

"My former thoughts returned; the fear that kills
And hope that is unwilling to be fed;

Cold, pain, and labor, and all fleshly ills;

And mighty Poets in their misery dead.

But now, perplex'd by what the Old Man had said
My question eagerly did I renew,

'How is it that you live, and what is it you do?

He with a smile did then his words repeat;
And said, that, gathering Leeches, far and wide
He travelled; stirring thus about his feet
The waters of the Ponds where they abide.
'Once I could meet with them on every side;
But they have dwindled long by slow decay;
Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may.'
While he was talking thus, the lonely place,

The Old Man's shape, and speech, all troubled me:
In my mind's eye I seemed to see him pace
About the weary moors continually,
Wandering about alone and silently.”

Indeed this fine poem is especially characteristic of the author There is scarce a defect or excellence in his writings of which it would not present a specimen. But it would be unjust not to repeat that this defect is only occasional. From a careful re-perusal of the two volumes of poems, I doubt whether the objectionable passages would amount in the whole to one hundred lines; not the eighth part of the number of pages. In THE EXCURSION the feeling of incongruity is seldom excited by the diction of any passage considered in itself, but by the sudden superiority of some other passage forming the context.

The second defect I can generalize with tolerable accuracy, if the reader will pardon an uncouth and new coined word. There is, I should say, not seldom a matter-of-factness in certain poems. This may be divided into, first, a laborious minuteness and fidelity in the representation of objects, and their positions, as they appeared to the poet himself; secondly, the insertion of accidental circumstances, in order to the full explanation of his living characters, their dispositions and actions; which circumstances might be necessary to establish the probability of a statement in real life, where nothing is taken for granted by the hearer; but appear superfluous in poetry, where the reader is willing to believe for his own sake. To this accidentality I object, as contravening the essence of poetry, which Aristotle pro