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And the blue sky, and in the mind of mind : of our past being the symbols and assurances A motion and a spirit, that impels

of our immortal destiny! The poet has here All thinking things, all objects of all thought,

spanned our mortal life as with a glorious And rolls through all things."

rainbow, terminating on one side in infancy, There are none of the workings of our and on the other in the realms of blessedness poet's imaginative faculty more wonderful beyond the grave, and shedding even upon in themselves, or more productive of high the middle of that course tints of unearthly thoughts and intense sympathies, than those colouring. The following is the view he has which have for their objects the grand ab- given of the fading glory of childhood-drawn stractions of humanity-Life and Death, Child- in part from Oriental fiction, but imbodying hood and Old Age. Every period of our being the profoundest of elemental truths :is to him not only filled with its own peculiar endearments and joys, but dignified by its own

"Our birth is but a sleep, and a forgetting : sanctities. The common forms of life assume

The soul that rises with us, our life's star,

Hath elsewhere known its setting, a new venerableness when he touches them

And cometh from afar; for he makes us feel them in their connection

Not in entire forgetfulness, with our immortality—even as the uncouth

And not in ulter nakedness, vessels of the Jewish law appeared sublime to But trailing clouds of glory do we come those who felt that they were dedicated to the

From God that is our home; immediate service of Heaven. He ever leaves

Heaven lies about us in our infancy! us conscious that the existence on whose be

Shades of the prison-house begin to close

Upon the growing Boy, gioning he expatiates, will endure for ever.

But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, He traces out those of its fibres which are

He sees it in his joy ; eternal in their essence. He discovers in The Youth that daily farther from the east every part of our earthly course manifold Must travel still is Nature's priest, intimations that these our human hearts will

And by the vision splendid never die. Childhood is, to him, not only the

Is on his way attended;

At length the man perceives it die away, season of novelty, of innocence, of joyous

And fade into the light of common day!" spirits, and of mounting hope—but of a dreamlike glory which assures to us that this world But the following is the noblest passage of is not our final home. Age to him, is not a the whole; and such an outpouring of thought descent into a dark valley, but a “final emi- and feeling-such a piece of inspired philosonence,” where the wise may sit “in awful phy—we do not believe exists elsewhere in sovereignty” as on a high peak among the human language:mountains in placid summer, and commune

"O joy! that in our emberg with Heaven, undisturbed by the lesser noises

Is something that doth live, of the tumultuous world. One season of life

That nature yet remembers is bound to another by “the natural piety”

What was fugitive! which the unchanging forms of nature pre The thought of our past years in me doth breed serve, and death comes at last over the deep Perpetual benedictions : not indeed and tranquil stream as it is about to emerge

For that which is most worthy to be blest; into a lovelier sunshine, as “a shadow thrown

Delight and liberty, the simple creed

Of Childhood, whether fluttering or at rest, softly and lightly from a passing cloud.”

With new-born hope for ever in his breast :The Ode in which Wordsworth particularly

Not for these I raise developes the intimations of immortality to be

The song of thanks and praise ; found in the recollections of early childhood,

But for those obstinate questionings is, to our feelings, the poblest piece of lyric

Of sense and outward things, poetry in the world. It was the first poem of

Fallings from us, vanishings ; its author which we read, and never shall we

Blank misgivings of a Creature

Moving about in worlds not realiz'd, forget the sensations which it excited within

High instincts, before which our mortal Nature us. We had heard the cold sneers attached Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised; to his name-we had glanced over criticisms,

Biit for those first affections, “ lighter than vanity," which represented him

Those shadowy recollections, as an object for scorn "to point its slow un.

Which, be they what they may, moving finger at”-and here-in the works

Are yet the fountain light of all our day, of this derided poet-we found a new vein of

Are yet a master light of all our seeing;

Uphold us, cherish us, and make imaginative sentiment opened to us-sacred

Our noisy years seem moments in the being recollections brought back on our hearts with Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, all the freshness of novelty, and all the vene

To perish never ; rableness of far-off time-the most mysterious

Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, of old sensations traced to a celestial origin

Nor Man nor Boy, and the shadows cast over the opening of life

Nor all that is at enmity with joy,

Can utterly abolish or destroy! from the realities of eternity renewed before

Hence, in a season of calm weather, us with a sense of their supernal causes!

Though inland far we be, What a gift did we then inherit! To have Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea the best and most imperishable of intellectual

Which brought us bither, treasures—the mighty world of reminiscences

Cin in a moment travel thither, of the days of infancy-set before us in a new

And see the Children sport upon the shore, and holier light; to find objects of deepest

And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore." veneration where we had only been accustom After this rapturous flight, the author thus ed to love; to feel in all the touching mysteries leaves to repose on the quiet lap of humanity,

and soothes us with a strain of such mingled " Three years she grew in sun and shower, solemnity and tenderness, as “might make Then Nature said, a lovelier flower

On earth was never sown; angels weep."

This child I to myself will take,
“What though the radiance which was once so bright, She shall be mine, and I will make
Be now for ever taken from my sight,

A lady of my own!
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower ;

Myself will to the darling be
We will grieve not, rather find

Both law and impulse : and with me
Strength in what remains behind,

The girl, in rock and plain,
In the primal sympathy

In earth and beaven, in glade and bower,
Which having been, must ever be,

Shall feel an overseeing power,
In the soothing thoughts that spring

To kindle or restrain.
Out of human suffering,
In the faith that looks through death,

She shall be sportive as the fawn,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.

That wild with glee across the lawn

Or up the mountain springs ; And oh ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,

And her's shall be the breathing balm, Think not of any severing of our loves!

And her's the silence and the calm Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;

of mute insensate things. I only have relinquish'd one delight

The floating clouds their state shall lend To live beneath your more habitual sway.

To her; for her the willow bend; I love the Brooks which down their channels fret,

Nor shall she fail to see Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as they ;

Even in the motions of the storm
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day

Grace that shall mould the maiden's form
Is lovely yet ;
The Clouds that gather round the setting sun

By silent sympathy.
Do take a sober colouring from an eye

The stars of midnight shall be dear That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;

To her; and she shall lean on air Another race hath been, and other palms are won.

In many a secret place Thanks to the human heart by which we live,

Where rivulets dance their wayward round, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,

And beauty, born of murmuring sound, To me the meanest flower that blows can give

Shall pass into her face !" Thoughts that do often lie too deep for lears."

But we must break off to give a passage in The genius of the poet, which thus dignifies a bolder and most passionate strain, which and consecrates the abstractions of our nature, represents the effect of the tropical grandeur is scarcely less felicitous in its pictures of and voluptuousness of nature on a wild and society at large, and in its philosophical de fiery spirit-at once awakening and half-relineations of the characters and fortunes of deeming its irregular desires. It is from the individual man. Seen through the holy me poem of “Ruth,”—a piece where the most dium of his imagination, all things appear profound of human affections is disclosed “ bright and solemn and serene”—the asperi- amidst the richest imagery, and incidents of ties of our earthly condition are softened away wild romance are told with a Grecian purity -and the most gentle and evanescent of its of expression. The impulses of a beautiful hues gleam and tremble over it. He delights and daring youth are thus represented as into trace out those ties of sympathy by which spired by Indian scenery: the meanest of beings are connected with the general heart. He touches the delicate strings “ The wind, the tempest roaring high,

The tumult of a tropic sky, by which the great family of man are bound

Might well be dangerous food, together, and thence draws forth sounds of

For him, a youth to whom was given choicest music. He makes us partake of

So much of earth, so much of heaven, those joys which are “ spread through the

And such impetuous blood. earth to be caught in stray gifts by whoever will find” them-discloses the hidden wealth Whatever in those climes he found of the soul-finds beauty everywhere, and

Irregular in sight or sound,

Did to his mind impart “good in every thing." He draws character

A kindred impulse, seem'd allied with the softest pencil, and shades it with the

To his own powers, and justified pensive tints of gentlest thought. The pas The workings of his heart. ioral of The Brothers—the story of Michael and the histories in the Excursion which the Nor less to feed voluptuous thought, priest gives while standing among the rustic

The beauteous forms of Nature wrought

Fair trees and lovely flowers ; graves of the church-yard, among the moun

The breezes their own languor lent; tains, are full of exquisite portraits, touched

The stars bad feelings which they sent and softened by a divine imagination which Into those gorgeous bowers. human love inspires. He rejoices also to exhibit that holy process by which the influ Yet in bis worst pursuits, I ween ences of creation are shed abroad in the heart,

That sometimes there did intervene to excite, to mould, or to soften. We select

Pure hopes of high intent;

For passions link'd to forms as fair the following stanzas from many passages of

And stately, needs must have their share this kind of equal beauty, because in the

Of noble sentiment." fantasy of nature's making “a lady of her own," the object of the poet is necessarily We can do little more than enumerate those developed with more singleness than where pieces of narrative and character, which we reference is incidentally made to the effect esteem the best in their kind of our author's of scenery on the mind:

works. The old Cumberland Beggar is one

of those which linger most tenderly on our sagest antiquarian might muse over in vain, memories. The poet here takes almost the and his name engraven in a wreath or posy lowliest of his species—an aged mendicant, around three bells with which he had endowed one of the last of that class who made regular the spire. “80,” exclaims the poet, in strains circuits amidst the cottages of the north—and as touching and majestic as ever were breathed after a vivid picture of his frame bent with over the transitory grandeur of earthyears, of his slow motion and decayed senses,

“ So fails, so languishes, grows dim and dies, he asserts them not divorced from good

All that this world is proud of. From their spheres traces out the links which bind him to his

The stars of human glory are cast down; fellows—and shows the benefit which even

Perish the roses, and the flowers of kings, he can diffuse in his rounds, while he serves Princes and emperors, and the crowns and palms as a record to bind together past deeds and of all the mighty, withered, and consumed.” offices of charity-compels to acts of love by

In the Excursion, too, is the exquisite tale “the mild necessity of use” those whose of poor Ellen-a seduced and forsaken girlhearts would otherwise harden-gives to the from which we will give one affecting inciyoung “ the first mild touch of sympathy and dent, scarcely to be matched, for truth and thought, in which they find their kindred with

beauty, through the many sentimental poems a world where want and sorrow are”—and and tales which have been founded on a simienables even the poor to taste the joy of be

lar wo: stowing. This last blessing is thus set forth and illustrated by a precious example of self "-Beside the cottage in which Ellen dwelt denying goodness and cheerful hope, which Stands a tall ash tree; to whose lopmost twig is at once more tear-moving and more sublime

A thrush resorts, and annually chants,

Al morn and evening from that naked perch, than the finest things in Cowper:

While all the undergrove is thick with leaves,

A tine-beguiling ditty, for delight “ Man is dear to man; the poorest poor

Of his fond partner, silent in the nest. Long for some moments in a weary life

- Ay why,' said Ellen, sighing to herself, When they can know and feel that they have been,

Why do not words, and kiss, and solemn pledge ; Themselves, the fathers and the dealers out

And nature that is kind in Woman's breast, Of some small blessings; have been kind to such

And reason that in Man is wise and good, As needed kindness, for this single cause,

And fear of Him who is a righteous Judge, That we have all of us one human heart.

Why do not these prevail for human life, -Such pleasure is to one kind being known,

To keep two hearts together, that began My neighbour, when with punctual care, each week

Their spring-time with one love, and that have need Duly as Friday cornes, though prest herself

Of mutual pity and forgiveness, sweet With her own wants, she from her chest of meal

To grant, or be received, while that poor bird, Takes one unsparing handful for the scrip

- come and hear him! Thou who hast to me of this old mendicant, and, from her door

Been faithless, hear bim, though a lowly creature, Returning with invigorated heart,

One of God's simple children that yet know not Sits by her fire, and builds her hope in Heaven.” The universal Parent, how he sings

As if he wished the firmament of Heaven Then, in the Excursion, there is the story of Should listen, and give back to him the voice the Ruined Cottage, with its admirable grada Of his, triumphant constancy and love; tions, more painful than the pathetic narratives The proclamation that he makes, how far of its author usually are, yet not without re His darkness doth transcend our fickle light! deeming traits of sweetness, and a reconciling “ Such was the tender passage, not by me spirit which takes away its sting. There, too, Repeated without loss of simple phrase, is the intense history of the Solitary's sorrows Which I perused, even as the words had been -there the story of the Hanorerian and the Committed by forsaken Ellen's hand Jacobite, who learned to snatch a sympathy

To the blank margin of a Valentine, from their bitler disputings, grew old in con

"Bedropped with tears." troversy and in friendship, and were buried side by side—there the picture of Oswald, the fated love, we may contrast the following rich

With these tear-moving expressions of illgifted and generous and graceful hero of the picture of the affection in its early bloom, from mountain solitude, who was cut off in the the tale of Vandracour and Julia, which will blossom of his youth—there the record of that show how delightedly the poet might have lin. pleasurable sage, whose house Death, after gered in the luxuries of amatory song, had he forty years of forbearance, visited with throng- not chosen rather to brood over the whole ing summonses, and took off his family one world of sentiment and passion :after the other, “ with intervals of peace," till he too, with cheerful thoughts about him, was “Arabian fiction never filled the world “overcome by unexpected sleep in one blest With half the wonders that were wrought for him. moment," and as he lay on the “warm lap of

Earth breathed in one great presence of the spring;

Life turned the meanest of her implements his mother earth,” “gathered to his fathers.”

Before his eyes to price above all gold; There are those fine vestiges, and yet finer

The house she dwelt in was a sainted shrine ; traditions and conjectures, of the good knight Her chamber window did surpass in glory Sir Alfred Irthing, the “mild-hearted cham The portal of the dawn; all paradise pion” who had retired in Elizabeth's days to Could, by the simple opening of a door, a retreat among the hills, and had drawn

Let itself in upon him; pathways, walks, around him a kindred and a family. Of him

Swarmed with enchantment, till his spirit sank,

Surcharged, within him, overblest to move nothing remained but a gentle fame in the

Beneath a sun that walks a weary world hearts of the villagers, an uncouth monumental To its dull round of ordinary cares; stone grafted on the church-walls, which the A man too happy for mortality.”

Perhaps the highest instance of Words- | pher as well as of a poet. He reviews them worth's imaginative faculty, exerted in a tale with emotions equally remote from pedantry of human fortunes, is to be found in “The and from intolerance-regarding not only the White Doe of Rylstone.” He has here suc- grace and the loveliness of their forms, but ceeded in two distinct efforts, the results of their symbolical meaning-tracing them to which are yet in entire harmony. He has their elements in the human soul, and bringing shown the gentle spirit of a high-born maiden before us the eldest wisdom which was imgathering strength and purity from sorrow, bodied in their shapes, and speedily forgotten and finally, after the destruction of her family, by their worshippers. Thus, among “the paland amids the ru of her paternal domains, pable array of sense,” does he discover hints consecrated by suffering. He has also here, of immorial life-thus does he transport us by the introduction of that lovely wonder, the back more than twenty centuries—and enable favourite doe of his heroine, ai once linked us to enter into the most mysterious and farthe period of his narrative to that of its events, reaching hopes of a Grecian votary :and softened down the saddest catastrophe and

u Spirit hung, the most exquisite of mortal agonies. A gal

Beautiful region! o'er thy Towns and Farms, lant chieftain, one of the goodliest pillars of

Statues, and Temples, and memorial Tombs ; the olden time, falls, with eight of his sons,

And emanations were perceived, and acts in a hopeless contest for the religion to which Of immortality, in Nature's course, they were devoted—the ninth, who followed Exemplified by mysteries, that were selt them unarmed, is slain while he strives to As bonds, on grave Philosopher imposed bear away, for their sake, the banner which

And armed Warrior ; and in every grove, he had abjured—the sole survivor, a helpless

A gay or pensive tenderness prevailid

When piety more awful had relaxed. woman, is left to wander desolate about the

"Take, running River, take these locks of mine,' silent halls and tangled glades, once witnesses

Thus would the votary say,--this sever'd hair, of her joyous infancy-and yet all this variety My vow fulfilling, do I here present, of grief is rendered mild and soothing by the Thankful for my beloved child's return. influences of the imagination of the poet. The Thy banks, Cephisus, he again hath trod, doe, which first with its quiet sympathy excited

Thy murmurs heard ; and drunk the crystal lymph relieving tears in its forsaken mistress, which

With which thou dost refresh the thirsty lip,

And moisten all day long these flowery fields.' followed her, a gentle companion, through all

And doubtless, sometimes, when the hair was shed her mortal wanderings, and which years after Upon the flowing stream, a thought arose made Sabbath visits to her grave, is, like the Of life continuous, Being unimpair'd spirit of nature, personified to heal, to bless, That hath been, is, and where it was and is and to elevate. All who have read the poem There shall be,-seen, and heard, and felt, and known, aright, will feel prepared for that apotheosis

And recognised,-existence unexposed

To the blind walk of mortal accident; which the poet has reserved for this radiant

From diminution free, and weakening age, being, and will recognise the imaginative truth

While man grows old, and dwindles and decays; of that bold figure, by which the decaying

And countless generations of mankind towers of Bolton are made to smile upon its Depart: and leave no vestige where they trod." form, and to attest its unearthly relations :

We must now bring this long article to a “There doth the gentle creature lie

close-and yet how small a portion of our adWith these adversities unmoved; Calm spectacle, by earth and sky

thor's beauties have we even hinted! We In their benignity approved !

have passed over the clear majesty of the And ay, methinks, this hoary pile,

poem of " Hart Leap Well”—the lyrical granSubdued by outrage and decay,

deur of the Feast of Brougham Castle—the Looks down upon her with a smile,

masculine energy and delicate grace of the A gracious smile, that seems to say,

Sonnets which, with the exception perhaps of 'Thou art not a Child of Time,

one or two of Warton and of Milton, far exceed But daughter of the eternal Prime !""

all others in our language--" The Wagoner," Although Wordsworth chiefly delights in that fine and hearty concession of a waterthese humanities of poetry, he has shown that drinker to the joys of wine and the light-hearthe possesses feelings to appreciate and power ed folly which it inspires—and numbers of to grasp the noblest of classic fictions. No smaller poems and ballads, which to the superone can read his Dion, his Loadamia, and the ficial observer may seem only like woodland most majestic of his sonnets, without perceiv- springs, but in which he who ponders intently ing that he has power to endow the stateliest will discern the breakings forth of an under. shapes of old mythology with new life, and to current of thought and feeling which is silently diffuse about them a new glory. Hear him, flowing beneath him. We trust, however, we for example, breaking forth, with holy disdain have written or rather quoted enough to induce of the worldly spirit of the time, into this such of our readers as hitherto have despised sublime apostrophy :

the poet on the faith of base or ignorant criti« Great God! I'd rather be

cism to read him for themselves, especially as A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn :

by the recent appearance of the Excursion in So might I, standing on some pleasant lee,

octavo, and the arrangement of the minor Have glimpses which might make me less forlorn;

poems in four small volumes, the whole of his Haye sight of Proteus coming from the rea,

poetical works are placed within their reach. Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn!"

If he has little popularity with the multitude, But he has chosen rather to survey the ma- he is rewarded by the intense veneration and jesties of Greece, with the eye of a philoso- I love of the finest spirits of the age. Not only

Coleridge, Lloyd, Southey, Wilson, and Lamb | awhile, but can never utterly destroy them. -with whom his name has been usually con- Vice, which is the accident of our nature, has nected—but almost all the living poets have been their theme instead of those affections paid eloquent homage to his genius. He is which are its groundwork and essence.

“ Yet loved by Montgomery, Cornwall, and Rogers- a little space, and that which men call evil is revered by the author of Waverley-ridiculed no more!" Yet a little space, and those wild and pillaged by Lord Byron! Jeffrey, if he emotions—those horrid deeds—those strange begins an article on his greatest work with aberrations of the soul-on which some gifted the pithy sentence this will never do," glows bards have delighted to dwell, will fade away even while he criticises, and before he closes, like the phantoms of a feverish dream. Then though he came like Balaam to curse, like him will poetry, like that of Wordsworth, which “blesses altogether.” Innumerable essays, even now is the harbinger of a serener day, sermons, speeches, poems—even of those who be felt and loved and held in undying honour. profess to despise him—are tinged by his The genius of a poet who has chosen this high fancy and adorned by his expressions. And and pure career, too, will proceed in every there are no small number of young hearts, stage of being, seeing that it is a thing imwhich have not only been enriched but renovat mortal as himself,” and that it was ever ined by his poetry-which he has expanded, puri- spired by affections which cannot die. The fied, and exalted-and to which he has given poet even in brighter worlds will feel, with inthe means of high communion with the good conceivable delight, the connection between and the pure throughout the universe. These, his earthly and celestial being-live alorig equal at least in number to the original lovers the golden lines of sentiment and thought back of Shakspeare or of Milton, will transmit his to the most delicious moments of his confame to kindred spirits, and whether it shall templations here—and rejoice in the recognireceive or be denied the honour of fashion, it tion of those joys of which he had tastes and will ever be cherished by the purest of earthly intimations on earth. Then shall he see the minds, and connected with the most majestic inmost soul of his poetry disclosed-grasp as of nature's scenery.

assured realities the gorgeous visions of his Too many of our living poets have seemed infancy-feel " the burden of the mystery of to take pride in building their fame on the all this unimaginable world,” which were sands. They have chosen for their subjects lightened to him here, dissolved away-see the disease of the heart—the sad anomalies the prophetic workings of his imagination of humanity-the turbulent and guilty pas- realized-exult while“ pain and anguish and sions which are but for a season. Their re- the wormy grave,” which here were lo him nown, therefore, must necessarily decline as "shapes of a dream,” are utterly banished the species advances. Instead of tracing out from the view and listen to the full chorus the lineaments of the image of God indelibly of that universal harmony whose first notes he impressed on the soul, they have painted the here delighted to awaken! deformities which may obscure them for

REVIEW OF “NORTH'S LIFE OF LORD GUILFORD."

(RETROSPECTIVE Review.)

Tuis old piece of legal biography, which has ideas of human greatness and excellence been lately republished, is one of the most de- appear taken from the man whom he celelightful books in the world. Its charm does brates. There never was a more liberal or not consist in any marvellous incidents of gentle prostration of the spirit. He was eviLord Guilford's life, or any peculiar interest dently the most humane, the most kindly, and attaching to his character, but in the un- the most single-hearted, of flatterers. There equalled naivelé of the writer-in the singular is a beauty in his very cringing, beyond the felicity with which he has thrown himself into independence of many. It is the most gentlehis subject-and his vivid delineations of all man-like submission, the most graceful resig. the great lawyers of his time. He was a nation of self of which we have ever read. younger brother of the Lord Keeper, to whose Hence, there is nothing of the vanity of auaffection he was largely indebted, and from thorship-no attempt to display his own whom he appears to have been scarcely ever powers-throughout the work.

He never divided. His work, in nice minuteness of de- comes forward in the first person, except as a tail, and living picture of motive, almost witness. Indeed, he usually speaks of himequals the auto-biographies of Benevento self as of another, as though he had half lost Cellini, Rousseau, and Čibber. He seems to his personal consciousness in the contemplabe almost as intensely conscious of all his tion of his idol's virtues. The following pasbrother's actions, and the movements of his sage, towards the conclusion, where he remind, as they were of their own. All his counts the favours of Lord Guilford to a

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