They shun the clear blue face of Morn; Along the fine cerulean sky, The fleecy clouds successive fly, While bright prismatic beams their shadowy folds adorn. And hark! the Thatcher has begun His whistle on the eaves, And oft the Hedger's bill is heard The slow team creaks upon the road, The noisy whip resounds, The driver's voice, his carol blithe, Who would not rather take his seat The early dawn of day to greet, Luxurious to lie? Who would not from life's dreary waste Snatch, when he could, with eager haste, To him who simply thus recounts The morning's pleasures o'er, Fate dooms, ere long, the scene must close, To ope on him no more: Yet, Morning unrepining still He'll greet thy beams awhile; And the pale glow-worm's pensive light Will guide his ghostly walks in the drear moonless night. An author is proof against reviewing, when, ike myself, he has been reviewed some seventy times; but the opinion of a reviewer, upon his first publication, has more effect, both upon his feelings and his success, than it ought to have, or would have, if the mystery of the ungentle craft were more generally understood. Henry wrote to the editor to complain of the cruelty with which he had been treated. This remonstrance produced the following answer in the next number: Monthly Review, March, 1804. ADDRESS TO CORRESPONDENTS. "In the course of our long critical labors, we have necessarily been forced to encounter the resentment, or withstand the lamentations, of many disappointed authors; but we have seldom, if ever, been more affected than by a letter from Mr. White, of Nottingham, complaining of the tendency of our strictures on his poem of Clifton Grove, in our last number. His expostulations are written with a warmth of feeling in which we truly sympathise, and which shall readily excuse, with us, some expressions of irritation; but Mr. White must receive our most serious declaration, that we did judge of the book by the book itself;' excepting only, that, from his former letter, we were desirous of mitigating the pain of that decision which our public duty required us to pronounce. We spoke with the utmost sincerity when we stated our wishes for patronage to an unfriended man of talents, for talents Mr. White certainly possesses, and we repeat those wishes with equal cordiality. Let him still trust that, like Mr. Gifford (see preface to his translation of Juvenal,) some Mr. Cookesley may yet appear to foster a capacity which endeavours to escape from its present confined sphere of action; and let the opulent inhabitants of Nottingham reflect, that some portion of that wealth which they have worthily acquired by the habits of industry, will be laudably applied in assisting the efforts of mind." Henry was not aware that reviewers are infallible. His letter seems to have been answered by a different writer; the answer has none of the commonplace and vulgar insolence of the criticism but to have made any concession would have been admitting that a review can do wrong, and thus violating the fundamental principle of its constitution. The poems which had been thus condemned, appeared to me to discover strong marks of genius. I had shown them to two of my friends, than whom no persons living better understand what poetry is, nor have given better proofs of it; and their opinion coincided with my own. I was indignant at the injustice of this pretended criticism, and having accidentally seen the letter which he had written to the reviewers, understood the whole cruelty of their injustice. In consequence of this I wrote to Henry, to encourage him; told him, that though I was well aware how imprudent it was in young poets to publish their productions, his circumstances seemed to render that expedient, from which it would otherwise be right to dissuade him; advised him therefore, if he had no better prospects, to print a larger volume by subscription, and offered to do what little was in my power to serve him in the undertaking. To this he replied in the following letter: * "I dare not say all I feel respecting your opinion of my little volume. The extreme acrimony with which the Monthly Review (of all others the most important) treated me, threw me into a state of stupefaction; I regarded all that had passed as a dream, and I thought I had been deluding myself into an idea of possessing poetic genius, when in fact I had only the longing, without the afflatus. I mustered resolution enough, however, to write spiritedly to them: their answer in the ensuing number was a tacit acknowledgment that they had been somewhat too unsparing in their correction. It was a poor attempt to salve over a wound wantonly and most ungenerously inflicted. I was damped, because I knew the work was very respectable; and therefore could not, I concluded, give a criticism grossly deficient in equity-the more especially, as I knew of no sort of inducement to extraordinary severity. Your letter, however, has revived me, and I do again venture to hope that I may still produce something which will survive me. Still "With regard to your advice and offers of as sistance, I will not attempt, because I am unable, to thank you for them. To-morrow morning I depart for Cambridge; and I have considerable hopes that, as I do not enter into the University with any sinister or interested views, but sincerely desire to perform the duties of an affectionate and vigilant pastor, and become more useful to mankind, I therefore have hopes, I say, that I shall find means of support in the University. If I do not, I shall certainly act in pursuance of your recommendations; and shall, without hesitation, avail myself of your offers of service, and of your directions. "In a short time this will be determined; and when it is, I shall take the liberty of writing to you at Keswick, to make you acquainted with the result. "I have only one objection to publishing by subscription, and I confess it has weight with me;it is, that, in this step, I shall seem to be acting upon the advice so unfeelingly and contumeliously given by the Monthly Reviewers, who say what is equal to this-that had I gotten a subscription for my poems before their merit was known, I might have succeeded; provided, it seems, I had made a particular statement of my case; like a beggar who stands with his hat in one hand, and a full account of his cruel treatment on the coast of Barbary in the other, and so gives you his penny sheet for your sixpence, by way of half-purchase, half-charity. "I have materials for another volume; but they were written principally while Clifton Grove was |