of these emotions: without this auxiliary impulse, elevated or profound passion cannot

exist.

Passion, it must be observed, is derived from a word which signifies suffering; but the connection which suffering has with effort, with exertion, and action, is immediate and inseparable. How strikingly is this property of human nature exhibited by the fact, that, in popular language, to be in a passion, is to be angry!But,

'Anger in hasty words or blows
Itself discharges on its foes."

To be moved, then, by a passion, is to be ex-
cited, often to external, and always to internal,
effort; whether for the continuance and strength-
ening of the passion, or for its suppression, ac-
cordingly as the course which it takes may be
painful or pleasurable. If the latter, the soul
must contribute to its support, or it never be-
comes vivid, and soon languishes, and dies.
And this brings us to the point. If every great
poet with whose writings men are familiar, in
the highest exercise of his genius, before he can
be thoroughly enjoyed, has to call forth and
to communicate power, this service, in a still
greater degree, falls upon an original writer, at
his first appearance in the world.-Of genius
the only proof is, the act of doing well what is
worthy to be done, and what was never done
before: Of genius, in the fine arts, the only in-
fallible sign is the widening the sphere of human
sensibility, for the delight, honour, and benefit
of human nature. Genius is the introduction
of a new element into the intellectual universe:
or, if that be not allowed, it is the application
of powers to objects on which they had not
before been exercised, or the employment of
them in such a manner as to produce effects
hitherto unknown. What is all this but an ad-
vance, or a conquest, made by the soul of the
poet? Is it to be supposed that the reader can
make progress of this kind, like an Indian
prince or general-stretched on his palanquin,
and borne by his slaves? No; he is invigorated
and inspirited by his leader, in order that he may
'exert himself; for he cannot proceed in quies-
cence, he cannot be carried like a dead weight.
Therefore to create taste is to call forth and
bestow power, of which knowledge is the effect;
and there lies the true difficulty.

As the pathetic participates of an animal sensation, it might seem-that, if the springs of this emotion were genuine, all men, possessed of competent knowledge of the facts and circumstances, would be instantaneously affected. And, doubtless, in the works of every true poet will be found passages of that species of excellence, which is proved by effects immediate and universal. But there are emotions of the pathetic that are simple and direct, and others-that are complex and revolutionary; some-to which the heart yields with gentleness; others-against which it struggles with pride; these varieties are infinite as the combinations of circumstance and the constitutions of character. Remember, also, that the medium through which, in poetry, the heart is to be affected-is language; a thing subject to endless fluctuations and arbitrary associations. The genius of the poet melts

these down for his purpose; but they retain their shape and quality to him who is not capable of exerting, within his own mind, a corresponding energy. There is also a meditative, as well as a human, pathos; an enthusiastic, as well as an ordinary, sorrow; a sadness that has its seat in the depths of reason, to which the mind cannot sink gently of itself-but to which it must descend by treading the steps of thought. And for the sublime,-if we consider what are the cares that occupy the passing day, and how remote is the practice and the course of life from the sources of sublimity in the soul of Man, can it be wondered that there is little existing preparation for a poet charged with a new mission to extend its kingdom, and to augment and spread its enjoyments?

Away, then, with the senseless iteration of the word popular, applied to new works in poetry, as if there were no test of excellence in this first of the fine arts but that all men should run after its productions, as if urged by an appetite, or constrained by a spell!-The qualities of writing best fitted for eager reception are either such as startle the world into attention by their audacity and extravagance; or they are chiefly of a superficial kind lying upon the surfaces of manners; or arising out of a selection and arrangement of incidents, by which the mind is kept upon the stretch of curiosity and the fancy amused without the trouble of thought. But in every thing which is to send the soul into herself, to be admonished of her weakness, or to be made conscious of her power:- wherever life and nature are described as operated upon by the creative or abstracting virtue of the imagination; wherever the instinctive wisdom of antiquity and her heroic passions uniting, in the heart of the poet, with the meditative wisdom of later ages, have produced that accord of sublimated humanity, which is at once a history of the remote past and a prophetic enunciation of the remotest future, there, the poet must reconcile himself for a season to few and scattered hearers.-Grand thoughts (and Shakspeare must often have sighed over this truth), as they are most naturally and most fitly conceived in soli tude, so can they not be brought forth in the midst of plaudits, without some violation of their sanctity. Go to a silent exhibition of the productions of the Sister Art, and be convinced that the qualities which dazzle at first sight, and kindle the admiration of the multitude, are essentially different from those by which permanent influence is secured. Let us not shrink from following up these principles as far as they will carry us, and conclude with observingthat there never has been a period, and perhaps never will be, in which vicious poetry, of some kind or other, has not excited more zealov admiration, and been far more generally read, than good; but this advantage attends the good, that the individual, as well as the species, survives from age to age; whereas, of the depraved, though the species be immortal, the individual quickly perishes; the object of present admiration vanishes, being supplanted by some other as easily produced; which, though no better, brings with it at least the irritation of novelty, with adaptation, more or less skil ful, to the changing humours of the majority

Is it the result of the whole, that, in the opinion of the Writer, the judgment of the People is not to be respected? The thought is most injurious; and, could the charge be brought against him, he would repel it with indignation. The People have already been justified, and their eulogium pronounced by implication, when it was said, above-that, of good poetry, the individual, as well as the species, survives. And how does it survive but through the People? What preserves it but their intellect and their wisdom?

of those who are most at leisure to regard poet-loud portion of the community, ever governed ical works when they first solicit their atten- by factitious influence, which, under the name tion. of the PUBLIC, passes itself, upon the unthinking, for the PEOPLE. Towards the Public, the Writer hopes that he feels as much deference as it is entitled to: but to the People, philosophically characterised, and to the embodied spirit of their knowledge, so far as it exists and moves, at the present, faithfully supported by its two wings, the past and the future, his devout respect, his reverence, is due. He offers it willingly and readily; and, this done, takes leave of his Readers, by assuring them-that, if he were not persuaded that the contents of these Volumes, and the Work to which they are subsidiary, evince something of the "Vision and the Faculty divine;" and that, both in words and things, they will operate in their degree, to extend the domain of sensibility for the delight, the honour, and the benefit of human nature, notwithstanding the many happy hours which he has employed in their composition, and the manifold comforts and enjoy. ments they have procured to him, he would not, if a wish could do it, save them from immediate destruction;-from becoming at this moment, to the world, as a thing that had never been. 1815.

"Past and future, are the wings
On whose support, harmoniously conjoined,
Moves the great Spirit of human knowledge-

MS.

The voice that issues from this Spirit, is that Vox Populi which the Deity inspires. Foolish must he be who can mistake for this a local acclamation, or a transitory outcry-transitory though it be for years, local though from a Nation. Still more lamentable is his error who can believe that there is any thing of divine infallibility in the clamour of that small though

DEDICATION.

PREFIXED TO THE EDITION OF 1815.

ΤΟ

SIR GEORGE HOWLAND BEAUMONT, BART.

MY DEAR SIR GEORGE,-Accept my thanks | for the permission given me to dedicate these Volumes to you. In addition to a lively pleasure derived from general considerations, I feel a particular satisfaction; for, by inscribing these Poems with your Name, I seem to myself in some degree to repay, by an appropriate honour, the great obligation which I owe to one part of the Collection-as having been the means of first making us personally known to each other. Upon much of the remainder, also, you have a peculiar claim,-for some of the best pieces were composed under the shade of your own groves, upon the classic ground of Coleorton; where I was animated by the recollection of those illustrious Poets of your name and family, who were born in that neighbourhood; and, we may be assured, did not wander with indifference by the dashing stream of Grace Dieu, and among the rocks that diversify the forest of Charnwood.-Nor is there any one to whom

PREFACE TO THE

THE powers requisite for the production of poetry are: first, those of Observation and Description,-i.e., the ability to observe with accuracy things as they are in themselves, and with fidelity to describe them, unmodified by any passion or feeling existing in the mind of the describer: whether the things depicted be

such parts of this Collection as have been inspired or coloured by the beautiful Country from which I now address you, could be presented with more propriety than to yourself— to whom it has suggested so many admirable pictures. Early in life, the sublimity and beauty of this region excited your admiration; and I know that you are bound to it in mind by a still strengthening attachment.

Wishing and hoping that this Work, with the embellishments it has received from your pencil, may survive as a lasting memorial of a friendship which I reckon among the blessings of my life, I have the honour to be, My dear Sir George, Yours most affectionately and faithfully, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. RYDAL MOUNT, WESTMORELAND, February 1, 1815.

EDITION OF 1815.

actually present to the senses, or have a place only in the memory. This power, though indispensable to a Poet, is one which he employs only in submission to necessity, and never for

* The state of the plates has, for some time, not allowed them to be repeated.

APPENDIX, PREFACES, ETC.

a continuance of time: as its exercise supposes all the higher qualities of the mind to be passive, and in a state of subjection to external objects, much in the same way as a translator or engraver ought to be to his original. 2ndly, SensiEility,-which, the more exquisite it is, the wider will be the range of a poet's perceptions; and the more will he be incited to observe objects, both as they exist in themselves and as re-acted upon by his own mind. (The distinction between poetic and human sensibility has been marked in the character of the Poet delineated in the original preface.) flection,-which makes the Poet acquainted with the value of actions, images, thoughts, 3dly, Reand feelings; and assists the sensibility in perceiving their connection with each other. 4thly, Imagination and Fancy,-to modify, to create, and to associate. 5thly, Invention,by which characters are composed out of materials supplied by observation; whether of the Poet's own heart and mind, or of external life and nature; and such incidents and situations produced as are most impressive to the imagination, and most fitted to do justice to the characters, sentiments, and passions, which the Poet undertakes to illustrate. And, lastly, Judgment,-to decide now and where, and in what degree, each of these faculties ought to be exerted; so that the less shall not be sacrificed to the greater; nor the greater, slighting the less, arrogate, to its own injury, more than its due. what are the laws and appropriate graces of By judgment, also, is determined every species of composition.

The materials of Poetry, by these powers collected and produced, are cast, by means of various moulds, into divers forms. The moulds may be enumerated, and the forms specified, in the following order. including the Epopoeia, the Historic Poem, 1st, The Narrative,the Tale, the Romance, the Mock-heroic, and, if the spirit of Homer will tolerate such neighbourhood, that dear production of our days, the metrical Novel. tinguishing mark is, that the Narrator, howOf this Class, the disever liberally his speaking agents be introduced, is himself the source from which every thing primarily flows. that their mode of composition may accord Epic Poets, in order with the elevation of their subject, represent themselves as singing from the inspiration of the Muse, "Arma virumque cano;" but this is a fiction, in modern times, of slight value: the Iliad or the Paradise Lost would gain little in our estimation by being chanted. The other poets who belong to this class are commonly content to tell their tale :-so that of the whole it may be affirmed that they neither require nor reject the accompaniment of music.

2ndly, The Dramatic,-consisting of Tragedy, Historic Drama, Comedy, and Masque, in which the poet does not appear at all in his own person, and where the whole action is carried on by speech and dialogue of the agents; music being admitted only incidentally

As sensibility to harmony of numbers, and the power of producing it, are invariably attendants upon the faculties above specified, nothing has been said upon those requisites.

and rarely. The Opera may be placed here, inasmuch as it proceeds by dialogue; though depending, to the degree that it does, upon music, it has a strong claim to be ranked with the lyrical. The characteristic and impassioned Epistle, of which Ovid and Pope have given examples, considered as a species of monodrama, may, without impropriety, be placed in this class.

the Ode, the Elegy, the Song, and the Ballad;
in all which, for the production of their full
3dly, The Lyrical,-containing the Hymn,
sable.
effect, an accompaniment of music is indispen-

either of the processes and appearances of
4thly, The Idyllium, — descriptive chiefly
external nature, as the Seasons of Thomson;
Saturday Night of Burns, The Twa Dogs of
or of characters, manners, and sentiments, as
the same Author; or of these in conjunction
are Shenstone's Schoolmistress, The Cotter's
with the appearances of Nature, as most of the
pieces of Theocritus, the Allegro and Penseroso
of Milton, Beattie's Minstrel, Goldsmith's De-
the Sonnet, most of the epistles of poets writing
in their own persons, and all loco-descriptive
serted Village. The Epitaph, the Inscription,
which is direct instruction; as the Poem of
poetry, belong to this class.
Lucretius, the Georgics of Virgil, The Fleece
5thly, Didactic, the principal object of
of Dyer, Mason's English Garden, &c.

Horace and Juvenal; personal and occasional
And, lastly, philosophical Satire, like that of
general in the individual to be dignified with
the name of poetry.
Satire rarely comprehending sufficient of the

a composite order, of which Young's Night
Out of the three last has been constructed
examples.
Thoughts, and Cowper's Task, are excellent

apparently miscellaneous, may with propriety
be arranged either with reference to the powers
It is deducible from the above, that poems,
of mind predominant in the production of them;
lastly, to the subjects to which they relate.
or to the mould in which they are cast; or,
which, that the work may more obviously cor-
ing Poems have been divided into classes;
From each of these considerations, the follow-
respond with the course of human life, and for
the sake of exhibiting in it the three requisites
of a legitimate whole, a beginning, a middle,
and an end, have been also arranged, as far as
it was possible, according to an order of time,
commencing with Childhood, and terminating
with Old Age, Death, and Immortality. My
guiding wish was, that the small pieces of
which these volumes consist, thus discriminated,
composing an entire work within themselves,
and as adjuncts to the philosophical Poem,
might be regarded under a twofold view; as
"The Recluse."
presented itself habitually to my own mind.
Nevertheless, I should have preferred to scat-
ter the contents of these volumes at random, if
This arrangement has long
any thing material would be taken from the
natural effect of the pieces, individually, on
I had been persuaded that, by the plan adopted,
the mind of the unreflecting Reader. I trust
there is a sufficient variety in each class to

prevent this; while, for him who reads with reflection, the arrangement will serve as a commentary unostentatiously directing his attention to my purposes, both particular and general. But, as I wish to guard against the possibility of misleading by this classification, it is proper first to remind the Reader, that certain poems are placed according to the powers of mind, in the Author's conception, predominant in the production of them; predominant, which im-criminated, by W. Taylor. plies the exertion of other faculties in less degree. Where there is more imagination than fancy in a poem, it is placed under the head of imagination, and vice versa. Both the above classes might without impropriety have been enlarged from that consisting of "Poems founded on the Affections ;" as might this latter from those, and from the class "proceed-mology; he takes up the original word as his ing from Sentiment and Reflection." The most guide and escort, and too often does not perstriking characteristics of each piece, mutual ceive how soon he becomes its prisoner, without illustration, variety, and proportion, have go-liberty to tread in any path but that to which it verned me throughout.