truth as to give old truths their place along with new, and so warmed by the same love as to make all truths impressive. And Mr. Wordsworth's example, if not his precepts, may suggest to the poetical aspirants who abound in our times, that poetry, in its highest kinds, is the result not merely of a talent or an art, nor even only of these combined with a capacious mind and an ardent imagination, but also of a life led in the love of truth-and if not in action as the word is ordinarily used, yet certainly in giving practical effect to right feelings and just judgments, and in communicating, by conscientiousness in conduct, an habitually conscientious justness to the operations of the reason and the understanding. Endeavour thus to live,'-we would say to such aspirants in Mr. Wordsworth's own words, Endeavour thus to live; these rules regard; These helps solicit; and a steadfast seat The Sonnets (with the exception of the Ecclesiastical series) bear witness more directly perhaps than any of Mr. Wordsworth's other writings, to a principle which he has asserted of poetical, as strongly as Lord Bacon of physical philosophy-the principle that the Muse is to be the servant and interpreter of Nature. Some fact, transaction, or natural object, gives birth to almost every one of them. He does not search his mind for subjects; he goes forth into the world, and they present themselves. His mind lies open to nature with an ever wakeful susceptibility, and an impulse from without will send it far into the regions of thought; but it seldom goes to work upon itself. It is not celibate, but 'Wedded to this goodly universe In love and holy passion.' Of which union poetry is the legitimate offspring; and it is owing to this love and passion that the most ordinary incidents and objects have inspired an interest in the poet, and that so soon as the impassioned character of his mind had made itself felt and understood, he was enabled to convey the same interest with wonderful success to his readers. It is true that it was many years before this success was brought about to the extent of a popular acceptation, and also that to this day there are readers to whom his poems convey nothing; and we have to acknowledge that amongst this number, rapidly diminishing as it is, there are still some men of distinguished abilities. It is not difficult to account for the general neglect of Mr. Words * Excursion, book iv. worth's worth's poetry during the first quarter of the present century. That was a period when the poetry of reflection was so much out of fashion that verse had almost ceased to be regarded as a vehicle for thought, and even thoughtful men had recourse to it as if the very intention were to divert themselves from thinking -hung over a stitched pamphlet of rhyme with the sort of charmed ear with which they would have listened to a first-rate performer at the Opera-waited impatiently for another stitched pamphlet to come upon the stage three months afterwards-and being hurried away by their enthusiasm as one stitched pamphlet came out after another, almost mistook the 'primi cantatori' in this line for the lights of the age, and their lean and flashy songs' for divine illuminations. Such was the bewilderment of those times: nor is it difficult to conceive that some intelligent men, whose intellectual constitution was not strong, may have had their taste so vitiated during the prevalence of this fashion as never to have recovered a natural appetite. But there are men of a very different order from these, who are still unconverted, and whose case it is not so easy to understand―men too robust in their frame of mind to have been debilitated by the errors of youth, too free and generous in their temper to feel bound by past commitments, and who nevertheless do in all sincerity fail to make anything out from Mr. Wordsworth's poetry. Had the value of the poetry consisted in some peculiar vein of fancy, had it been a matter of versification, or had it resolved itself into a particular strain of sentiment or opinion, we should have said-This is not for the universal ear; it will naturally hit some minds and miss others:' and of many of Mr. Wordsworth's poems this may be said fairly; and we know very well that some of those which make the strongest impression on one reader will make none whatever upon another. But when we look to the main body of Mr. Wordsworth's works, and perceive that they are addressed to the mind of man at large, and that with a great variety of manner and verse they deal for the most part with matters of universal interest, we do feel at a loss to explain the existence of that remnant of intellectual men who are still inaccessible. We should have thought that, verse and all embellishment apart, when one considerable understanding was brought to bear upon another, in subject-matter to which all understandings apply themselves, nothing but the curse of Cassandra could have prevented some result from being obtained. So it is, however; and it is chiefly for the sake of meeting this remnant on what appears to us to be the best ground, that we have undertaken to review the 'Sonnets;'meeting them, not in the spirit of 'compelling them to come in," but for a fair trial whether it be not possible to get rid of such an intellectual intellectual anomaly as their standing out seems to us to be, and to bring together minds which are worthy of each other. And we imagine that the Sonnets may answer this purpose best: they have not, like many of the other poems, peculiarities of manner which whilst they charm one reader will baulk another; they are highly-finished compositions, distinguished, as regards the diction, only by an aptitude which can hardly fail to be approved, whatever may be the particular taste of the reader; and they are at the same time so varied in subject and sentiment, that specimens might be adduced from them of almost every kind of serious poetry to which the sonnet can lend itself. We have quoted hitherto one sonnet in art, two that are doctrinal, and one which may be called occasional. The majority of the four hundred and forty-four which have been published are of a mixed character, in which the doctrinal predominates; it is on these principally that we should wish to dwell, and we shall revert to them presently: but, in the mean time, we will make room for some of lighter kinds; and first for two which are linked together in the series on the River Duddon-the former of them descriptive, the latter pastoral-both (as usual) suggested by a natural object-the stepping-stones in a stream-and both connecting it with the circumstances of human life which are incident to it : The struggling rill insensibly is grown And, for like use, lo! what might seem a zone For the clear waters to pursue their race Without restraint. How swiftly have they flown, Puts, when the high-swollen flood runs fierce and wild, Declining manhood learns to note the sly And sure encroachments of infirmity, Thinking how fast time runs, life's end how near! Not so that pair whose youthful spirits dance Both Both feel, when he renews the wished-for aid: The struggle, clap their wings for victory!'-pp. 293, 294 This series on the River Duddon is a register of the thoughts which may be suggested to a poet in tracking this stream from its source in the mountains to its junction with the sea. We have seen what may occur when it flows in human society, and Childhood, Youth, and Age step across it. But there is a previous stage of its course in which it flows through a remote and untrodden solitude, and then everything that is to be seen being what it had been from time immemorial, the poet's fancy is carried far back into the past: 'What aspect bore the Man who roved or fled, First of his tribe, to this dark dell—who first What hopes came with him? what designs were spread What dreams encompassed? Was the intruder nursed That thinned the living and disturbed the dead? No voice replies ;-both air and earth are mute; And Thou, blue Streamlet, murmuring yield'st no more Than a soft record, that, whatever fruit Of ignorance thou might'st witness heretofore, Thy function was to heal and to restore, To sooth and cleanse, not madden and pollute!'-p. 292. How simple and yet how full is the diction of this sonnet! How much of the wildness and insecurity of savage life is in those words 'roved or fled,' and in the presentation to the fancy of the one sole man wandering or fugitive! Then the darkness and cruelty of Druidical superstition and barbarian warfare are alluded to in a tone of almost fearful inquiry; and after the pause of silence in the ninth line, how beautifully and with what an expressive change of the music is the mind turned to the perennial influences of Nature as healing, soothing, and restorative in all times, whatever be the condition of Man! This sonnet is a study in versification throughout, and observe especially the use of duplicate, triplicate, and even quadruplicate consonants in our language, how admirably they may be made to serve the purposes of rhythmical melody which they are often supposed to thwart 'And Thou, blue Streamlet, murmuring yield'st no more,' &c. How the slight check, delay, and resistance of the fourfold con sonant sonant makes the flow of the verse to be still more musically felt! The Northern languages have often been reproached for their excess in consonants, guttural, sibillant, or mute, and it has been concluded, as a matter of course, that languages in which vowels and liquids predominate must be better adapted to poetry, and that the most mellifluous language must be also the most melodious. We must be allowed to think, however, that this is but a rash and ill-considered condemnation of our native tongue. Poetry has been often compared to embroidery, and when a language is all of one texture, and that texture nothing but silk and satin, the skilful hand will have but little advantage, and the workmanship of finer art will not stand out so distinctly from ordinary fabrics. Nor indeed will such a language supply adequate materials to the band of art. In dramatic verse more particularly, our English combinations of consonants are invaluable, not only for the purpose of reflecting grace and softness by contrast, or accelerating the verse by a momentary detention, but also in giving expression to the harsher passions, and in imparting keenness and significancy to the language of discrimination, and especially to that of scorn. In Shakspeare, for instance, what a blast of sarcasm whistles through that word, Thrift, thrift, Horatio!' with its one vowel and five consonants, and then how the verse runs on with a low, confidential smoothness, as if to give effect to the outbreak by the subsequent suppression -the funeral baked meats Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.' We are not, be it observed, insisting, as some philologists have done of late years, on a preference for the Saxon element of our language as affording a purer and better English than any other; on the contrary, we hold that English is essentially a highly composite language; that it derives its force, as well as its richness, from the great variety and diversity of its constituents, and that it will be best written by him who avails himself of all its elements in their natural proportion, tempering one with another. And when we say their natural proportion, we mean that which comes naturally to the individual writer; for, after all, art and instruction can do little more in this matter than to remove theories of style out of the way, and leave a writer to his own intuitive ear and perceptions to find him the better or worse style which is suitable to him. Mr. Wordsworth's diction appears to us to be neither Saxon nor Latin particularly, but abounding in all the treasures of our vocabulary, and making the music which no man can make who has but one string to his fiddle. Το |