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OBSERVATIONS

PREFIXED TO THE SECOND EDITION OF SEVERAL OF THE
FOREGOING POEMS, PUBLISHED UNDER THE TITLE OF
LYRICAL BALLADS.»

SEVERAL of these poems have already been submitted to general perusal. They were published, as an experiment, which, I hoped, might be of some use to ascertain, how far, by fitting to metrical arrangement a selection of the real language of men in a state of vivid sensation, that sort of pleasure and that quantity of pleasure may be imparted, which a Poet may rationally endeavour to impart.

I had formed no very inaccurate estimate of the probable effect of those Poems: I flattered myself that they who should be pleased with them would read them with more than common pleasure and, on the other hand, I was well aware, that by those who should dislike them, they would be read with more than common dislike. The result has differed from my expectation in this only, that I have pleased a greater number than I ventured to hope I should please.

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for example, in the age of Catullus, Terence, and Lucretius, and that of Statius or Claudian; and in our own country, in the age of Shakspeare and Beaumont and Fletcher, and that of Donne and Cowley, or Dryden, or Pope. I will not take upon me to determine the exact import of the promise which by the act of writing in verse an Author, in the present day, makes to his Reader; but I am certain it will appear to many persons that I have not fulfilled the terms of an engagement thus voluntarily contracted. They who have been accustomed to the gaudiness and inane phraseology of many modern writers, if they persist in reading this book to its conclusion, will, no doubt, frequently have to struggle with feelings of strangeness and awkwardness they will look round for poetry, and will be induced to inquire by what species of courtesy these attempts can be permitted to assume that title. I hope therefore the Reader will not censure me, if I attempt to state what I have proposed to myself to perform; and also (as far as the limits of this notice will permit) to explain some of the chief reasons which have determined me in the choice of my purpose: that at least he may be spared any unpleasant feeling of disappointment, and that I myself may be protected from the most dishonourable accusation which can be brought against an Author, namely, that of an indolence which prevents him from endeavouring to ascertain what is his duty, or, when his duty is ascertained, prevents him from performing it.

Several of my Friends are anxious for the success of these Poems from a belief, that, if the views with which they were composed were indeed realised, a class of Poetry would be produced, well adapted to interest mankind permanently, and not unimportant in the multiplicity, and in the quality of its moral relations: and on this account they have advised me to add a systematic defence of the theory upon which the poems were written. But I was unwilling to undertake the task, because I knew that on this occasion the Reader would look coldly upon my arguments, since I might be suspected of having been principally influenced by the selfish and foolish hope of reasoning him into an approbation of these particular Poems: and I was still more unwilling to undertake the task, because, ade-primary laws of our nature: chiefly, as far as regards

The principal object, then, which I proposed to myself in these Poems was to chiuse incidents and situations from common life, and to relate or describe them, throughout, as far as was possible, in a selection of language really used by men, and, at the same time, to throw over them a certain colouring of imagination, whereby ordinary things should be presented to the mind in an unusual way; and, further, and above all, to make these incidents and situations interesting by tracing in them, truly though not ostentatiously, the

quately to display my opinions, and fully to enforce my the manner in which we associate ideas in a state of Low and rustic life was generally chosen, arguments, would require a space wholly dispropor- excitement. tionate to the extent of the work. For to treat the because, in that condition, the essential passions of the subject with the clearness and coherence of which I heart find a better soil in which they can attain their believe it susceptible, it would be necessary to give a maturity, are less under restraint, and speak a plainer full account of the present state of the public taste in and more emphatic language; because in that condition this country, and to determine how far this taste is of life our elementary feelings co-exist in a state of healthy or depraved; which, again, could not be de- greater simplicity, and, consequently, may be more termined, without pointing out, in what manner lan-accurately contemplated, and more forcibly communiguage and the human mind net and re-act on each cated; because the manners of rural life germinate other, and without retracing the revolutions, not of from those elementary feelings; and from the necessary literature alone, but likewise of society itself. I have character of rural occupations, are more easily comtherefore altogether declined to enter regularly upon prehended, and are more durable; and, lastly, because this defence; yet I am sensible, that there would be in that condition the passions of men are incorporated some impropriety in abruptly obtruding upon the with the beautiful and permanent forms of nature. The Public, without a few words of introduction, Poems so language, too, of these men is adopted (purified indeed materially different from those upon which general ap- from what appears to be its real defects, from all lasting probation is at present bestowed. and rational causes of dislike or disgust) because such men hourly communicate with the best objects from which the best part of language is originally derived; and because, from their rank in society and the sameness and narrow circle of their intercourse, being less under the influence of social vanity, they convey their feelings and notions in simple and unelaborated expressions. Accordingly, such a language, arising out of repeated experience and regular feelings, is a more

It is supposed, that by the act of writing in verse an Author makes a formal engagement that he will gratify certain known habits of association; that he not only chus apprises the Reader that certain classes of ideas and expressions will be found in his book, but that others will be carefully excluded. This exponent or symbol held forth by metrical language must in different æras of literature have excited very different expectations

Stanzas entitled WE ARE SEVEN, the perplexity and ob scurity which in childhood attend our notion of death, or rather our utter inability to admit that notion; or by displaying the strength of fraternal, or, to speak more philosophically, of moral attachment when early associated with the great and beautiful objects of nature, as in THE BROTHERS; or, as in the Incident of SIMON LEE, by placing my Reader in the way of receiv I cannot, however, be insensible of the present outcry ing from ordinary moral sensations another and more against the triviality and meanness, both of thought salutary impression than we are accustomed to receive and language, which some of my contemporaries have from them. It has also been part of my general puroccasionally introduced into their metrical composi- pose to attempt to sketch characters under the influence tions; and I acknowledge that this defect, where it of less impassioned feelings, as in the Two ApaIL MORexists, is more dishonourable to the Writer's own cha- NINGS, THE FOUNTAIN, THE OLD MAN TRAVELLING, THE racter than false refinement or arbitrary innovation, TWO THIEVES, etc. characters of which the elements are though I should contend at the same time, that it is far simple, belonging rather to nature than to manners, Jess pernicious in the sum of its consequences. From such as exist now, and will probably always exist, and such verses the Poems in these volumes will be found which from their constitution may be distinctly and distinguished at least by one mark of difference, that profitably contemplated. I will not abuse the induleach of them has a worthy purpose. Not that I mean gence of my Reader by dwelling longer upon this to say, I always began to write with a distinct purpose subject; but it is proper that I should mention one formally conceived; but my habits of meditation have other circumstance which distinguishes these Poems so formed my feelings, as that my descriptions of such from the popular Poetry of the day; it is this, that the objects as strongly excite those feelings. will be found feeling therein developed gives importance to the action to carry along with them a purpose. If in this opinion and situation, and not the action and situation to the I am mistaken, I can have little right to the name of a feeling. My meaning will be rendered perfectly intelPoet. For all good poetry is the spontaneous overflowligible by referring my Reader to the Poems entitled of powerful feelings and though this be true, Poems to which any value can be attached were never produced on any variety of subjects but by a man, who, being possessed of more than usual organic sensibility, had also thought long and deeply. For our continued influxes of feeling are modified and directed by our thoughts, which are indeed the representatives of all our past feelings; and, as by contemplating the relation of these general representatives to each other, we discover what is really important to men, so, by the repetition and continuance of this act, our feelings will be connected with important subjects, till at length, if we be originally possessed of much sensibility, such habits of mind will be produced, that, by obeying blindly and mechanically the impulses of those habits, we shall describe objects, and utter sentiments, of such a nature, and in such connexion with each other, that the understanding of the being to whom we address ourselves, if he be in a healthful state of association, must necessarily be in some degree enlightened, and his affections ameliorated.

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POOR SUSAN and the CHILDLESS FATHER, particularly to the last Stanza of the latter Poem.

permanent, and a far more philosophical language, than that which is frequently substituted for it by Poets, who think that they are conferring honour upon themselves and their art, in proportion as they separate themselves from the sympathies of men, and indulge in arbitrary and capricious habits of expression, in order to furnish food for fickle tastes, and fickle appetites, of their own creation.

I will not suffer a sense of false modesty to prevent me from asserting, that I point my Reader's attention to this mark of distinction, far less for the sake of these particular Poems than from the general importance of the subject. The subject is indeed important! For the human mind is capable of being excited without the application of gross and violent stimulants; and he must have a very faint perception of its beauty and dignity who does not know this, and who does not further know, that one being is elevated above another, in proportion as he possesses this capability. It has therefore appeared to me, that to endeavour to produce or enlarge this capability is one of the best services in which, at any period, a Writer can be engaged; but this service, excellent at all times, is especially so at the present day. For a multitude of causes, unknown to former times, are now acting with a combined force to blunt the discriminating powers of the mind, and unfitting it for all voluntary exertion, to reduce it to a state of almost savage torpor. The most effective of these causes are the great national events which are daily taking place, and the increasing accumulation of men in cities, where the uniformity of their occupations produces a craving for extraordinary incident, which the rapid communication of intelligence hourly | gratifies. To this tendency of life and manners the literature and theatrical exhibitions of the country have conformed themselves. The invaluable works of our elder writers, I had almost said the works of Shakspeare and Milton, are driven into neglect by frantic novels,| sickly and stupid German Tragedies, and deluges of idle and extravagant stories in verse.-When I think upon this degrading thirst after outrageous stimulation, I am almost ashamed to have spoken of the feeble effort with which I have endeavoured to counteract it; and,

It is worth while here to observe, that the affecting parts of

Chaucer are almost always expressed in language pure and univer-reflecting upon the magnitude of the general evil, i sally intelligible even to this day. should be oppressed with no dishonourable melancholy,

I have said that each of these poems has a purpose. I have also informed my Reader what this purpose will be found principally to be: namely, to illustrate the manner in which our feelings and ideas are associated in a state of excitement. But, speaking in language somewhat more appropriate, it is to follow the fluxes and refluxes of the mind when agitated by the great and simple affections of our nature. This object I have endeavoured in these short essays to attain by various means; by tracing the maternal passion through many of its more subtile windings, as in the poems of the IDIOT BOY and the MAD MOTHER; by accompanying the last struggles of a human being, at the approach of death, cleaving in solitude to life and society, as in the Poem of the FORSAKEN INDIAN; by showing, as in the

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they have made a notable discovery, and exult over the Poet as over a man ignorant of his own profession. Now these men would establish a canon of criticism which the Reader will conclude he must utterly reject, if he wishes to be pleased with these pieces. And it would be a most easy task to prove to him, that not only the language of a large portion of every good poem, even of the most elevated character, must necessarily, except with reference to the metre, in no respect differ from that of good prose, but likewise that some of the most interesting parts of the best poems will be found to be strictly the language of prose, when prose is well written. The truth of this assertion might be demonstrated by innumerable passages from almost all the poetical writings, even of Milton himself. I have not

had I not a deep impression of certain inherent and indestructible qualities of the human mind, and likewise of certain powers in the great and permanent objects that act upon it, which are equally inherent and indestructible; and did I not further add to this impression a belief, that the time is approaching when the evil will be systematically opposed, by men of greater powers, and with far more distinguished success. Having dwelt thus long on the subjects and aim of these Poems, I shall request the Reader's permission to apprise him of a few circumstances relating to their style, in order, among other reasons, that I may not be censured for not having performed what I never attempted. The Reader will find that personifications of abstract ideas rarely occur in these volumes; and, I hope, are utterly rejected, as an ordinary device to ele-space for much quotation; but, to illustrate the subject vate the style, and raise it above prose. I have proposed in a general manner, I will here adduce a short comto myself to intimate, and, as far as is possible, to adopt position of Gray, who was at the head of those who, by the very language of men; and assuredly such personi- their reasonings, have attempted to widen the space of fications do not make any natural or regular part of separation betwixt Prose and Metrical composition, and that language. They are, indeed, a figure of speech was more than any other man curiously elaborate in occasionally prompted by passion, and I have made use the structure of his own poetic diction. of them as such; but I have endeavoured utterly to reject them as a mechanical device of style, or as a family language which Writers in metre seem to lay claim to by prescription. I have wished to keep my Reader in the company of flesh and blood, persuaded that by so doing I shall interest him. I am, however, well aware that others who pursue a different track may interest him likewise; I do not interfere with their claim, I only wish to prefer a different claim of my own. There will also be found in these pieces little of what is usually called poetic diction; I have taken as much pains to avoid it as others ordinarily take to produce it; this I have done for the reason already alleged, to bring my language near to the language of men, aud further, because the pleasure which I have proposed to myself to impart, is of a kind very different from that which is supposed by many persons to be the proper object of poetry. I do not know how, without being culpably particular, I can give my Reader a more exact notion of the style in which I wished these poems to be written, than, by informing him that I have at all times endeavoured to look steadily at my subject, consequently. I hope that there is in these Poems little falsehood of description, and that my ideas are expressed in language fitted to their respective importance. Something I must have gained by this practice, as it is friendly to one property of all good poetry, namely, good sense; but it has necessarily cut me off from a large portion of phrases and figures of speech which from father to son have long been regarded as the common inheritance of Poets. I have also thought it expedient to restrict myself still further, having abstained from the use of many expressions, in themselves proper and beautiful, but which have been foolishly repeated by bad Poets, till such feelings of disgust are connected with them as it is scarcely possible by any art of association to overpower.

If in a poem there should be found a series of lines, or even a single line, in which the language, though naturally arranged, and according to the strict laws of metre, does not differ from that of prose, there is a numerous class of critics, who, when they stumble upon these prosaisms, as they call them, imagine that

In vain to me the smiling mornings shine,
And reddening Phoebus lifts his golden fire:
The birds in vain their amorous descant join,
Or cheerful fields resume their green attire.
These ears, alas! for other notes repine;
A different object do these eyes require ;
My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine;
And in my breast the imperfect joys expire:
Yet morning smiles the busy race to cheer,
And new-born pleasure brings to happier men;
The fields to all their wonted tribute bear;
To warm their little loves the birds complain.
I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear,
And weep the more because I weep in vain.

It will easily be perceived, that the only part of this Sonnet which is of any value is the lines printed in Italics; it is equally obvious, that, except in the rhyme, and in the use of the single word «< fruitless» for fruitlessly, which is so far a defect, the language of these lines does in no respect differ from that of prose.

By the foregoing quotation I have shown that the language of Prose may yet be well adapted to Poetry; and I have previously asserted, that a large portion of the language of every good poem can in no respect differ from that of good Prose. I will go further. I do not doubt that it may be safely affirmed, that there neither is, nor can be, any essential difference between the language of prose and metrical composition. We are fond of tracing the resemblance between Poetry and Painting, and, accordingly, we call them Sisters: but where shall we find bonds of connexion sufficiently strict to typify the affinity betwixt metrical and prose composition? They both speak by and to the same organs; the bodies in which both of them are clothed may be said to be of the same substance, their affec tions are kindred, and almost identical, not necessarily differing even in degree; Poetry sheds no tears « such as Angels weep,» but natural and human tears; she can

I here use the word Poetry (though against my own judgment) as opposed to the word Prose, and synonymous with metrical composition. But much confusion has been introduced into criticism by this contradistinction of Poetry and Prose, instead of the more philosophical one of Poetry and Matter of Fact, or Science. The only strict antithesis to Prose is Metre: nor is this, in truth, a strict antithesis; be ause lines and passages of metre so naturally occur in writing prose, that it would be scarcely possible to avoid them, even were it desirable.

boast of no celestial Ichor that distinguishes her vital juices from those of prose; the same human blood circulates through the veins of them both.

If it be affirmed that rhyme and metrical arrangement of themselves constitute a distinction which overturns what I have been saying on the strict affinity of metrical language with that of prose, and paves the way for other artificial distinctions which the mind voluntarily admits, I answer that the language of such Poetry as I am recommending is, as far as is possible, a selection of the language really spoken by men; that this selection, wherever it is made with true taste and feeling, will of itself form a distinction far greater than would at first be imagined, and will entirely separate the composition from the vulgarity and meanness of ordinary life; and, if metre be superadded thereto, I believe that a dissimilitude will be produced altogether sufficient for the gratification of a rational mind. What other distinction would we have? Whence is it to come? And where is it to exist? Not, surely, where the Poet speaks through the mouths of his characters: it cannot be necessary here, either for elevation of style, or any of its supposed ornaments: for, if the Poet's subject be judiciously chosen, it will naturally, and upon fit occasion, lead him to passions the language of which, if selected truly and judiciously, must necessarily be dignified and variegated, and alive with metaphors and figures. I forbear to speak of an incongruity which would shock the intelligent Reader, should the Poet interweave any foreign splendour of his own with that which the passion naturally suggests: it is sufficient to say that such addition is unnecessary. And, surely, it is more probable that those passages, which with propriety abound with metaphors and figures, will have their due effect, if, upon other occasions where the passions are of a milder character, the style also be subdued and temperate.

But, as the pleasure which I hope to give by the Poems I now present to the Reader must depend entirely on just notions upon this subject, and, as it is in itself of the highest importance to our taste and moral feelings, cannot content myself with these detached remarks. And if, in what I am about to say, it shall appear to some that my labour is unnecessary, and that I am like a man fighting a battle without enemies, I would remind such persons, that, whatever may be the language outwardly holden by men, a practical faith in the opinions which I am wishing to establish is almost unknown. If my conclusions are admitted, and carried as for as they must be carried if admitted at all, our judgments concerning the works of the greatest Poets both ancient and modern will be far different from what they are at present, both when we praise, and when we censure: and our moral feelings influencing and influenced by these judgments will, I believe, be corrected and purified.

Taking up the subject, then, upon general grounds, I ask what is meant by the word Poet? What is a Poet? To whom does he address himself? And what language is to be expected from him? He is a man speaking to men: a man, it is true, endued with more lively sensibility, more enthusiasm and tenderness, who has a greater knowledge of human nature, and a more comprehensive soul, than are supposed to be common among mankind; a man pleased with his own passions

and volitions, and who rejoices more than other men in the spirit of life that is in him; delighting to contemplate similar volitions and passions as manifested in the goings-on of the Universe, and habitually impelled to create them where he does not find them. To these qualities he has added, a disposition to be affected more than other men by absent things as if they were present; an ability of conjuring up in himself passions, which are indeed far from being the same as those produced by real events, yet (especially in those parts of the general sympathy which are pleasing and delightful) do more nearly resemble the passions produced by real events, than any thing which, from the motions of their own minds merely, other men are accustomed to feel in themselves; whence, and from practice, he has acquired a greater readiness and power in expressing what he thinks and feels, and especially those thoughts and feelings which, by his own choice, or from the structure of his own mind, arise in him without immediate external excitement.

But, whatever portion of this faculty we may suppose even the greatest Poet to possess, there cannot be a doubt but that the language which it will suggest to him, must, in liveliness and truth, fall far short of that which is uttered by men in real life, under the actual pressure of those passions, certain shadows of which the Poet thus produces, or feels to be produced, in himself.

However exalted a notion we would wish to cherish of the character of a Poet, it is obvious, that, while he describes and imitates passions, his situation is altogether slavish and mechanical, compared with the freedom and power of real and substantial action and suffering. So that it will be the wish of the Poet to bring his feelings near to those of the persons whose feelings he describes, nay, for short spaces of time, perhaps, to let himself slip into an entire delusion, and even confound and identify his own feelings with theirs; modi-¦ fying only the language which is thus suggested to him by a consideration that he describes for a particular purpose, that of giving pleasure. Here, then, he will apply the principle on which I have so much insisted, namely, that of selection; on this he will depend for re¦ moving what would otherwise be painful or disgusting in the passion; he will feel that there is no necessity to trick out or to elevate nature: and, the more industriously he applies this principle, the deeper will be bis faith that no words, which his fancy or imagination can suggest, will be to be compared with those which are the emanations of reality and truth.

But it may be said by those who do not object to the general spirit of these remarks, that, as it is impossible for the poet to produce upon all occasions language as ! exquisitely fitted for the passion as that which the real | passion itself suggests, it is proper that he should consider himself as in the situation of a translator, who deems himself justified when he substitutes excellencies of another kind for those which are unattainable by him; and endeavours occasionally to surpass his original, in order to make some amends for the general inferiority to which he feels that he must submit. But this would be to encourage idleness and unmanly des- ! pair. Further, it is the language of men who speak of what they do not understand; who talk of Poetry as of a matter of amusement and idle pleasure; who will converse with us as gravely about a taste for Poetry, as

lities of nature. And thus the Poet, prompted by this feeling of pleasure which accompanies him through the whole course of his studies, converses with general nature with affections akin to those, which, through labour and length of time, the Man of Science has raised up in himself, by conversing with those particular parts of nature which are the objects of his studies. The knowledge both of the Poet and the Man of Science is pleasure; but the knowledge of the one cleaves to us as necessary part of our existence, our natural and unalienable inheritance; the other is a personal and indi

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hey express it, as if it were a thing as indifferent as a taste for Rope-dancing, or Frontiniac or Sherry. Aris totle, I have been told, hath said, that Poetry is the most philosophic of all writing: it is so: its object is truth, not individual and local, but general, and operative; not standing upon external testimony, but carried alive into the heart by passion; truth which is its own testimony, which gives strength and divinity to the tribunal to which it appeals, and receives them from the same tribunal. Poetry is the image of man and nature. The obstacles which stand in the way of the fidelity of the Biographer and Historian, and of their consequent uti-vidual acquisition, slow to come to us, and by no hability, are incalculably greater than those which are to be tual and direct sympathy connecting us with our fellowencountered by the Poet who has an adequate notion of beings. The Man of Science seeks truth as a remote the dignity of his art. The Poet writes under one re- and unknown benefactor; he cherishes and loves it in striction only, namely, that of the necessity of giving his solitude: the Poet, singing a song in which all huimmediate pleasure to a human Being possessed of that man beings join with him, rejoices in the presence of information which may be expected from him, not as a truth as our visible friend and hourly companion. Poelawyer, a physician, a mariner, an astronomer, or a na- try is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is tural philosopher, but as a Man. Except this one re- the impassioned expression which is in the countenance striction, there is no object standing between the Poet of all Science. Emphatically may it be said of the Poet, and the image of things; between this, and the Biogra- as Shakspeare hath said of man, « that he looks before pher and Historian there are a thousand. and after.» He is the rock of defence of human nature; Nor let this necessity of producing immediate plea- an apholder and preserver, carrying every where with sure be considered as a degradation of the Poet's art. It him relationship and love. In spite of difference of soil is far otherwise. It is an acknowledgment of the beauty and climate, of language and manners, of laws and cusof the universe, an acknowledgment the more sincere, toms, in spite of things silently gone out of mind, and because it is not formal, but indirect; it is a task light things violently destroyed, the Poet binds together by and easy to him who looks at the world in the spirit of passion and knowledge the vast empire of human solove: further, it is an homage paid to the native and ciety, as it is spread over the whole earth, and over all naked dignity of man, to the grand elementary prin- time. The objects of the Poet's thoughts are every ciple of pleasure, by which he knows, and feels, and where; though the eyes and senses of man are, it is true, lives, and moves. We have no sympathy but what is his favourite guides, yet he will follow wheresoever he propagated by pleasure: I would not be misunderstood; can find an atmosphere of sensation in which to move but wherever we sympathise with pain, it will be found his wings. Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge that the sympathy is produced and carried on by subtle -it is as immortal as the heart of man. If the labours combinations with pleasure. We have no knowledge, of Men of Science should ever create any material revothat is, no general principles drawn from the contem-lation, direct or indirect, in our condition, and in the plation of particular facts, but what has been built up impressions which we habitually receive, the Poet will by pleasure, and exists in us by pleasure alone. The sleep then no more than at present, but he will be Man of Science, the Chemist and Mathematician, what- ready to follow the steps of the Man of Science, not only ever difficulties and disgusts they may have had to in those general indirect effects, but he will be at his struggle with, know and feel this. However painful side, carrying sensation into the midst of the objects of may be the objects with which the Anatomist's know- the Science itself. The remotest discoveries of the Cheledge is connected, he feels that his knowledge is plea- mist, the Botanist, or Mineralogist, will be as proper sure; and where he has no pleasure he has no know- objects of the Poet's art as any upon which it can be ledge. What then does the Poet? He considers man employed, if the time should ever come when these and the objects that surround him as acting and re-ac- things shall be familiar to us, and the relations under ting upon each other, so as to produce an infinite com- which they are contemplated by the followers of these plexity of pain and pleasure; he considers man in his respective Sciences shall be manifestly and palpably own nature and in his ordinary life as contemplating material to us as enjoying and suffering beings. If the this with a certain quantity of immediate knowledge, time should ever come when what is now called Sciwith certain convictions, intuitions, and deductions, ence, thus familiarised to men, shall be ready to put which by habit become of the nature of intuitions; he on, as it were, a form of flesh and blood, the Poet will considers him as looking upon this complex scene of lend his divine spirit to aid the transfiguration, and will ideas and sensations, and finding every where objects welcome the Being thus produced, as a dear and gethat immediately excite in him sympathies which, from nuine inmate of the household of man.—It is not, then, the necessities of his nature, are accompanied by an to be supposed that any one, who holds that sublime overbalance of enjoyment. notion of Poetry which I have attempted to convey, will break in upon the sanctity and truth of his pictures by transitory and accidental ornaments, and endeavour to excite admiration of himself by arts, the necessity of which must manifestly depend upon the assumed meanness of his subject.

To this knowledge which all men carry about with them, and to these sympathies in which, without any other discipline than that of our daily life, we are fit ted to take delight, the Poet principally directs his attention. He considers man and nature as essentially adapted to each other, and the mind of man as naturally the mirror of the fairest and most interesting qua.

What I have thus far said applies to Poetry in general; but especially to those parts of composition

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