rather unconvincing tone of melancholy and love of natural scenery. However, this love does not lead the authors to a very careful or intimate observation of the objects of their affection. For the most part, they, too, are content with the old inanities about balmy spring and all her monotonous zephyrs. The following are specimens of this ameliorated verse. The first is a rather favorable example of the results of the new interest in Milton's minor poems: Oh, far removed from my retreat To court the chaste, inspiring Muse.1 Here there is a complete absence of the periphrastic diction of the first example, though the imagery is still a little conventional. But such echoes of Dyer and other imitators of Il Penseroso are less frequent than verses like the following, in which the old words are fitted to new tunes: See, fairest of the nymphs that play Lo! All the gay, the genial powers That deck the woods or tend the flowers To a Primrose. Pale visitant of balmy spring, Joy of the new-born year, Thou bidst young hope new plume his wing While o'er the incense-breathing sky The tepid hours just dare to fly, And vainly woo the chilling breeze,3 etc. 1 February, 1797. 2 April, 1797. 3 Ibid. Now and then we find examples of natural imagery that is not only hopelessly general but absolutely false—the falseness consisting in the unnatural personification displayed most conspicuously in those eighteenth-century verses in honor of 'nymphs' before whom lofty trees bow in reverence, and roses blush to find their beauties rivaled by the 'lovely fair.' The bad habits inculcated by this extravagant gallantry lead poetasters into the most ridiculous falsifications-even when they are celebrating a Nature that does not suffer from competition with these distracting goddesses. In the following effusion the coming of the sun (Apollo) is described in the terms formerly used of the advent of some lovely lady or dazzling lord: See! As he comes, with generál voice, And own him as their king; Ev'n rugged rocks their heads advance, Such verse in a magazine of good character gives point to This latter type has been quoted at some length to show that M. Legouis is hardly correct in saying2 that the influence of the landscape school was responsible for the poetic diction against which Wordsworth's efforts were directed. This poetic diction he describes as consisting in those deviations from the order and syntax of prose which he finds in Wordsworth's own early work. But, obviously, the one 2 The Early Life of William Wordsworth, pp. 127-134. 1 thing that is not characteristic of contemporary verse is this departure from the ordinary usage of spoken language, either with respect to grammar or choice of words, if we regard the words separately, and not in combination. Of course there are a few examples of harsh constructions, such as the imitation of the ablative absolute, rather common in the poetry of the later eighteenth century, and never wholly discarded by Wordsworth. But, for the most part, the grammar and syntax are correct and easy-as may be seen by looking back at the examples already quoted. In the first example there is a slight departure in the first, third, and fifth lines from the strict order of prose; but we do not feel the inversion to be so awkward as it is in the lines from Wordsworth cited by M. Legouis. Moreover, the grammatical construction is quite simple and regular. In the second extract only the clause, 'Give me to taste,' seems rather unusual in the spoken language. In the next two poems, however, the order is strictly that of prose, and, apart from the word 'incense-breathing,' there is not a word which might not be heard in fairly cultivated conversation. This, with one or two exceptions, is true of the other verses. On the whole, one could hardly expect in any age to find verse of the average character which was less unmusical, or more simple and clear in construction, or which employed fewer words not heard in ordinary speech. That these characteristics are typical may be seen by any reader who takes the trouble to examine the miscellanies and magazines of the day. The boast of the eighteenth century that it had at last made English verse metrically and grammatically correct is borne out by such an examination. What then is it that removes the language of this verse so far from nature and truth-for obviously this is not the way in which sensible men express themselves? While sensible men use these words separately, they do not use these combinations of them. They may employ the words genial, waves, balmy, and wing, at different times and for different purposes, but, in order to indicate that a soft and gentle breeze is blowing, they do not say that 'genial Zephyr waves his balmy wings.' In other words, the poetic diction consists, not in the separate words, but in those 'happy combinations' which, as Dr. Johnson says, distinguish poetry from prose. The peculiarity of these elegances of speech is that they suggest an image, not by using the word or words associated with it in everyday experience, but by using, in its stead, another image associated with it only in verse-a kind of accepted symbol for the image. Hence, instead of the clear and coherent pictures suggested simply by a list of the common names of the phenomena that actually occur together in nature-green grass, sunshine, and violets, for instance, we are given a heterogeneous mass of substitute images, which cannot be actually visualized without somewhat ridiculous results. To such an end had one attempt to make the language of verse approximate to the language of typical conversation arrived! Yet it must not be forgotten that there had been such an attempt, even at the basis of this monstrous development. -- From this long review it may be seen that, on the whole, the authors of the Lyrical Ballads were justified in believing that their theory and practice were in accordance with the best traditions of English poetry. It may also be seen that the question of poetic diction was exceedingly complicated, because it involved not only matters of vocabulary and grammar, but the far more difficult problems of rhetoric, and the ultimate basis of rhetoric in human psychology. The special contribution of Wordsworth and Coleridge consisted in their recognition of these problems of psychology, and the insight and personal experience which they brought to bear upon them. The bold young poets of the Lyrical Ballads were merely restating an old proposition; but the terms of the restatement were so striking, and the illustrations so original, that the old ideal seemed like a discovery of their own. But how they themselves happened to make the rediscovery we have yet to learn. CHAPTER 3. WORDSWORTH'S POETIC DEVELOPMENT PREVIOUS TO THE MEETING WITH COLERIDGE. To trace the different paths by which the vigorous and independent mountain-lad, and the dreamy but sociable young philosopher of Christ's Hospital, arrived at the same ideal of simplicity is not one of the least interesting of literary inquiries. It is the more interesting because simplicity was as little characteristic of the natural genius of the one as of the other. The only poet of the age who was normally as self-conscious and elaborate as S. T. Coleridge was William Wordsworth. And yet, as Wordsworth said, Though mutually unknown, yea, nursed and reared To bend at last to the same discipline, Predestined, if two beings ever were, To seek the same delights, and have one health, The final character of this discipline was determined as much by the youthful development of Coleridge as by that of Wordsworth; but since Wordsworth is, as it were, the hero of this tale, we must begin with his early experiments in poetry and criticism, and use those of Coleridge only as supplementary and illustrative material. Wordsworth's literary career was rather precocious. He was something of a critic before he was ten, and a really skilful maker of verses at the age of fourteen.2 But even before this he had unconsciously begun to lay the founda |