Now, though we firmly think with Hamlet, that "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dream'd of in your philosophy," and have long since abandoned the proud principle of believing nothing we do not understand, yet upon this occasion our travelling predecessors in the regions of the East make rather large demands upon our stock of credulity, and we have witnessed too many clever tricks among our own Indians, not to invoke the testimony of our reason, when reading the narratives of similar efforts among the mountebanks of Cyprus. But we will not forestall the judgment of our readers upon this important subject, and shall content ourselves with repeating after the Minstrel, "I cannot tell how the truth may be, In an intellectual history of our age, the bard of Rydal Mount must occupy a prominent place. His name is so intimately associated with the poetical criticism of the period, that, even if his productions are hereafter neglected, he cannot wholly escape I say the tale as 'twas said to me." consideration. The mere facts of his life will We have already passed the bounds of our own preserve his memory. It will not be forgotten that judgment, and probably of the reader's patience, in one among the men of acknowledged genius in the unreasonable length to which this article is England, during a period of great political exciteextended. And yet we have not touched upon the ment, and when society accorded to literary sucgovernment, population, revenues, productions, nor cess the highest honors, should voluntarily remain commerce of Cyprus, nor upon many other sub-secluded amid the mountains, the uncompromising jects connected with the present condition of the advocate of a theory, from time to time sending inhabitants, and illustrative of the operation of forth his effusions, as uncolored by the poetic taste Mahometan institutions over a subjugated country. In another number we shall give the result of our observations upon these topics. I MOURN NOT AS I MOURNED. I mourn not as I mourn'd of yore, Bore in its bosom pale decay, I mourn not as I mourn'd at first, Ere life had left me but the lees; Of sunshine on the Summer seas! I mourn not. Spring will bring them back, O'er which pale Love his vigil keeps- But I have mourn'd for many a thing VOL. VII-14 of the time, as statues from an isolated quarry. It "Such lays as neither ebb nor flow, Correctly cold, and regularly slow." Occasional felicities of style do not atone for such frequent desecration of the muse. We could forgive them in a less-gifted minstrel; but with one of Wordsworth's genius it is more difficult to compromise. The number of his indifferent attempts shade the splendor of his real merit. The poems protected by his fame, which are uninspired by his genius, have done much to blind a large class of readers to his intrinsic worth. Another circumstance has contributed to the same result. His Wordsworth's first appeal, that we cannot wonder | mind only a formal interest. It sometimes seems it was unattractive. Byron and Burns needed no as if he had taken up the business of a bard, and introduction. The earnestness of their manner felt bound to fulfil its functions. His political secured instant attention. Their principles and opinions, his historical reading, almost every event purposes were matters of after-thought. Who- of personal experience, must be chronicled, in the ever is even superficially acquainted with human form of a sonnet or blank verse. The language nature, must have prophecied a doubtful reception may be chaste, the sentiment unexceptionable, the to a bard, who begins by calmly stating his reasons moral excellent, and yet there may be no poetry, for considering prose and verse identical, his wish and perhaps the idea has been often better exto inculcate certain truths which he deemed neg-pressed in prose. Even the admirers of Wordslected, and the several considerations which induced worth are compelled, therefore, to acknowledge, him to adopt rhyme for the purpose. Nor is this that with all his unrivalled excellencies, he has writfeeling wholly unworthy of respect, even admitting, ten too many with Wordsworth, that mere popularity is no evidence of the genuineness of poetry. Minds of poetical sensibility are accustomed to regard the true poet as so far inspired by his experience, as to write from a spontaneous enthusiasm. They regard verse as his natural element-the most congenial form of expression. They imagine he can scarcely account wholly to himself, far less to others, for his diction and imagery,-any farther than they are the result of emotion too intense and absorbing to admit of any conscious or reflective process. Even if "poetry takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity," it must be of redeeming graces often, from excess, become blemthat earnest and tender kind, which is only occa- ishes. In avoiding the tinsel of a meretricious sionally experienced. Trust, therefore, was not style, he sometimes degenerates into positive homereadily accorded a writer who scarcely seemed liness. In rejecting profuse ornament, he often enamored of his Art, and presented a theory in presents his conceptions in so bald a manner as to prose to win the judgment, instead of first taking prove utterly unattractive. His simplicity is not captive the heart by the music of his lyre. Nor is infrequently childish; his calmness stagnation, his this the only just cause of Wordsworth's early pathos puerility. And these impressions, in some want of appreciation. He has not only written instances, have been allowed to ortweigh those too much from pure reflection, but the quantity of which his more genuine qualities inspire. For his verse is wholly out of proportion to its quality. when we reverse the picture, Wordsworth presents He has too often written for the mere sake of wri- claims to grateful admiration, second to no poet of ting. The mine he opened may be inexhaustible, the age; and no susceptible and observing mind but to him it is not given to bring to light all its can study his writings without yielding him at least treasures. His characteristics are not universal. this cordial acknowledgment. His power is not unlimited. On the contrary, his estimate the happy influence Wordsworth has expoints of peculiar excellence, though rare, are erted upon poetical taste and practice, by the excomparatively few. He has endeavored to extend ample he has given of a more simple and artless his range beyond its natural bounds. In a word, style. Like the sculptors who lead their pupils he has written too much, and too indiscriminately. back to the anatomy of the human frame, and the It is to be feared that habit has made the work of painters who introduced the practice of drawing versifying necessary, and he has too often resorted from the human figure, Wordsworth opposed to the to it merely as an occupation. Poetry is too sa- artificial and declamatory, the clear and natural in cred to be thus mechanically pursued. The true diction. He exhibited, as it were, a new source bard seizes only genial periods, and inciting themes. of the elements of expression. He endeavored, He consecrates only his better moments to "the and with singular success, to revive a taste for less divinest of arts." He feels that there is a corres- exciting poetry. He boldly tried the experiment pondence between certain subjects and his indi- of introducing plain viands, at a banquet garnished vidual genius, and to these he conscientiously de- with all the art of gastronomy. He offered to votes his powers. Wordsworth seems to have substitute crystal water for ruddy wine, and invited acted on a different principle. It is obvious to a those accustomed only to "a sound of revelry by discerning reader that his muse is frequently whip- night," to go forth and breathe the air of mounped into service. He is too often content to indite tains, and gaze into the mirror of peaceful lakes. a series of common-place thoughts, and memorial- He aimed to persuade men that they could be ize topics which have apparently awakened in his "moved by gentler excitements" than those of It is not easy to "Though absent long, These forms of beauty have not been to me luxury and violence. He essayed to calm their phere. His interest in the universe has been beating hearts, to cool their fevered blood, to lead justly called personal. It is not the passion of a them gently back to the fountains that " go softly." lover in the dawn of his bliss, nor the unexpected He bade them repose their throbbing brows upon delight of a metropolitan, to whose sense rural the lap of Nature. He quietly advocated the beauty is arrayed in the charms of novelty; but peace of rural solitude, the pleasure of evening rather the settled, familiar, and deep attachment of walks among the hills, as more salutary than more a friend: ostentatious amusements. The lesson was suited to the period. It came forth from the retirement of Nature as quietly as a zephyr; but it was not lost in the hum of the world. Insensibly it mingled with the noisy strife, and subdued it to a sweeter murmur. It fell upon the heart of youth, and its passions grew calmer. It imparted a more harmonious tone to the meditations of the poet. It tempered the aspect of life to many an eager The life, both inward and outward, of Wordsworth, spirit, and gradually weaned the thoughtful from is most intimately associated with lakes and mounthe encroachments of false taste and conven-tains. Amid them he was born, and to them has tional habits. To a commercial people it portray- he ever looked for the necessary aliment of his ed the attractiveness of tranquillity. Before an being. Nor are his feelings on the subject merely unhealthy and flashy literature, it set up a standard of truthfulness and simplicity. In an age of mechanical triumph, it celebrated the majestic re sources of the universe. To this calm voice from the mountains, none could listen without advantage. What though its tones were sometimes monotonous ?-they were hopeful and serene. To listen exclusively, might indeed prove wearisome; but in some placid moments those mild echoes could not but bring good cheer. In the turmoil of cities, they refreshed from contrast; among the green fields, they inclined the mind to recognize blessings to which it is often insensible. There were ministers to the passions, and apostles of learning, sufficient for the exigencies of the times. Such an age could well suffer one preacher of the simple, the natural and the true; one advocate of a wisdom not born of books, of a pleasure not obtainable from society, of a satisfaction underived from outward activity. And such a prophet proved William Wordsworth. Sensibility to Nature is characteristic of poets in general. Wordsworth's feelings in this regard have the character of affection. He does not break out into ardent apostrophes like that of Byron addressed to the Ocean, or Coleridge's Hymn at Chamouni; but his verse breathes a constant and serene devotion to all the charms of natural scenery-from the mountain-range that bounds the horizon, to the daisy beside his path: "If stately passions in me burn, The homely syr.pathy, that heeds Of hearts at leisure." passive or negative. He has a reason for the faith "He had small need of books; for many a Tale "One impulse from a vernal wood Than all the sages can." Accordingly, both in details and combination, Nature has been the object of his long and earnest study. To illustrate her unobserved and silent ministry to the heart, has been his favorite pursuit. From his poems might be gleaned a compendium of mountain influences. Even the animal world is viewed in the same light: In the much-ridiculed Peter Bell, Susan, and the White-Doe of Rylstone, we have striking instances. To present the affecting points of its relation to mankind has been one of the most daring and successful experiments of his muse: "One lesson, shepherd, let us two divide, Taught both by what she shows and what conceals, He does not seem so much to resort to the quiet It is the common and universal in Nature that he scenes of the country for occasional recreation, as loves to celebrate. The rare and startling seldom to live and breathe only in their tranquil atmos- find a place in his verse. That calm, soothing, habitual language, addressed to the mind by the poetry, who imbibes its spirit, can scarcely look common air and sky, the ordinary verdure, the field-upon the young with indifference. The parent flower, and the sunset, is the almost invariable must thence derive a new sense of the sacredness theme of his song. And herein have his labors of children, and learn to reverence their innocence, proved chiefly valuable. They have tended to to leave unmarred their tender traits, and to yield make us more reverent listeners to the daily voices them more confidently to the influences of Nature. of earth, to make us realize the goodness of our In his true and feeling chronicles of the "heaven" common heritage, and partake, with a more con- that "lies about us in our infancy," Wordsworth scious and grateful sensibility, of the beautiful has uttered a silent but most eloquent reproach around us. In the same spirit has Wordsworth upon all the absurdities and sacrilegious abuses of looked upon human life and history. To lay bare modern education. He has made known the truth, the native elements of character in its simplest that children have their lesson to convey as well form, to assert the essential dignity of life in its as receive: most rude and common manifestations, to vindicate the interest which belongs to human beings, simply as such, have been the darling objects of his thoughts. Instead of Corsairs and Laras, peerless ladies and perfect knights, he loved to depict "A creature not too bright or good, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles." "O dearest, dearest boy, my heart For better lore would seldom yearn, He He has made more evident the awful chasm be- ambition: Those first affections, Are yet the fountain-light of all our day; A waggoner, a beggar, a potter, a pedler, are the characters of whose feelings and experience he sings. The operation of industry, bereavement, temptation, remorse and local influence, upon these children of humble toil, have furnished problems which he has delighted to solve. And who shall say that in so doing, he has not been of signal service to his kind? Who shall say that through such portraits a wider and truer sympathy, a more vivid sense of human brotherhood, a more just self-respect, has not been extensively awakened? Have not our eyes been thus opened to the better aspects of ig- He has exemplified that the worst evil of life is norance and poverty? Have we not thus been rather acquired than inherited, and vindicated the made to feel the true claims of man? Allured by beneficent designs of the Creator, by exhibiting the gentle monitions from Rydal Mount, do we humanity when fresh from his hand. This is a not now look upon our race in a more meek and high moral service. Upon many of those who susceptible mood, and pass the lowliest being be- have become familiar with Wordsworth in youth, side the highway with more of that new sentiment such impressions must have been permanent and of respect and hope which was heralded by the invaluable, greatly influencing their observation of star of Bethlehem? Can we not more sincerely life and nature, and touching "to finer issues" their exclaim with the hero of Sartor Resartus: "Poor, unpledged sympathies. It is with the eye of a wandering, wayward man! Art thou not tried, meditative poet that Wordsworth surveys life and beaten with many stripes, even as I am? Ever, nature. And thus inspired, a new elevation is imwhether thou wear the royal mantle or the beg- parted to "ordinary moral sensations," and it is gar's gaberdine, art thou not so weary, so heavy the sentiment rather than the subject which gives laden O! my brother, my brother! why cannot interest to the song. Hence it is absolutely necesI shelter thee in my bosom, and wipe away all tears sary that the reader should sympathize with the from thine eyes?" feelings of the poet, to enjoy or understand him. In accordance with this humane philosophy, He appeals to that contemplative spirit which does Childhood is contemplated by Wordsworth. The not belong to all, and visits even its votaries but spirit of the Saviour's sympathy with this beautiful occasionally; to "a sadness that has its seat in the era of life, seems to possess his muse. Its uncon- depths of reason;" he professes to "follow the sciousness, its ignorance of death, its trust, hope fluxes and refluxes of the mind when agitated by and peace, its teachings, and promise he has por- the great and simple affections of our nature." trayed with rare sympathy. Witness, "We are To enter into purposes like these, there must exist Seven," the "Pet Lamb," and especially the Ode, a delicate sympathy with human nature, a reflecwhich is perhaps the finest and most characteristic tive habit, a mingling of reason and fancy, an imof Wordsworth's compositions. A reader of his agination active but not impassioned. The frame Editor of the Southern Literary Messenger. DEAR SIR: The enclosed communication is well calcu This calm and holy musing, this deep and inti-lated to excite public attention to a subject of much interest mate communion with Nature, this spirit of peace, to Virginians, and indeed to the people of our country geneshould sometimes visit us. There are periods when passionate poetry wearies, and a lively measure is discordant. There are times when we are calmed and softened, and it is a luxury to pause and forget the promptings of desire and the cares of life; when it is a relief to leave the crowd and wander into solitude; when, faint and disappointed, we seek, like tired children, the neglected bosom of Nature, and in the serenity of her maternal smile, find rest and solace. Such moments redeem existence from its monotony, and refresh the human heart with dew from the urns of Peace. Then it is that the bard of Rydal Mount is like a brother, and we deeply feel that it is good for us to have known him. rally, as the early annals of Virginia constitute an impor- NEW-YEAR WISHES. Sweet friends! be still, those joyous wishes cease, Can it revive the blessings I have wept ?— The hopes that blossom'd to decline and die? The crush'd ambition that so long has slept? The wild illusions of the days gone by? Can it erase the records of the past, And take from memory the trace of tears? O'er all the visions of those vanished years? And still the trembling echo of farewell? Restore to youth its fervor and its glow; THOMAS W. GILMER. [To the inquiries of our respected and distinguished correspondent, we answer that we duly appreciate with him the importance of some effective plan for collecting and preserving the memorials of our State history, before the march of time shall have consigned them to oblivion. With regard to the " Historical and Philosophical Society," we regret to understand from a source entitled to credit, that if it be not actually extinct, it is at least in a state of suspended animation. There were probably some defects in the organization of that society which led to its premature failure; but whatever those defects were, one thing is certain, that such an association cannot exist long, unless a sufficient number of its members are zealously and perseveringly devoted to its success. It is a cutting reproach to Virginia, that the repeated efforts of some of her sons to establish literary and scientific societies, have, for the most part, proved abortive. Where the solution is to be found, is the task of philosophical criticism to determine. It may be that the climate and education may have had some influence in producing the result, or it is possible that the superior allurements of social enjoyments, or the higher charms of political abstractions and turmoil, have exerted a powerful agency in creating a distaste for the quiet and unobtrusive pleasures of literature. Whatever be the cause, we wish sincerely it were removed, and that a more auspicious era had dawned upon the Ancient Dominion.] Ed. Sou. Lit. Mess. CITY OF JEFFERSON, MISSOURI, His Excellency, Thomas Walker Gilmer, Governor of Virginia. SIR: During the war of the Revolution, Virginia did not escape the Vandalism of a Christian enemy. The vindictive spirit which armed her slaves, desolated her counties, and rejoiced in the conflagration of her towns, found a brutal gratification in the destruction of her archives. A large body of historical information, singularly comprehensive |