pursues his thoughts too far; and

SOUTHEY. considers more how he may show Whom did they imitate? If bis them entirely, than how he may show "genius is equal to theirs he has no thein advantageously. Good men need of a guide. He also will be an may utter whatever comes upper- ancient; and the very counterparts of most, good poets may not. It is those, who now decry him, will extol better, but it is also more difficult, him a thousand years hence in mato make a selection of thoughts, than lignity to the moderns. Whatever to accumulate them. He who has a is good in poetry is common to all splendid sideboard, should likewise good poets, however wide may be have an iron chest with a double the diversity of manner. Nothing lock upon it, and should hold in re- can be more dissimilar than the three serve a greater part than he dis- Greek tragedians: but would you plays.

prefer the closest and best copier of Wordsworth goes out of his way Homer to the worst (whichever he to be attacked. He picks up a piece be) amongst them? Let us avoid of dirt, throws it on the carpet in the what is indifferent or doubtful, and midst of the company, and cries embrace what is good, whether we “ This is a better man than any of see it in another or not; and if we you.” He does indeed mould the have contracted any peculiarity, base material into what form he while our muscles and bones were chooses; but why not rather invite softer, let us hope finally to outgrow us to contemplate it, than challenge it. Our feelings and modes of thinkus to condemn it? This surely is ing forbid and exclude a very frefalse taste.

quent imitation of the old classics, SOUTHEY.

not to mention our manners, which The principal and the most gene- have a nearer connection than is geral accusation against Wordsworth nerally known to exist with the is, that the vehicle of his thoughts is higher poetry. When the occasion unequal to them. Now did ever the permitted it, Wordsworth has not dejudges at the Olympic games say, clined to treat a subject as an ancient “ We would have awarded to you the poet of equal vigour would have meed of victory, if your chariot had treated it. Let me repeat to you his been equal to your horses: it is true Laodamia. they have won ; but the people are dis

FORSON. pleased at a car neither new nor richly After your animated recital of this gilt, and without a gryphen or sphynx most classic poem, I begin to think engraven on the axle ?

more highly of you both. It is pleaYou admire simplicity in Euri- sant to find two poets living as bropides; you censure it in Wordsworth: thers, and particularly when the believe me, sir, it arises in neither palm lies between them, without any from penury of thought, which seldom third in sight. Those who have ashas produced it, but from the strength cended to the summit of the mounof temperance, and at the suggestion tain, sit quietly and familiarly side of principle.

by side; it is only those who are Take up a poem of Wordsworth's climbing with gravel in their shoes, and read it; I would rather say, read that scramble, kick, and jostle. You them all; and, knowing that a mind have recited a most spirited thing inlike yours must grasp closely what deed. I never had read it. Now to comes within it, I will then appeal to give you a proof that I have been atyou whether any poet of our country, tentive, I will remark two passages since Shakspeare, has exerted that offend me. In the first stanza, greater variety of powers with less With sacrifice before the rising morn strain and less ostentation. I would Performed, my slaughtered lord have I rehowever, with his permission, lay be- quired; fore you for this purpose a poem And in thick darkness, amid shades forlorn, which is yet unpublished and income Him the infernal Gods have I desired. plete.

The second line and the fourth terPORSON.

minate too much alike : have I rePity, with his abilities, he does not quired and have I desired are worse imitate the ancients somewhat more. than prosaic. In another,

a

a

He spake of love, such love as spirits feel have made a common cause in behalf In worlds whose course is equable and pure; of learning, but on the contrary have No fears to beat away, no strife to heal, made a common cause against it. The past unsighed for, and the future sure; The earth opened her entrails before Spake, as a witness, of a second birth

them, conjured them to receive aFor all that is most perfect upon earth.

gain, while it was possible, the In a composition such as Sophocles glories of their species and they might have exulted to own, and in a turned their backs. They pretend stanza the former part of which that it is not their business or their might have been heard with shouts duty to interfere in the internal afof rapture in the regions he describes, fairs of other states. This is not an how unseasonable is the allusion to internal affair of any state whatever: witness and second birth, which it interests all ; it belongs to all; things, however holy and venerable and these scrupulous men have no in themselves, come stinking and scruple to interfere in giving their reeking to us from the conventicle. countenance and assistance, when a I desire to see Laodamia in the silent province is to be torn away or a peoand gloomy mansion of her beloved ple to be enslaved. The most con

Protesilaus ; not elbowed by the temptible of the Medicean family godly butchers in Tottenham-court- did more for the advancement of letroad, nor smelling devoutly of ratafia ters than all the potentates now in among the sugar-bakers at Black, existence. If their delicacy is shocked friars.

or alarmed at the idea of making a Mythologies should be kept dis- proposal to send scientific and learntinci: the fire-place of one should ed 'men thither, let them send a never be subject to the smoke of brace of printers and the property is another. The Gods of different their own. Twenty men in seven countries, when they come together years might retrieve all the losses we unexpectedly, are jealous Gods, and, have experienced from the bigotry of as our old women say, turn the house popes and califs. I do not intend to out of windows.

assert, that every Herculanean maÀ current of rich and bright nuscript might within that period be thoughts runs throughout the poem. unfolded; but the three first senPindar himself would not, on that tences of the larger part might be; subject, have braced one into more which is quite sufficient to inform nerve and freshness, nor Euripides the scholar, whether a further athave inspired into it more tenderness tempt on the scroll would repay his and more passion. I am not insen- trouble. There are fewer than thirty sible to that warmly chaste morality Greek authors worth inquiring for ; which is the soul of it, nor indiffer- they exist beyond doubt, and beyond ent to the benefits that literature on doubt they may with attention, pamany occasions has derived from tience, and skill be brought to light. Christianity. But poetry is a luxury With a smaller sum than is annually to which, if she tolerates and per- expended on the appointment of mits it, she accepts no invitation: some silly and impertinent young she beats down your gates and cita- envoy, we might recall into existence dels, levels your high places, and all, or nearly all, those men of imeradicates your groves. For which mortal name, whose disappearance reason I dwell more willingly with has been the regret of genius for those authors, who cannot mix and three hundred years. In my opinion confound the manners they represent. a few thousand pounds laid out on The hope that we may rescue at such an undertaking would be laid Herculaneum a great number of out as creditably as on a Persian them hath, I firmly believe, kept me carpet or a Turkish tent; as creditalive. Reasonably may all the best ably as on a collar of rubies and a be imagined to exist in a library of ball-dress of Brussells-lace for our some thousands. It will be recorded lady in the manger, or as on gilding, to the eternal infamy of the kings for the adoration of princesses and and princes now reigning, or rather their capuchins, the posteriors and of those whose feet put into motion anteriors of saint Januarius. their rocking-horses, that they never

Persons

THE CHASE:-A DRAMATICLE.

AMARYLLO, a young lord of Spain.
SYLVIAN, his friend; an Italian.
MARINEL, a sea-captain.

NERINA, a Catalan girl.

Scene lies near Rosas in Catalonia.

Scene. The Sea-shore. Shipwreck at a distance.
Storm; with fits of Sunshine.

Enter SYLVIAN and Marinel.

Marinel. Welcome, sir! Welcome to our wild sea-coast :
What though it shew bleak and inhospitable,
Kindness was ever coy; a maid's first kiss,
Colder than moonlight prints the cloud withal,
Ne'er yet might dash the wooer.

Sylvian. Ay, but this salutation was too rough:

The high-hung wave on which our bark sat balanced,
Seem'd in suspense whether 'twould yield or no
Its burthen to the shock of an embrace
With such hard-hearted and unfriendly stones;
But you think nought of this, good Marinel,
You who have talk'd with death so oft, that all
His threats have lost their terror.

Marinel. True, sir; true:

I've been so toss'd, by wind and saucy wave,
So harried, toil-worn, bruised and buffeted,-
(All in the way of my profession,)—that I hold
Dangers no longer in my memory

Than whilst they strike; and striking,

Count them but sports o' the time. But where the while
Stays your young friend? he that sung amorous songs
To the tune o'the storm, and swore the prancing waves
Look'd like young tilters at a tournament ?

Sylvian. Lord Amaryllo?

Marinel. Ay; he that we brought o'er from Genoa.
Sylvian. He! O-he scarcely knew himself for alive,
Or shook the stunning waters from his ears,

When some young mountain-nymph shows him a glimpse
Of her slender leg, and-off! he's after her.

Murinel. Ha! ha! ha! A brave lad! a brave lad!

I laugh'd to see him shake his fist at the wave
That curl'd upon the strand to pounce upon him,
Then dart like a wild sea-mew up the rocks.
Where shall we look to find him?

Sylvian. Why if we knew what antre or what oak
That same fair Oread makes her tabernacle,

The bank whereon she sits, or rushes where she lies,
We had some hope of finding him.

Marinel. Not else?

Then Love must be his pilot. Keep the way;
He cannot miss the hamlet on the hill:
Come, sir.

Sylvian. I'll follow you. What, Amaryllo!

Call back this wanton falcon. Amaryllo!

Marinel. What ho! lord Amaryllo!

(Exeunt, crying "Amaryllo!"

Nerina.

Scene changes to the Mountain Rocks.

Enter NERINA, as pursued.

Which is the storm or this young mad-cap-bolder?
Soft! soft my bosom !Juno! here's a gallant!
Sooth! he'll ne'er want maids' gifts through modesty :-
Where shall I hide me? What! I must ramble forth,
Fond fool! romancing through these rocky glens,
'Tide what 'tide may. Ha! here's a cave: kind fortune!
(Enters the Cave.
Heav'n keep that spring-foot greyhound from my lair!

Rementer SYLVIAN and MARINEL.

Sylvian. Where can this chase have led him?

Marinel. He's not here.

Sylvian. No. Is the hamlet this way?

Marinel. Peering over us:

Mark you yon dusky wreaths that climb the air
Feeding the smoky clouds? they speak of housewifery,
Comfort, and cheer; see! there's the village mill,
Its long sails furl'd.

Sylvian. You know these shores, good Marinel :

What towers are these, whose yellow-pointed spires
Give back his golden radiance to the sun

Gleaming at times? these, here upon the right?

Marinel. The lord of Rosas'.

Sylvian. Amaryllo's brother!

"Tis a foul wind blows no one home. Of Rosas, say you? How speaks report of this same lord of Rosas?

Marinel. Something above the mark; a noble heart.

Sylvian. What, like this grasshopper?

Marinel. No, no, no, no: As different from this

As darkness is from day-light: Yet not so;
Yet 'tis so: Faith! I know not what it is:

I never saw the man nor those who did;

But those, who say they saw those who have seen him,
Tell tales of him I would not tell the skies,

Lest they should blast me for the utterance.
Sylvian. Why not as well as those who told these tales?
Marinel. O! sir, there are men.

Not worth the spending of a thunderbolt;

Heav'n neither heeds nor hears, say what they will:
Did you not mark a fellow in the ship,

As we came posting o'er the seas from Italy,
Who sat upon the bow, and rail'd at heav'n,
Ev'n to the very forks o'the lightning?
Mendes, I think they call him.

Sylvian. A peer of Rodomonte! a huge liar!

He bore the pacquet from the lord of Rosas
To us at Padua, bidding us to Spain;
Me and his brother Amaryllo.

Marinel. Let me tell you,

He's a grave man:
He told me of this lord :-
How that, one night, beneath the sickening moon,
Whose cheek grew paler with unusual white,
This self same undiscover'd lord of Rosas,
Whilst thunder roar'd, and the dark elements
Conversed in horrible confusion over him-
Hush! hush! I've hurt the ears of heaven.
Sylvian. You have ;

And thus it bellows out its pain. O folly!
Marinel. Why, do you not believe this fact?

(Thunder.

Sylvian. No, not a point of it:

Tush! tush! good captain, leave such goblin tales
To freeze the huddling circle at the fire.
Come! let's away. What, Amaryllo! ho!
Plague take these dalliers!

Marinel. I'm with you, sir.

(Exit.

That thunder did not growl for nothing :-
Ho! my Lord Amaryllo!-'Twas a peal!
It seem'd the stern commandment of the sky
Saying, No more! No more! in mighty murmurs.
Stay, signior.-Ho! What ho! Lord Amaryllo!

(Exit.

Enter AMARYLLO.

Amaryllo. What ho! Lord Amaryllo! Amaryllo! ho!
Re-enter SYLVIAN and MARINEL.

Marinel. Here, my lord! here!

Sylvian. We thought you far before, my lord.
Amaryllo. And so I was; before, behind, beside;

Running my thread of error like a spirit:
Why sirs, there's not a hillock nor a dell,
A green close, nor a rocky cavern,

Within a day's walk hence, but I have trod
Since you twain and I last parted.

Marinel. Half an hour.

Sylvian. Was the coy nymph so light of foot, my lord?
Amaryllo. Whew! man; she'd walk th' immaculate unpaced snow

And leave it printless; walk the sea itself,

Nor wet her upper-slipper: Light of foot?

By Cupid's bow! she's swifter than his arrow.

Sylvian. And wounds as sure?

Amaryllo. Never came sorer wounds from sweeter eyes:
She is a very paramour for angels.

Sylvian. Where did you leave her? pulling of rushes,
To make a baby-bed some nine months hence?

Amaryllo. No.

Sylvian. Well, a soft couch for your limbs to-night?
Amaryllo. No, signior; no. When I had gain'd upon her,
(Woman, you wot, makes Nimrods of us all),
Turning, she stopp'd; and standing like a flower
Ready to yield its beauty to the scythe

If gentle sweetness could not move the spoiler,-
Struck by the silent supplication, I

Stood mute, and lost my purpose.

Sylvian. Iris and Clown; she stands, he gapes,—she's gone!
Amaryllo. Iris indeed; and vanish'd all in tears.

Sylvian. Tears?

Amaryllo. Ay,—of joy; what else? when Iris weeps,
Is't not a sign the heav'ns will soon be glad?

No maiden weeps other than joyous tears
Whom Amaryllo wooes.

Sylvian. No; but some do, in lovely Italy,

Whom Amaryll' has won.

Amaryllo. Oh! ay; their tears

Would swell the Tyrrhen waters to o'ertop
The woody Appenine, and drown the Alp:
Ay, ay, oh! ay; I'll tell thee, signior Sylvian :—
The tears Italian girls weep for my sake,
Might die i' the bowl of a new-budded flow'r,
A breakfast for one bee.

Sylvian. 'Tis well, my lord,

This is not shriving-time; else you'd confess