What modes of sight betwixt each wide extreme, And hound sagacious on the tainted green ; Feels at each thread, and lives along the line. These passages, (to which could be added many others of equal excellence from the same writer,) are highly picturesque, and ought to make the Lake poets treat the name of Pope with a little more respect. They as extravagantly depreciate his powers as Lord Byron overrated them. As I have quoted Wordsworth's allusion to the Nocturnal Reverie of the Countess of Winchelsea, and as that poem is not likely to be familiar to many of my readers, I will introduce a short extract from it. "When darkened groves their softest shadows wear, And falling waters we distinctly hear : When through the gloom more venerable shows Wordsworth in the following night-scene, taken from one of his sonnets, appears to have had the natural and striking images contained in the last four lines of the passage just extracted, very strongly in his mind. "Calm is all nature as a resting wheel; The kine are couched upon the dewy grass; The horse alone, seen dimly as I pass, Is cropping audibly his later meal.” Hurdis, in his Favorite Village, has also a similar description : “The grazing ox His dewy supper from the savoury herbs Audibly gathering." Wordsworth abounds in natural images of admirable truth and beauty, which linked as they usually are to lofty and philosophical thoughts, form some of the most delightful poetry in the language. Here is a companion picture to Pope's "lonely woodcocks." It is from one of Wordsworth's juvenile productions. "Sweet are the sounds that mingle from afar, Heard by calm lakes, as peeps the folding star, Shoots upward, darting his long neck before." The duck dabbling in the above passage reminds me of a ludicrous but very descriptive line of Southey's in a Sonnet to a Goose: "Or waddle wide, with flat and flabby feet, Over some Cambrian mountain's plashy moor." SONNET. SCENE ON THE GANGES. THE shades of evening veil the lofty spires Of proud Benares' fanes! A thickening haze That tinge the circling groups. Now hope inspires SONNET. LADY! if from my young, but clouded brow, If the mild lustre of thy sweet blue eye Oh! bear with one whose darkened path below 1822. MORNING. I. BEHOLD glad Nature's triumph! Lo, the sun And mortals feel the glory and the worth Of that dear boon-existence ;—all around Unnumbered charms arise in every sight and sound! II. The scene is steeped in beauty-and my soul, No longer lingering in the gloom of care, Doth greet Creation's smile. The gray clouds roll E'en from the mountain peaks and melt in air! The landscape looks an Eden! Who could wear The frown of sorrow now? This glorious hour Reveals the ruling God! The heavens are bare! Each sunny stream, and blossom-mantled bower Breathes of pervading love, and proves the Power That spoke him into life, hath bless'd Man's earthly dower. |