we find a writer, adopting and then laying aside with contempt, and then presently adopting afresh, the most incongruous and self-contradictory sentiments, it is natural to doubt the genuineness of his inspiration. Thus it is with Dryden. His command over words and thoughts is worthy of all admiration; but in this respect he appears to fall short of the sacred character of a poet, namely, that you can never believe him sincere in praising any one person, or suppose him really to care for any one subject that he handles. 2. A second characteristic of genuine feeling in ordinary conversation is, the absence of affectation of what is new, of what is striking, of what is farfetched. And so, in like manner, the really inspired poet will not be apt to shun topics and images which naturally present themselves to his mind, merely because they have been often handled before; neither will he be so solicitous about variety, as not often perhaps to borrow either from himself or from others. Those, on the contrary, who are ever torturing themselves to produce something the like of which has never been produced before, must be condemned as doing with too little simplicity of feeling even what they may perhaps do well. Young is especially liable to this censure. 3. A third and principal mark of deep and earnest feeling is, reserve in its expression. A man deeply influenced by any particular sentiment, is not apt, at least after a little experience of life, to dilate on what interests him so profoundly on all occasions, and regardlessly of the character of those with whom he converses, but rather to betray the bent of his feelings incidentally and by his manner of dealing with certain subjects. Mr. Keble adds here more than we have room or indeed inclinationto quote, respecting the reserve in the expression of religious feelings, which he regards as so apparent in the early christian church, and which, as he truly observes, still is natural to the devout, when it is not overborne by the extravagance of fanaticism,' or by a mistaken hope of thereby winning others over to the truth. The example of the lover will readily suggest itself. And as in real life, so in poetry, deep and earnest feeling rather forbids than urges men to be ever dilating, directly and openly, on the objects which most interest them; and it is but seldom, under such influence, that they will attempt to pourtray them; and when they do do this, they will do it in such a way, as to omit very many of those points which the generality of men would regard as some of the most striking features. This is illustrated by the difference of Virgil's manner, when describing what he most loves and is most familiar with, and in those more celebrated passages, in which, for exam ple, he pourtrays Fame, or Mount Etna, or the Fury seen in the night; in the former case he is content with just one or two touches, while in the latter he gives a long and elaborate accumulation of words and of images. A comparison too of Lucan's description, in his ninth book, of the effects of the bite of different serpents-a subject well adapted to his manner, which is distinguished more by its facility than its felicity (facilior quam felicior)-with the description given by Jeremiah (xiv. 3.) of the effects of famine, 'And their nobles have sent their little ones to the waters; - They were ashamed and confounded, and covered their heads ;'will enable us at once to feel, which wrote what he had only read of, and which what he had himself beheld and felt with the deepest anguish. In short, generally, the true poet is distinguished by the sparingness, the gentleness, and we might almost say, the fastidiousness of his touches. Another way in which earnest feeling often discovers itself, is by the employment of irony, as when deep anguish sports with thoughts of mirth. This irony shews itself either in the form of expression,-as for example, we see in the paronomasia in the Hebrew of Isaiah, v. 7, which Mr. Keble imitates in Greek, thus: ἔμεινα τοῦ ποιῆσαι κρίμα, καὶ οὐ τὸ εἶκος, ἀλλὰ τὸ νεῖκος ; or, in the general complexion of the representation; as in Virgil's playful description of the habits of bees, in which the pomp of words and of images, which he employs, evidently displays the deep pleasure he takes in a subject, which he seems, at first sight, to be treating with mockery. We have now attempted to give our readers a complete summary of Mr. Keble's views on the nature and origin of the poetical element. They occupy the first five lectures. In those which follow, he proceeds to investigate their exemplification in the several great poets of antiquity. If we should hereafter resume the consideration of the subject in reference to some of them, we doubt not that we shall be able, with the assistance of the lectures which remain, to produce matter deserving of the attention of our readers, and calculated to recal the interest, which they may have sometime felt, in those precious remains of ancient genius. For the present, we must content ourselves with a few observations on the æsthetical principles, which our readers have already had, as we trust faithfully, presented to their consideration. The learned Professor disclaims the assumption of attempting to give an exact definition of the term poetry; and yet it is apparent from the whole course of his argument, that he considers himself to have conceived and stated all the component elements of it. If he has not done this, he cannot be justified in assuming, that the principles he has laid down are adequate to the determination of the question which he considers himself in a position to solve-the question, what writers enjoying the reputation of being poets deserve to rank in the first class? How can those principles furnish him with satisfactory criteria of true poetry, if they do not evolve all the essential elements which make up that conception! Now, from the full and reiterated statement which he has given of those principles, the reader must gather, that he considers poetry to be, the reserved expression of inward feeling seeking this relief in the forms of rhythm or metre, and most commonly calling in the aid of the imagination. Some such idea of poetry we feel ourselves justified in ascribing to our author, and our readers, we think, will be of opinion, that the lengthened analysis above given warrants our conclusion. Now, though we ought to feel, and though we do feel, some diffidence in stating an opinion on such a subject at variance with that of so accomplished a writer, yet we confess ourselves not altogether satisfied with this statement; not that it appears to us to contain anything wrong, but we do not think it contains enough. There is something essential to poetry more than is here stated. The quality of reserve in the expression of feeling, which Mr. Keble traces in all poetry, is certainly a most important element; and the development of this constituent as being so essential, came upon our mind with all the charm of truth. To what Mr. Keble has said, we may add, that it is this quality of reserve which explains, in great measure, the fact, that a metrical, or at least rhythmical, dress has been in all ages felt to be proper to poetical composition. The expression of feeling is in this way taken out of the language of real and ordinary life. It is the modest veil with which the sensitive spirit invests herself, when disclosing her form in some measure to public observation. We may even go farther; and notwithstanding the vehemence with which the living Coryphæus of contemporary poets* has denounced what is called poetic diction, and though we are far from defending the insipid and lifeless manner of speaking, *See 'Preface to the second edition of the Lyrical Ballads,' affixed to the third volume of the last edition of Mr. Wordsworth's Collected Works. with which pedantry has vitiated much really good poetry, (as by nicknaming the sun Phoebus, and by employing phraseology striking only from its barbarisms or solecisms), and though, further, the constant practice of Mr. Wordsworth himself, and of all great poets occasionally, has proved that such a diction is by no means essential to poetry,-granting all this, still a usage so general in all ages and languages does favour, as we think, the belief, that poets are at liberty, and are not unnaturally led by the very reserve which belongs to their character as such, to employ language which is really remote from that of ordinary life, and which in good prose, however excited the feelings may be, no sane mind would ever think of employing. Such language may be, as well as metre, a part of the poetical disguise. But reserve, and metre, and imagination, do not alone make up the true notion of poetry. A metrical writer may convey a reserved expression of his feelings by the means of imagery which shall be repulsive, and even disgusting. Now, we do not see how, consistently with the views which have been drawn from the lectures, we could refuse to such a writer the name of a poet. He shall be reserved in the expression of deep feelings; he shall gather images akin to the subject which interests him; and he shall invest the whole with the forms of metre; but Mr. Keble would at once decline to give him so exalted a title. And why? We have no doubt that Mr. Keble would answer, though he has omitted to state the principle; because it is essential to poetry that it shall in some way or other blend with its representations the idea, (if we may use the word in so Platonistic a sense,) of beauty or sublimity. We say, we do not doubt that Mr. Keble would give such an answer, from a single passage-the only one which we have noticed-which he has let fall tending to this conclusion, and which we have not omitted to include in our foregoing abstract. Quicquid pietatis ergo paullo exquisitius ac venustius a colonis excogitari videant (homines literati); sive ad locorum, sive ad mortuorum, sive ad Numinis religionem pertineat; id statim poetis, quasi proprium, tradi ac condonari volunt.'-vol. i. p. 24. The words ac venustius include the principle, the distinct enunciation of which we deem necessary, in order to integrate the notion of poetry which the lectures before us leave on the reader's mind. The ideas of the beautiful or the sublime may be blended with the representation, so as to constitute it poetry, in various ways. They may be connected with the imagery employed, as is done either when the imagery is drawn from objects palpably characterised by those qualities, such as the forms of external nature-the skies, the sea, or the like; or when it is drawn from objects in the moral world, affecting the mind with feelings analogous to those which are excited by the contemplation of the beautiful or the sublime in nature, such as a mother's love, a hero's self-devotion, or the like. Again; these ideas may attach to the feeling itself which is pourtrayed; it may in its own nature be beautiful or sublime; as is usually the case with devotional poetry. Or, lastly, the diction in which the poet conveys his thoughts may, by its symmetry, (so to speak) and by the sweetness of its measures, communicate to the mind the required perception, just as music does. But in whatever way it is done, whether by the imagery employed, or by the feeling expressed, or by the diction, there must in all real poetry be presented to the mind, the sublime or the beautiful. If this be not self-evident, it will be apparent on a consideration of the illustrations of the poetical which Mr. Keble has himself collected. In the anecdote of the youthful Perdiccas, both the imagery employed and the feeling expressed convey the required sentiment. In the gleams of the poetical discovered in the conduct of uneducated countrymen, the love of home, and grief for departed friends are surely in themselves beautiful and graceful; the veneration for crosses connects itself immediately with the recollection of the loftiest exhibition of moral beauty and sublimity which the world ever beheld ; while the habit of mind which associates the unseen and Divine with human life, if it does not cower into superstition, exalts to the sublime. In painting, sculpture, and architecture, the required ideas are too obviously present to need a moment's examination. And if we turn to the first phenomena of the art which have been above referred to; the presence of the same element is evident in respect to the sentence pronounced in Eden, both in the dignity and grandeur of the occasion and in the mercy which then 'rejoiced against judgment;' the sense of an avenging Nemesis communicates to Lamech's lamentation an air of awful sublimity; while the sentiment proper to an exalted position and to the consciousness of the presence of Inspiring Deity, adds a majesty to the oracles of Noah, of Isaac, of Jacob, and of Moses, which alone, independently of other considerations, will satisfy the requirement for which we are contending. In the poetical remains of barbarous countries, a similar element of beauty or sublimity may be detected; if not otherwise, at least in the association which, in a savage mind, may have been formed between such emotions and those of revenge or ferocity. But in every case, we are persuaded, that the principle, the expo |