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at different times and prompted by very different feelings; and therefore that the supposed inferiority of one poem to another may sometimes be owing to the temper of mind, in which he happens to peruse it.

My poems have been rightly charged with a profusion of double-epithets, and a general turgidness. I have pruned the double-epithets with no sparing hand ; and used my best efforts to tame the swell and glitter both of thought and diction. This latter fault however had insinuated itself into my Religious Musings with such intricacy of union, that sometimes I have omitted to disentangle the weed from the fear of snapping the flower. A third and heavier accusation has been brought against me, that of obscurity ; but not, I think, with equal justice. An author is obscure, when his conceptions are dim and imperfect, and his language incorrect, or inappropriate, or involved. A poem that abounds in allusions, like the Bard of Gray, or one that impersonates high and abstract truths, like Collins's Ode on the poetica] character, claims not to be popular—but should be acquitted of obscurity. The deficiency is in the reader. But this is a charge which every poet, whose imagination is warm and rapid, must expect from his contemporaries. Milton did not escape it; and it was adduced with virulence against Gray and Collins. We now hear no more of it : not that their poems are better understood at present, than they were at their first publication ; but their fame is established ; and a critic would accuse himself of frigidity or inattention, who should profess not to understand them.

* Without any feeling of anger, I may yet be allowed to express some degree of surprise, that after having run the critical gauntlet for a certain class of faults, which I had, viz. a too ornate, and elaborately poetic diction, and nothing having come before the judgment-seat of the Reviewers during the long interval, I should for at least seventeen years, quarter after quar. ter, have been placed by them in the foremost rank of the proscribed, and modo to nbide the brunt of abuso nud ridicule for faults dircctly opposite, viz. bald and prosuic lingunge, and au affected simplicity both of matter and inauner-fuults which assuredly did not enter into the character of my compositions. - Biographia Litrraria, Works, III. p. 179.

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But a living writer is yet sub judice; and if we can not follow his conceptions or enter into his feelings, it is more consoling to our pride to consider him as lost beneath, than as soaring above

If any man expect from my poems the same easiness of style which he admires in a drinking-song, for him I have not written. Intelligibilia, non intellectum adfero.

I expect neither profit nor general fame by my writings; and I. consider myself as having been amply repaid without either. Poetry has been to me its own“ exceeding great reward :" it has soothed my afflictions ; it has multiplied and refined my enjoy. merts; it has endeared solitude ; and it has given me the habit of wishing to discover the Good and the Beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me.

S. T. C.

SIBYLLINE LEAVES.

PAO1

Ode to the Departing Year.....

109

France-an Ode.....

114

Fears in Solitude...

117

Fire, Famine, and Slaughter..

123

Love....

126

Introduction to the Tale of the Dark Ladie..

129

The Ballad of the Dark Ladie. A Fragment,

130

Lewti, or the Circassian Love Chant......

182

The Picture, or the Lover's Resolution.....

134

The Night Scene. A Dramatic Fragment...

139

To an Unfortunate Woman.....

142

To an Unfortunate Woman at the Theatre.

142

Lines composed in a Concert Room....

143

The Keepsake.

144

To a Lady, with Falconer's Shipwreck...

146

To a Young Lady on her recovery from a Fever.

147

Something Childish, but very Natural.

147

Home-sick: written in Germany....

148

Answer to a Child's Question.

148

· A Child's Evening Prayer.

149

The Visionary Hope...

149

The Happy Husband.....

160

Recollections of Love...

151

On revisiting the Sea-shore.

162

Hymn before Sunrise in the Vale of Chamouni.

168

Lines written in the Album at Elbingerode in the Hartz Forest.. 156

On observing a Blossom on the First of February...

187

The Æolian Harp.......

168

VReflections on having left a place of retirement.

160

To the Rev. George Coleridgo...

162

Inscription for a Fountain on a Heath...

164

A Tombless Epitaph. ...

164

This Lime Tree Bower my Prison....

166

To a Friend, who had declared his intention of writing no more

Poetry...

168

To William Wordsworth, composed on the night after his recita-

tion of a Poem on the Growth of an Individual Mind....... 169

The Nightingale...

173

Frost at Midnight.

176

The Three Graves.

178

Dejection. An Ode.

190

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