At twenty years of age, or thereabouts, Wordsworth wrote in a style which was perhaps more perverse and distorted than that of any other poet of his generation. With all his sincerity of imagination, and his desire to paint the nature which his ardent eyes have seen, he subjects both style and metre to the strongest torture in making them the vehicle of his actual sensations. And though these deformites may at times be set down to the awkwardness of a novice, they usually proceed from the ideal of poetic diction which young Wordsworth sets before him. (Emile Legouis, The early life of William Wordsworth, p 123)
This, of course, makes for difficult reading. Legouis goes on to give a detailed analysis of Wordsworth's grammatical peculiarities, which include archaisms, suppression of the article, suppression of a verb, use of newly coined words, abnormal constructions and latinisms, and unusual inversions.
There is, however, a plethora of finely observed details which, when disentangled from this farago of 'poetic' diction, display many of the qualities found in Wordsworth's mature poetry.
As Legouis puts it, commenting on the two poems An Evening Walk and Descriptive Sketches: .... in spite of their unwholesome style, these poems are, in their way, works of genius. The layer of affectation which encumbers them is broken in numberless places by pieces of exquisite imagery. (ibid p 147)
And finally, His descriptions are already those of a master; his reflexions still those of a schoolboy. (ibid p 160)
General sketch of the Lakes
1.
Far from my dearest friend, 'tis mine to rove
Through bare grey dell, high wood, and pastoral cove;
His wizard course where hoary Derwent takes
Thro' craggs, and forest glooms, and opening lakes,
Staying his silent waves, to hear the roar
That stuns the tremulous cliffs of high Lodore;
Where silver rocks and savage prospect chear
Of giant yews that frown on Rydale's mere;
Where peace at Grasmere's lonely island leads,
To willowy hedgerows, and to emerald meads;
Leads to her bridge, rude church, and cottag'd grounds,
Her rocky sheepwalks, and her woodland bounds;
Where, bosom'd deep, the shy Winander peeps
'Mid clust'ring isles, and holly-sprinkl'd steeps;
Where twilight glens endear my Esthwaite's shore,
And memory of departed pleasures, more.
Wordsworth' note: These lines are only applicable to the middle part of the lake.Author's regret of his youth passed amongst them
16.
Fair scenes! with other eyes, than once, I gaze,
The ever-varying charm your round displays,
Than when, erewhile, I taught, 'a happy child',
The echoes of your rocks my carols wild;
Then did no ebb of chearfulness demand
Sad tides of joy from Melancholy's hand;
In youth's wild eye the livelong day was bright,
The sun at morning, and the stars of night,
Alike when first the vales the bittern fills,
Or the first woodcocks roam'd the moonlight hills.
27.
Return Delights! with whom my road begun,
When Life rear'd laughing up her morning sun;
When Transport kiss'd away my april tear,
'Rocking as in a dream the tedious year';
When link'd with thoughtless Mirth I cours'd the plain,
And hope itself was all I knew of pain,
For then, ev'n then, the little heart would beat
At times, while young Content forsook her seat,
And wild Impatience, panting upward, show'd
Where tipp'd with gold the mountain summits glow'd,
Alas! the idle tale of man is found
Depicted in the dial's moral round;
With Hope Reflexion blends her social rays
To gild the total tablet of his days;
Yet still, the sport of some malignant Pow'r,
He knows but from its shade the present hour.
43.
While, Memory at my side, I wander here,
Starts at the simplest sight th'unbidden tear,
A form discover'd at the well-known seat,
A spot, that angles at the riv'let's feet,
The ray the cot of morning trav'ling nigh,
And sail that glides the well known alders by.
But why, ungrateful, dwell on idle pain?
To shew her yet some joys to me remain,
Say, will my friend, with soft affection's ear,
The history of a poet's ev'ning hear?
Short description of Noon
53.
When, in the south, the wan noon brooding still,
Breath'd a pale steam around the glaring hill,
And shades of deep embattl'd clouds were seen
Spotting the northern cliffs with lights between;
Gazing the tempting shades to them deny'd,
When stood the shorten'd herds amid the tide,
Where, from the barren wall's unshelter'd end,
Long rails into the shallow lake extend;
When school-boys stretch'd their length upon the green;
And round the humming elm, a glimmering scene!
In the brown park, in flocks, the troubl'd deer
Shook the still-twinkling tail and glancing ear;
When horses in the wall-girt intake stood,
Unshaded, eying far below, the flood,
Crouded behind the swain, in mute distress,
With forward neck, the closing gate to press;
And long, with wistful gaze, his walk survey'd,
Till dipp'd his pathway in the river shade;
Wordsworth's note: intake: the word intake is local, and signifies a mountain-inclosureCascade scene
71.
- Then Quiet led me up the huddling rill,
Bright'ning with water-breaks the sombrous gill;
To where, while thick above the branches close,
In dark-brown bason its wild waves repose,
Inverted shrubs, and moss of darkest green,
Cling from the rocks, with pale wood-weeds between;
Save that, atop, the subtle sunbeams shine,
On wither'd briars that o'er the craggs recline;
Sole light admitted here, a small cascade,
Illumes with sparkling foam the twilight shade.
Beyond, along the visto of the brook,
Where antique roots its bustling path o"erlook,
The eye reposes on a secret bridge
Half grey, half shagg'd with ivy to its ridge.
Noontide retreat
85
Sweet rill, farewell! To-morrow's noon again,
Shall hide me wooing long thy wildwood strain;
But now, the sun has gain'd his western road,
And eve's mild hour invites my steps abroad.
Precipice and sloping lights
89.
While, near the midway cliff, the silver'd kite
In many a whistling circle wheels her flight;
Slant wat'ry lights, from parting clouds a-pace,
Travel along the precipice's base;
Chearing its naked waste of scatter'd stone
By lychens grey, and scanty moss o'ergrown,
Where scarce the foxglove peeps, and thistle's beard,
And desert stone-chat, all day long, is heard
Face of nature as the sun declines
97.
How pleasant, as the yellowing sun declines,
And with long rays and shades the landscape shines;
To mark the birches' stems all golden light,
That lit the dark slant woods with silvery white!
The willow's weeping trees, that twinkling hoar,
Glanc'd oft upturn'd along the breezy shore,
Low bending o'er the colour'd water, fold
Their moveless boughs and leaves like threads of gold;
The skiffs with naked masts at anchor laid,
Before the boat-house peeping thro' the shade;
Th'unwearied glance of woodman's echo'd stroke;
And curling from the trees the cottage smoke.
109.
Their pannier'd train a groupe of potters goad,
Winding from side to side up the steep road;
The peasant from yon cliff of fearful edge
Shot, down the headlong pathway darts his sledge;
Bright beams the lonely mountain horse illume,
Feeding 'mid purple heath, 'green rings', and broom;
While the sharp slope the slacken'd team confounds,
Downward the pond'rous timber-wain resounds;
Beside their sheltering cross of wall, the flock
Feeds in light, nor thinks of winter's shock;
In foamy breaks the rill, with merry song,
Dash'd down the rough rock, lightly leaps along;
From lonesome chapel at the mountain's feet,
Three humble bells their rustic chime repeat;
Sounds from the water-side the hammer'd boat;
And blasted quarry thunders heard remote.
Mountain Farm, and the Cock
125.
Ev'n here, amid the sweep of endless woods,
Blue pomp of lakes, high cliffs, and falling floods,
Not undelightful are the simplest charms
Found by the verdant door of mountain farms.
129.
Sweetly ferocious round his native walks,
Gaz'd by his sister-wives, the monarch stalks;
Spur clad his nervous feet, and firm his tread,
A crest of purple tops his warrior head.
Bright sparks his black and haggard eye-ball hurls
Afar, his tail he closes and unfurls;
Whose state, like pine-trees, waving to and fro,
Droops, and o'er canopies his regal brow,
On tiptoe rear'd he blows his clarion throat,
Threaten'd by faintly answering farms remote.
Slate Quarry
139.
Bright'ning the cliffs between where sombrous pine,
And yew-trees o'er the silver rocks recline,
I love to mark the quarry's moving trains,
Dwarf pannier'd steeds, and men, and numerous wains:
How busy the enormous hive within,
While Echo dallies with the various din!
Some hardly heard their chissel"s clinking sound,
Toil, small as pigmies, in the gulph profound;
Some, dim between th' aerial cliffs descry'd,
O'erwalk the viewless plank from side to side;
These by the pale-blue rocks that ceaseless ring
Glad from their airy baskets hang and sing.
Sunset
151.
Hung o'er a cloud, above the steep that rears
Its edge all flame, the broad'ning sun appears;
A long blue bar its aegis orb divides,
And breaks the spreading of its golden tides;
And now it touches on the purple steep
That flings his shadow on the pictur'd deep.
Cross the calm lake's blue shades the cliffs aspire,
With tow'rs and woods a 'prospect all on fire';
The coves and secret hollows thro' a ray
Of fainter gold a purple gleam betray;
The gilded turf arrays in richer green
Each speck of lawn the broken rocks between;
Deep yellow beams the scatter'd holes illume,
Far in the level forest's central gloom;
Waving his hat, the shepherd in the vale
Directs his winding dog the cliffs to scale,
That, barking busy 'mid the glittering rocks,
Hunts, where he points, the intercepted flocks;
Where oaks o'erhang the road the radiance shoots
On tawny earth, wild weeds, and twisted roots;
The Druid stones their lighted fane unfold,
And all the babbling brooks are liquid gold;
Sunk to a curve the day-star lessens still,
Gives one bright glance, and sinks behind the hill.
Superstition of the Country, connected with that Moment.
175.
In these lone vales, if aught of faith may claim,
Thin silver hairs, and ancient hamlet fame;
when up the hills, as now, retreats the light,
Strange apparitions mock the village sight.
179.
A desperate form appears, that spurs his steed,
Along the midway cliffs with violent speed;
Unhurt pursues his lengthen'd flight, while all
Attend at every stretch, his headlong fall.
Anon, in order mounts a gorgeous show
Of horsemen shadows winding to and fro;
And now the van is gilt with evening's beam
The rear thr'o iron brown betrays a sullen gleam;
Lost gradual o'er the heights in pomp they go,
While silent stands th'admiring vale below;
Till, but the lonely beacon all is fled,
That tips with eve's last gleam his spiry head.
Now while the solemn evening shadows sail,
On red slow-waving pinions down the vale,
And, fronting the bright west in stronger lines,
The oak its dark'ning boughs and foliage twines.
Swans
195.
I love beside the glowing lake to stray,
Where winds the road along the secret bay;
By rills that tumble down the woody steeps,
And run in transport to the dimpling deeps;
Along the 'wild meand'ring' shore to view,
Obsequious Grace the winding swan pursue.
He swells his lifted chest, and backward flings
His bridling neck between his tow'ring wings;
Stately and burning in his pride, divides
And glorying looks around, the silent tides:
On as he floats, the silver'd waters glow,
Proud of the varying arch and moveless form of snow,
While tender cares and mild domestic Loves,
With furtive watch pursue her as she moves;
The female with a meeker charm succeeds,
And her brown little ones around her leads,
Nibbling the water lilies as they pass,
Or playing wanton with the floating grass:
She in a mother's care, her beauty's pride
Forgets unweary'd watching every side,
She calls them near, and with affection sweet
Alternately relieves their weary feet;
Alternately they mount her back, and rest
Close by her mantling wings' embraces prest.
219.
Long may ye roam these hermit waves that sleep,
In birch besprinkl'd cliffs embosom'd deep;
These fairy holms untrodden still, and green,
Whose shades protect the hidden wave serene;
Whence fragrance scents the water's desart gale,
The violet and the lily of the vale;
Where, thro' her far-off twilight ditty steal,
They not the trip of harmless milkmaid feel.
227.
Yon tuft conceals your home, your cottage bow'r,
Fresh water rushes strew the verdant floor;
Long grass and willows form the woven wall,
And swings above the roof the poplar tall.
Thence issuing oft, unwieldly as ye stalk,
Ye crush with broad black feet your flow'ry walk,
Safe from your door ye hear at breezy morn,
The hound, the horse's tread, and mellow horn;
At peace inverted your lithe necks ye lave,
With the green bottom strewing o'er the wave;
No ruder sound your desart haunts invades,
Than waters dashing wild, or rocking shades.
Ye n'er, like hapless human wanderers, throw
Your young on winter's winding sheet of snow.
Female Beggar
241.
Fair swan! by all a mother's joys caress'd,
Haply some wretch has ey'd, and call'd thee bless'd;
Who faint, and beat by summer's breathless ray,
Hath dragg'd her babes along this weary way
While arrowy fire extorting feverish groans,
Shot stinging through her stark o'er-labour'd bones.
-With backward gaze, lock'd joints, and step of pain,
Her seat scarce left, she strives, alas! in vain,
To teach their limbs along the burning road
A few short steps to totter with their load,
Shakes her numb arm that slumbers with its weight,
And eyes through tears the mountain's shadeless height;
And bids her soldier come her woes to share,
Asleep on Bunker's charnel hill afar;
For hope's deserted well why wistful look?
Chok'd is the pathway, and the pitcher broke.
257.
I see her now, deny'd to lay her head,
On cold blue nights, in hut or straw-built shed;
Turn to a silent smile their sleepy cry,
By pointing to a shooting star on high;
I hear, while in the forest depth he sees,
The Moon's fix'd gaze between the opening trees,
In broken sounds her elder grief demand,
And skyward lift, like one that prays, his hand,
If, in that country, where he dwells afar,
His father views that good, that kindly star;
-Ah me! all light is mute amid the gloom,
The interlunar cavern of the tomb.
269.
When low hung clouds each star of summer hide,
And fireless are the valleys far and wide,
Where the brook brawls along the painful road,
Dark with bat haunted ashes stretching broad,
The distant clock forgot, and chilling dew,
Pleas'd thro' the dusk their breaking smiles to view,
Oft has she taught them on her lap to play
Delighted, with the glow-worm's harmless ray
Toss'd light from hand to hand; while on the ground
Small circles of green radiance gleam around.
279.
Oh! when the bitter showers her path assail,
And roars between the hills the torrent gale,
-No more her breath can thaw their fingers cold,
Their frozen arms her neck no more can fold;
Scarce heard, their chattering lips her shoulder chill,
And her cold back their colder bosoms thrill;
All blind she wilders o'er the lightless heath,
Led by Fear's cold wet hand, and dogg'd by Death;
Death, as she turns her neck the kiss to seek,
Breaks off the dreadful kiss with angry shriek.
Snatch'd from her shoulder with despairing moan,
She clasps them at that dim-seen roofless stone -
"Now ruthless Tempest launch thy deadliest dart!
Fall fires - but let us perish heart to heart."
Weak roof of cow'ring form two babes to shield,
And faint the fire a dying heart can yield;
Press the sad kiss, fond mother! vainly fears
Thy flooded cheek to wet them with its tears,
Soon shall the Light'ning hold before thy head
His torch, and shew them slumbering in their bed,
No tears can chill them, and no bosom warms,
Thy breast their death-bed, coffin'd in thine arms.
Twilight Objects and Sounds
301.
Sweet are the sounds that mingle from afar,
Heard by calm lakes, as peeps the folding star,
Where the duck dabbles 'mid the rustling sedge,
And feeding pike starts from the water's edge,
Or the swan stirs the reeds, his neck and bill
Wetting, that drip upon the water still;
And heron, as resounds the trodden shore,
Shoots upward, darting his long neck before.
While by the scene compos'd, the breast subsides,
Nought wakens or disturbs its tranquil tides;
Nought but the char that for the may-fly leaps,
And breaks the mirror of the circling deeps;
Or clock, that blind against the wanderer born,
Drops at his feet, and stills his droning horn.
The whistling swain that plods his ringing way
Where the slow waggon winds along the bay;
The sugh of swallow flocks that twittering sweep,
The solemn curfew swinging long and deep;
The talking boat that moves with pensive sound,
Or drops his anchor down with plunge profound;
Or boys that bathe remote the faint uproar,
And restless piper wearying out the shore;
These all to swell the village murmurs blend,
That soften'd from the water-head descend.
While in sweet cadence rising small and still
The far-off minstrels of the haunted hill,
As the last bleating of the fold expires,
Tune in the mountain dells their water lyres.
Western Lights
329.
Now with religious awe the farewell light
Blends with the solemn colouring of the night;
'Mid groves of clouds that crest the mountain's brow,
And round the West's proud lodge their shadows throw,
Like Una shining on her gloomy way,
The half seen form of Twilight roams astray;
Thence from three paly loop-holes mild and small,
Slow lights upon the lake's still bosom fall,
Beyond the mountain's giant reach that hides
In deep determin'd gloom his subject tides.
- 'Mid the dark steeps repose the shadowy streams,
As touch'd with dawning moonlight's hoary gleams,
Long streaks of fairy light the wave illume
With bordering lines of intervening gloom,
Soft o'er the surface creep the lustres pale
Tracking with silvering path the changeful gale.
Spirits
345.
'Tis restless magic all; at once the bright
Breaks on the shade, the shade upon the light,
Fair Spirits are abroad; in sportive chase
Brushing with lucid wands the water's face,
While music stealing round the glimmering deeps
Charms the tall circle of th'enchanted steeps.
- As thro' th'astonished woods the notes ascend,
The mountain streams their rising song suspend;
Below Eve's listening Star the sheep walk stills
Its drowsy tinklings on th'attentive hills;
The milkmaid stops her ballad, and her pail
Stays its low murmur in th'unbreathing vale,
No night-duck clamours for his wilder'd mate,
Aw'd, while below the Genii hold their state,
- The pomp is fled, and mute the wondrous strains,
No wrack of all the pageant scene remains,
So vanish those fair Shadows, human joys,
But Death alone their vain regret destroys.
- Unheeded night has overcome the vales,
On the dark earth the baffl'd vision fails,
If peep between the clouds a star on high,
There turns for glad repose the weary eye;
The latest lingerer of the forest train,
The lone black fir, forsakes the faded plain;
Last evening sight, the cottage smoke no more,
Lost in the deepen'd darkness, glimmers hoar;
High towering from the sullen dark-brown mere,
Like a black wall, the mountain steeps appear,
Thence red from different heights with restless gleam
Small cottage lights across the water stream,
Nought else of man or life remains behind
To call from other worlds the wilder'd mind,
Till pours the wakeful bird her solemn strains
Heard by the night-calm of the wat'ry plains.
- No purple prospects now the mind employ
Glowing in golden sunset tints of joy,
But o'er the sooth'd accordant heart we feel
A sympathetic twilight slowly steal,
And ever, as we fondly muse, we find
The soft gloom deep'ning on the tranquil mind.
Stay! pensive, sadly-pleasing visions, stay!
Ah no! as fades the vale, they fade away;
Yet still the tender, vacant gloom remains,
Still the cold cheek its shuddering tear retains.
Night
389.
The bird, with fading light who ceas'd to thread
Silent the hedge or steaming rivulet's bed,
From his grey re-appearing tower shall soon
Salute with boding note the rising moon,
Frosting with hoary light the pearly ground,
And pouring deeper blue to Aether's bound;
Rejoic'd her solemn pomp of clouds to fold
In robes of azure, fleecy white and gold,
While rose and poppy , as the glow-worm fades,
Chequer with paler red the thicket shades.
Moonlight
399.
Now o'er the eastern hill, where Darkness broods
O'er all its vanish'd dells, and lawns, and woods
Where but a mass of shade the sight can trace,
She lifts in silence up her lovely face;
Above the gloomy valley flings her light,
Far to the western slopes with hamlets white;
And gives, where woods the chequer'd upland strew,
To the green corn of summer autumn's hue.
Hope
407.
Thus Hope, first pouring from her blessed horn
Her dawn, far lovelier that the Moon's own morn;
'Till higher mounted, strives in vain to chear
The weary hills, impervious, black'ning near;
- Yet does she still, undaunted, throw the while
On darling spots remote her tempting smile.
- Ev'n now she decks for me a distant scene,
(For dark and broad the gulph of time between)
Gilding that cottage with her fondest ray,
(Sole bourn, sole wish, sole object of my way,
How fair its lawn and silvery woods appear!
How sweet its streamlet murmurs in mine ear!)
Where we, my friend, to golden days shall rise,
'Till our small share of hardly-paining sights
(For sighs will ever trouble human breath)
Creep hush'd into the tranquil breast of Death.
424.
But now the clear-bright Moon her zenith gains,
And rimy without speck extend the plains;
The deepest dell the mountain's breast displays,
Scarce hides a shadow from her searching rays;
From the dark-blue 'faint silvery threads' divide
The hills while gleams below the azure tide;
The scene is waken'd, yet its peace unbroke,
By silver'd wreaths of quiet charcoal smoke,
That, o'er the ruins of the fallen wood,
Steal down the hills, and spread along the flood.
Night sounds and conclusion
433.
The song of mountain streams unheard by day,
Now hardly heard, beguiles my homeward way.
All air is, as the sleeping water, still,
List'ning th'aereal music of the hill,
Broke only by the slow clock tolling deep,
Or shout that wakes the ferryman from sleep,
Soon follow'd by his hollow-parting oar,
And echo'd hoof approaching the far shore;
Sound of clos'd gate, across the water born,
Hurrying the feeding hare thro' rustling corn;
The tremulous sob of the complaining owl;
And at long intervals the mill-dog's howl;
The distant forge's swinging thump profound;
Or yell in deep woods of lonely hound.
The episode of the death of the beggar woman and her two children (lines 227-300) is greatly reduced in subsequent versions of the poem, but the occurrence of these tear-jerk episodes in descriptive poetry was by 1790 a commonplace (see James Thomson, The Seasons). By embroiling the reader in scenes of misery, about which he can do nothing, the poet seeks to elicit empathy and emotion in the reader, which acts to accentuate perception and open the reader to 'poetic pleasure'. This might surprise the modern reader, and certainly, blithely continuing the poem with:
Sweet are the sounds that mingle from afar,
Heard by calm lakes, as peeps the folding star...
immediately after:
No tears can chill them, and no bosom warms,
Thy breast their death-bed, coffin'd in thine arms.
seems unfeeling to say the least. But this is a consistent characteristic with Wordsworth. Samuel Taylor Coleridge notes: Although Wordsworth and Goethe are not much alike, to be sure, upon the whole; yet they both have this peculiarity of utter non-sympathy with the subjects of their poetry. They are always, both of them, spectators ab extra - feeeling for, but never with, their characters. (Table Talk, p210/211)
These suffering, miserable characters, repeatedly introduced into Wordsworth's early poetry, function simply as triggers for the poetic response, as Wordsworth conceived it. They are there to give us 'poetic pleasure'.
But to return to the issue of style. Here are just some of the abnormalities introduced by Wordsworth into his poetry at this period, abnormalities which only serve to make comprehension more difficult, all expertly itemised by Legouis.
'gaze' for 'gaze on'
17 - Fair scenes! with other eyes, than once, I gaze,
18 - The ever-varying charm your round displays,
57 - Gazing the tempting shades to them deny'd,
130 - Gaz'd by his sister-wives, the monarch stalks;
'list'ning' for 'list'ning to'
436 - List'ning th'aereal music of the hill,
suppression of the article
121 - From lonesome chapel at the mountain's feet,
446 - Or yell in deep woods of lonely hound.
violent suppression of an auxiliary
226 - They not the trip of harmless milkmaid feel.
For a complete list see Legouis, notes pages 133-135.
It is, of course, Wordsworth himself who makes the case against 'poetic diction' (see Preface and Appendix to Lyrical Ballads, 1802), without ever citing himself as a prime exponent in his early works of just such 'poetic diction' about which he is complaining.
Personification was à la mode, and is to be found everywhere:
34 - At times, while young Content forsook her seat,
35 - And wild Impatience, panting upward, show'd
200 - Obsequious Grace the winding swan pursue.
206 - While tender cares and mild domestic Loves,
207 - With furtive watch pursue her as she moves;
351 - As thro' th'astonished woods the notes ascend,
There are also abundant, unnecessary circumlocutions:
21 - Then did no ebb of chearfulness demand
22 - Sad tides of joy from Melancholy's hand;
to express the fact that in childhood he was naturally cheerful and had no use for the charms of melancholy.
constant inversions which make the sense more difficult:
365 - If peep between the clouds a star on high,
366 - There turns for glad repose the weary eye;
Legouis also identifies many borrowings in the poem, some acknowledged, some not (ibid 142-143), but, generally speaking, Wordsworth was working in a tradition which encouraged imitation of the best examples of previous poetry. Originality was not overprized, and for a young poet to show his extensive reading and knowledge of the poetry of the past was surely no bad thing.
At all events, Legouis, writing of An Evening Walk and Descriptive Sketches, concludes: But no extract can convey an idea of that which constitutes the real merit of these two early poems. They are wonderful anthologies, containing not only the most accurate touches of description observed by the student in the poetry of the past - a selection which he always submitted to the verification o his own senses - but also the countless images which his study of nature had suggested to him. (ibid p152)
and finally
It would appear that so faithful an observer, who was already, moreover, capable of such masterly strokes, had merely to get rid of the dross which encumbered his style. But it was not his language alone that was tainted with affectation. Everything he wrote, which was not descriptive of nature, was either shallow or artificial. The triteness of his moral reflexions, and a certain forced or false note in the expression of his own feelings, stamped his poems as immature productions.