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importance be sacrificed to a balance of opposite qualities or minute distinctions in individual character; which if they do not, (as will for the most part be the case,) when examined, resolve themselves into a trick of words, will, even when they are true and just, for the most part be grievously out of place; for, as it is probable that few only have explored these intricacies of human nature, so can the tracing of them be interesting only to a few. But an epitaph is not a proud writing shut up for the studious: it is exposed to all-to the wise and the most ignorant; it is condescending, perspicuous, and lovingly solicits regard; its story and admonitions are brief, that the thoughtless, the busy, and indolent, may not be deterred, nor the impatient tired: the stooping old man cons the engraven record like a second horn-book-the child is proud that he can read it; and the stranger is introduced through its mediation to the company of a friend: it is concerning all, and for all-in the churchyard it is open to the day; the sun looks down upon the stone, and the rains of heaven beat against it.

Yet, though the writer who would excite sympathy is bound in this case, more than in any other, to give proof that he himself has been moved, it is to be remembered, that to raise a monument is a sober and a reflective act; that the inscription which it bears is intended to be permanent, and for universal perusal; and that, for this reason, the thoughts and feelings expressed should be permanent also-liberated from that weakness and anguish of sorrow which is in nature transitory, and which with instinctive decency retires from notice. The passions should be subdued, the emotions controlled; strong, indeed, but nothing ungovernable or wholly involuntary. Seemliness requires this, and truth requires it also: for how can the narrator otherwise be trusted? Moreover, a grave is a tranquillising object: resignation in course of time springs up from it as naturally as the wild flowers, besprinkling the turf with which it may be covered, or gathering round the monument by which it is defended. The very form and substance of the monument which has received the inscription, and the appearance of the letters, testifying with what a slow and laborious hand they must have been engraven, might seem to reproach the author who had given way on this occasion to transports of mind, or to quick turns of conflicting passion; though the same might constitute the life and beauty of a funeral oration or elegiac poem.

These sensations and judgments, acted upon perhaps unconsciously, have been one of the inain causes why epitaphs so often personate the deceased, and represent him as speaking from his own tomb-stone. The departed Mortal is introduced telling you himself that his pains are gone; that a state of rest is come; and he conJures you to weep for him no longer. He admonishes with the voice of one experienced in the vanity of those affections which are confined to earthly objects, and gives a verdict like a superior Being, performing the office of a judge, who has no temptations to mislead him, and whose decision cannot but be dispassionate. Thus is death disarmed of its sting, and affliction unsubstantialised. By this tender fiction, the survivors bind themselves to a sedater sorrow, and employ the intervention of the imagination in order that the reason may speak her own language

earlier than she would otherwise have been e abled to do. This shadowy interposition als harmoniously unites the two worlds of the liv and the dead by their appropriate affections A it may be observed, that here we have an a ditional proof of the propriety with which sep chral inscriptions were referred to the conscies ness of immortality as their primal source.

I do not speak with a wish to recommend that an epitaph should be cast in this mould preferaby to the still more common one, in which what is said comes from the survivors directly; but rather to point out how natural those feelings are which have induced men, in all states and ranks f society, so frequently to adopt this mode. An this I have done chiefly in order that the la which ought to govern the composition of the other, may be better understood. This later mode, namely, that in which the survivors spese in their own persons, seems to me upon the who greatly preferable: as it admits a wider ra of notices; and, above all, because, excluding the fiction which is the groundwork of the other, rests upon a more solid basis.

Enough has been said to convey our notion of a perfect epitaph; but it must be borne in t that one is meant which will best answer the general ends of that species of composition. A cording to the course pointed out, the wort private life, through all varieties of situation an character, will be most honourably and profita preserved in memory. Nor would the mo recommended less suit public men, in all insta save of those persons who by the greatness their services in the employments of peace war, or by the surpassing excellence of the works in art, literature, or science, have themselves not only universally known, but al filled the heart of their country with everlastin gratitude. Yet I must here pause to cr myself. In describing the general tenour thought which epitaphs ought to hold, I omitted to say, that if it be the actions of a m or even some one conspicuous or beneficial add local or general utility, which have distingui him, and excited a desire that he should be 7membered, then, of course, ought the attent to be directed chiefly to those actions or th act and such sentiments dwelt upon as natur arise out of them or it. Having made this cessary distinction, I proceed.-The mighty ben factors of mankind, as they are not only kne by the immediate survivors, but will continue !! be known familiarly to latest posterity, de stand in need of biographic sketches, in s place; nor of delineations of character to vidualise them. This is already done by th Works, in the memories of men. Their tak names, and a grand comprehensive sent of civic gratitude, patriotic love, or human a ration-or the utterance of some eleme principle most essential in the constitue true virtue:-or a declaration touching t pious humility and self-abasement, which ever most profound as minds are most susce of genuine exaltation-or an intuition, com cated in adequate words, of the sublimity of tellectual power;-these are the only t which can here be paid-the only offering t upon such an altar would not be unworthy, "What needs my Shakspeare for his honoured The labour of an age in piled stones,

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here used are taken from that of the Abbey of St. Mary's Furness, the translation of which is as follows:

"Considering every day the uncertainty of life, that the roses and flowers of Kings, Emperors, and Dukes, and the crowns and palms of all the great, wither and decay; and that all things, with an uninterrupted course, tend to dissolution and death: I therefore," &c.-W.

"Earth has lent

Her waters, Air her breezes" (page 876).

In treating this subject, it was impossible not to recollect, with gratitude, the pleasing picture, which, in his Poem of the Fleece, the excellent and amiable Dyer has given of the influences of manufacturing industry upon the face of this Island. He wrote at a time when machinery was first beginning to be introduced, and his benevolent heart prompted him to augur from it nothing but good. Truth has compelled me to dwell upon the baneful effects arising out of an ill-regulated and excessive application of powers so admirable in themselves.-W.

“Binding herself by statute” (page 888).

The discovery of Dr. Bell affords marvellous facilities for carrying this into effect; and it is impossible to overrate the benefit which might accrue to humanity from the universal application of this simple engine under an enlightened and conscientious government.-W.

PREFACES

ETC., ETC.

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Meen the greatest part of the foregoing Poems has been so long before the Public that no prefatory matta, explanatory of any portion of them, or of the arrangement which has been adopted, appears to be required and had it not been for the observations contained in those Prefaces upon the principles of Poetry a general they would not have been reprinted even as an Appendix in this Edition. [W. W. ed. 1849-56)

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION OF SEVERAL OF THE FORE GOING POEMS, PUBLISHED, WITH AN ADDITIONAL VOLUME UNDER THE TITLE OF "LYRICAL BALLADS."

[Note.-In succeeding Editions, when the Collection was much enlarged and diversified, this Preface was transferred to the end of the Volumes as having little of a special application to their contents.] THE first Volume of these Poems has already been submitted to general perusal. It was published, as an experiment, which, I hoped, might be of some use to ascertain, how far, by fitting to metrical arrangement a selection of the real language of men in a state of vivid sensation, that sort of pleasure and that quantity of pleasure may be imparted, which a Poet may rationally endeavour to impart.

I had formed no very inaccurate estimate of the probable effect of those Poems: I flattered myself that they who should be pleased with them would read them with more than common pleasure: and, on the other hand, I was well aware, that by those who should dislike them, they would be read with more than common dislike. The result has differed from my expectation in this only, that a greater number have been pleased than I ventured to hope I should please.

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Several of my Friends are anxious for the success of these Poems, from a belief, that, if the views with which they were composed were indeed realised, a class of Poetry would be produced, well adapted to interest mankind permanently, and not unimportant in the quality, and in the multiplicity of its moral relations: and on this account they have advised me to prefix a systematic defence of the theory upon which the Poems were written. But I was unwilling to undertake the task, knowing that on this occasion the Reader would look coldly upon my arguments, since I might be suspected of having been principally influenced by the selfish and foolish hope of reasoning him into an approbation of these particular Poems: and I was still more unwilling to undertake the task, because, adequately to display the opinions, and fully to enforce the arguments, would require a space wholly disproportionate to a preface. For, to treat the subject with the clearness and coherence of which it is

susceptible, it would be necessary to give a fal account of the present state of the public tast: in this country, and to determine how far th taste is healthy or depraved; which, again, o not be determined, without pointing out in ÈK manner language and the human mind act re-act on each other, and without retracing t revolutions, not of literature alone, but like of society itself. I have therefore altogether declined to enter regularly upon this define yet I am sensible, that there would be something like impropriety in abruptly obtruding upon the Public, without a few words of Introductive Poems so materially different from those upor which general approbation is at present** stowed.

It is supposed, that by the act of writing verse an Author makes a formal engagement tat he will gratify certain known habits of ass00 tion; that he not only thus apprises the Rea that certain classes of ideas and expression 1. be found in his book, but that others will * carefully excluded. This exponent or sy held forth by metrical language must in difere eras of literature have excited very difer expectations: for example, in the age of Catas Terence, and Lucretius, and that of Statins ( Claudian; and in our own country, in the at Shakspeare and Beaumont and Fletcher, 2 that of Donne and Cowley, or Dryden, or P I will not take upon me to determine the exa import of the promise which, by the act of writing in verse, an Author in the present s makes to his reader: but it will undone appear to many persons that I have not fulfilled the terms of an engagement thus voluntar contracted. They who have been accuse to the gaudiness and inane phraseology of mat modern writers, if they persist in reading book to its conclusion, will, no doubt, frequck have to struggle with feelings of strang and awkwardness: they will look rond poetry, and will be induced to inquire by species of courtesy these attempts can be pr mitted to assume that title. I hope there the reader will not censure me for attempts

adapted to Poetry; and it was previously aserted, that a large portion of the language of very good poem can in no respect differ from that of good Prose. We will go further. It may be safely affirmed, that there neither is, nor can e, any essential difference between the language of prose and metrical composition. We are fond of tracing the resemblance between Poetry and Painting, and, accordingly, we call them Sisters: but where shall we find bonds of conection sufficiently strict to typify the affinity etwixt metrical and prose composition? They oth speak by and to the same organs; the odies in which both of them are clothed may be ald to be of the same substance, their affections re kindred, and almost identical, not necesarily differing even in degree; Poetry1 sheds no cars "such as Angels weep," but natural and uman tears; she can boast of no celestial ichor hat distinguishes her vital juices from those f prose; the same human blood circulates rough the veins of them both.

If it be affirmed that rhyme and metrical rrangement of themselves constitute a distincon which overturns what has just been said on he strict affinity of metrical language with that prose, and paves the way for other artificial Istinctions which the mind voluntarily admits, answer that the language of such Poetry as is ere recommended is, as far as is possible, a lection of the language really spoken by men; at this selection, wherever it is made with true ste and feeling, will of itself form a distinction r greater than would at first be imagined, and ill entirely separate the composition from the ilgarity and meanness of ordinary life; and, if etre be superadded thereto, I believe that a ssimilitude will be produced altogether suflent for the gratification of a rational mind. hat other distinction would we have? Whence it to come? And where is it to exist? Not, rely, where the Poet speaks through the ouths of his characters: it cannot be necessary re, either for elevation of style, or any of its pposed ornaments: for, if the Poet's subject be diciously chosen, it will naturally, and upon fit casion, lead him to passions the language of hich, if selected truly and judiciously, must cessarily be dignifled and variegated, and alive ith metaphors and figures. I forbear to speak an incongruity which would shock the inlligent Reader, should the Poet interweave any reign splendour of his own with that which the ission naturally suggests: it is sufficient to say at such addition is unnecessary. And, surely, is more probable that those passages, which ith propriety abound with metaphors and gures, will have their due effect, if, upon other casions where the passions are of a milder aracter, the style also be subdued and tem

rate most imp parage.

! I here use the word "Poetry" though against my n judgment) as opposed to the word Prose, and nonymous with metrical composition. But much nfusion has been introduced into criticism by this ntradistinction of Poetry and Prose, instead of the ore philosophical one of Poetry and Matter of Fact,

Science. The only strict antithesis to Prose is

etre; nor is this, in truth, a strict antithesis, beuse lines and passages of metre so naturally occur writing prose, that it would be scarcely possible to oid them, even were it desirable.

But, as the pleasure which I hope to give by the Poems now presented to the Reader must depend entirely on just notions upon this subject, and, as it is in itself of high importance to our taste and moral feelings, I cannot content myself with these detached remarks. And if, in what I am about to say, it shall appear to some that my labour is unnecessary, and that I am like a man fighting a battle without enemies, such persons may be reminded, that, whatever be the language outwardly holden by men, a practical faith in the opinions which I am wishing to establish is almost unknown. If my conclusions are admitted, and carried as far as they must be carried if admitted at all, our judgments concerning the works of the greatest Poets both ancient and modern will be far different from what they are at present, both when we praise, and when we censure: and our moral feelings influencing and influenced by these judgments will, I believe, be corrected and purified.

Taking up the subject, then, upon general grounds, let me ask, what is meant by the word Poet? What is a Poet? To whom does he address himself? And what language is to be expected from him?-He is a man speaking to men: a man, it is true, endowed with more lively sensibility, more enthusiasm and tenderness, who has a greater knowledge of human nature, and a more comprehensive soul, than are supposed to be common among mankind; a man pleased with his own passions and volitions, and who rejoices more than other men in the spirit of life that is in him; delighting to contemplate similar volitions and passions as manifested in the goings-on of the Universe, and habitually impelled to create them where he does not find them. To these qualities he has added a disposition to be affected more than other men by absent things as if they were present; an ability of conjuring up in himself passions, which are indeed far from being the same as those produced by real events, yet (especially in those parts of the general sympathy which are pleasing and delightful) do more early resemble the passions produced by real events, than anything which, from the motions of their own minds merely, other men are accustomed to feel in themselves:- whence, and from practice, he has acquired a greater readiness and power in expressing what he thinks and feels, and especially those thoughts and feelings which, by his own choice, or from the structure of his own mind, arise in him without immediate external excitement.

But whatever portion of this faculty we may suppose even the greatest Poet to possess, there cannot be a doubt that the language which it will suggest to him, must often, in liveliness and truth, fall short of that which is uttered by men in real life, under the actual pressure of those passions, certain shadows of which the Poet thus produces, or feels to be produced, in himself.

However exalted a notion we would wish to cherish of the character of a Poet, it is obvious, that while he describes and imitates passions, his employment is in some degree mechanical, compared with the freedom and power of real and substantial action and suffering. So that it will be the wish of the Poet to bring his feelings near to those of the persons whose feelings he

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describes, nay, for short spaces of time, perhaps, to let himself slip into an entire delusion, and even confound and identify his own feelings with theirs; modifying only the language which is thus suggested to him by a consideration that he describes for a particular purpose, that of giving pleasure. Here, then, he will apply the principle of selection which has been already insisted upon. He will depend upon this for removing what would otherwise be painful or disgusting in the passion; he will feel that there is no necessity to trick out or to elevate nature: and, the more industriously he applies this principle, the deeper will be his faith that no words, which his fancy or imagination can suggest, will be to be compared with those which are the emanations of reality and truth.

knows, and feels, and lives, and moves. We he
no sympathy but what is propagated by pleasur
I would not be misunderstood; but wherever v.
sympathise with pain, it will be found that the
sympathy is produced and carried on by sale.
combinations with pleasure. We have no know
ledge, that is, no general principles drawn fr
the contemplation of particular facts, but was
has been built up by pleasure, and exists in s
by pleasure alone. The Man of science, the a
Chemist and Mathematician, whatever diffic
and disgusts they may have had to strag
with, know and feel this. However painful
be the objects with which the Anatomist's
ledge is connected, he feels that his knowle
is pleasure; and where he has no pleasure
has no knowledge. What then does the Fot
He considers man and the objects that surr004,
him as acting and re-acting upon each others
as to produce an infinite complexity of pain
pleasure; he considers man in his own m
and in his ordinary life as contemplating the
with a certain quantity of immediate kresle
with certain convictions, intuitions, and de
tions, which from habit acquire the qual
intuitions; he considers him as looking up
this complex scene of ideas and sensatio
finding everywhere objects that immediat!
excite in him sympathies which, from the ter
sities of his nature, are accompanied by an id
balance of enjoyment.

To this knowledge which all men carry
with them, and to these sympathies in AY
without any other discipline than that
daily life, we are fitted to take delight, the 1,

But it may be said by those who do not object to the general spirit of these remarks, that, as it is impossible for the Poet to produce upon all occasions language as exquisitely fitted for the passion as that which the real passion itself suggests, it is proper that he should consider himself as in the situation of a translator, who does not scruple to substitute excellencies of another kind for those which are unattainable by him; and endeavours occasionally to surpass his original, in order to make some amends for the general inferiority to which he feels that he must submit. But this would be to encourage idleness and unmanly despair. Further, it is the language of men who speak of what they do not understand; who talk of Poetry as of à matter of amusement and idle pleasure; who will converse with us as gravely about a taste for Poetry, as they express it, as if it were a thing as in-principally directs his attention. He exust different as a taste for rope-dancing, or Frontiniac or Sherry. Aristotle, I have been told, has said, that Poetry is the most philosophic of all writing: it is so: its object is truth, not individual and local, but general, and operative; not standing upon external testimony, but carried alive into the heart by passion; truth which is its own testimony, which gives competence and confidence to the tribunal to which it appeals, and receives them from the same tri bunal. Poetry is the image of man and nature. The obstacles which stand in the way of the fidelity of the Biographer and Historian, and of their consequent utility, are incalculably greater than those which are to be encountered by the Poet who comprehends the dignity of his art. The Poet writes under one restriction only, namely, the necessity of giving immediate plea-habitual and direct sympathy connecti sure to a human Being possessed of that information which may be expected from him, not as a lawyer, a physician, a mariner, an astronomer, or a natural philosopher, but as a Man. Except this one restriction, there is no object standing between the Poet and the image of things; between this, and the Biographer and Historian, there are a thousand.

Nor let this necessity of producing immediate pleasure be considered as a degradation of the Poet's art. It is far otherwise. It is an acknowledginent of the beauty of the universe, an acknowledgment the more sincere, because not formal, but indirect; it is a task light and easy to him who looks at the world in the spirit of love: further, it is a homage paid to the native and naked dignity of man, to the grand elementary principle of pleasure, by which he

man and nature as essentially adapted to
other, and the mind of man as naturely t
mirror of the fairest and most interesting | |
perties of nature. And thus the Poet, pro
by this feeling of pleasure, which accep
him through the whole course of his son |
converses with general nature, with a
akin to those, which, through labour and
of time, the Man of science has raised up in
self, by conversing with those particular
of nature which are the objects of his st
The knowledge both of the Poet and the Mat
science is pleasure; but the knowlolge d (4)
one cleaves to us as a necessary part
existence, our natural and unalienable i
ance; the other is a personal and ind
acquisition, slow to come to us, and by

with our fellow-beings. The Man of
seeks truth as a remote and unknown benef
he cherishes and loves it in his solitude: Dr
Poet, singing a song in which all human be
join with him, rejoices in the presence of tra
as our visible friend and hourly cor
Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all
Jedge; it is the impassioned expression wh
in the countenance of all Science. Emphatic
may it be said of the Poet, as Shaksp
said of man, "that he looks before and sha
He is the rock of defence for human nat
an upholder and preserver, carrying every
with him relationship and love. Ju s
difference of soil and climate, of langua
manners, of laws and customs: in spite of the
silently gone out of mind, and things vid
destroyed; the Poet binds together by p

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