those extravagant fables, and heroes of crime, would continue to amuse, and interest, from the love of stirring emotion, which is natural to the human mind, and from those strong agitations, which may continue, as they have long continued, to convulse the political world, giving to every eye, an anxious observation, and to every ear in Europe, an ear of curiosity, open to the changes which may be rung, throughout her States, and Kingdoms. He agreed with me to some extent, but still thought they would be left, for more natural creations, and domestic incident. It is evidently, upon these opinions, that he has built his poetical structures. He cannot scruple, to give "Peter Bell," to the world; if laughed at, in the present age, he cares not-the future will see in it, a correct description of the costume of present times, and will accord it their approbation and, perhaps unmingled, sympathy. This may be, but this, I think, is no argument, why he should not select, a more dignified hero for his tale, preserving the usages of the country, equally correct, in his descriptions. Interest was never lost, by leaving vulgarity for neatness, and coarseness, for elegance of expression. It is no argument, why he should content himself, with exerting his great powers upon trivial subjects, when he might command, a far wider field of energy and applause, and have instead of a domestic coterie, a nation for his admirers. In his conversation, he was remarkably clear in argument, fond of abstract idea, somewhat positive in enforcing his sentiments, and fonder of speaking than of listening; but yet the transparency of his language, and the brightness of his imagery, made it a pleasure to listen to him. His prose style is a perfect specimen of his conversation. He is fond of the mythological fictions of the ancients, notwithstanding the severe decretals he has issued, against those fine ones of Ossian, even if we disbelieve the authenticity of these Highland reliques. The sun was now nearly setting, and we walked to his Mount to enjoy the noble view of the valley, which it commands. The sunbeams, intercepted by the mountains behind us, in the vicinity of Rydal Water, divided the valley, beautifully, into two parts. The Mount, whereon we stood, Lady Fleming's noble elms, to whose verdurous bowers, the rooks were returning with loud cries, a naked grey crag, and a large part of the vale itself, were in shade. The line of sunshine, took in part of a grove of firs, and the mountains on the east, and illuminated a great part of the far valley, embosomed in bowers-through which the distant town of Ambleside, faintly appeared-on to the villas, on the banks of Windermere, and that part of the Lake itself, which was revealed to sight. It was, without comparison, the finest summer vision I ever beheld! All was brightness, tranquillity, and pleasurable repose. Wordsworth was absorbed in it; he stood, with folded arms in a reverie, which, judging of his enjoyment by my own, he had not often felt. Long time, we observed the growth of the huge shadows over the vale; we were at length, mindful of prosecuting our journey, and received from the Poet, and his family with pleasure, the proposal to walk with us to Ambleside. As we went, I sounded him with regard to Ossian. I was chagrined to find, that he was denounced, as a disgusting imposture, the manners, and imagery, designated as false, and unreal, condemned in toto, yet to the blind Bard himself, he had some relentings. He was evidently satisfied with the image of the aged Harper, left the last of his race, and giving his griefs, to the echoes of the hills; but all beyond, the touching tenderness, and beauty, of the characters delineated, the lively description of mountain scenery, and the ethereal spirit of melancholy, which pervades those singular compositions, were abandoned without a sigh. How stands the taste of Wordsworth in this point? As we advanced, the sun sank, and a warm flush of bright carnation lighted up the sky around; it reminded.me of the sunset scene in the "Excursion," and I told Wordsworth so; he said he had never before seen so fine a one. Mrs. Wordsworth fancied a lion rampant in the clouds, and contrasted the transient colours of those lovely skies, with the permanent repose of the ever-during crags, round which they floated. At the town we parted. I shall never revert to the day, without a feeling of serene pleasure. We walked along Winander Mere to Low Wood, and at noon the next day, reached Kendal. Thus then, July 8th, we left with regret the region of lakes and mountains. We had been gratified beyond our expectation, whilst lingering among them; we were attached to them, by hours of joy, and of fatigue, passed in their solitudes; we were charmed, by the simplicity of manners, and the benevolence of their peasantry; and we could not bid farewell to them, without emotion. "In the land of the south, their remembrances shall rise, and bring with them a gladness to the heart." In the summer of 1821, J. H. Wiffen was appointed Librarian, at Woburn Abbey, by the Duke of Bedford, THI CHAPTER IV. TASSO'S "JERUSALEM DELIVERED.” "For once, once more, must Palestine What future Tasso shall that strife Big with the world's last fates inspire, And Prophecy, with Time expire!" HE melody, and charm, of Italian Poetry, had early seized on the fancy, and imagination, of the young poet. The idea was first suggested to him, by his brother, to translate into English verse, “La Gerusalemme Liberata," the great Epic, "Which sainted Tasso writ with pen inspired." To resolve, was to achieve. Inspired by the grandeur of the Poem, and its subject, he pursued the work, with the ardour, and perseverance which distinguished him through life. As he proceeded, his interest increased, until the enchanting Poem became for the time the delight of his life, and he thus apostrophises it, in his L'Envoi : "My pride at noon, my vision of the night, My hope at morn, my joy at lonely eve." |