create the taste by which he is to be relished; he must teach the art by which he is to be seen; this, in a certain degree, even to all persons, however wise and pure may be their lives, and however unvitiated their taste. But for those who dip into books in order to give an opinion of them, or talk about them to take up an opinion,—for this multitude of unhappy, and misguided, and misguiding beings, an entire regeneration must be produced; and if this be possible, it must be the work of time. To conclude, my ears are stone dead to this idle buzz, and my flesh as insensible as iron to these petty stings." *

Wordsworth's estimate of the capability of the age to enjoy poetry was not high.

"It is an awful truth, that there neither is, nor can be, any genuine enjoyment of poetry among nineteen out of twenty of those persons who live, or wish to live, in the broad light of the world, among those who either are, or are striving to make themselves, people of consideration in society. This is a truth, and an awful one, because to be incapable of a feeling of poetry, in my sense of the word, is to be without love of human nature and reverence for God." †

It is well known that Wordsworth fixed his sidence at the lakes. He says,

re

"And, oh, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, Think not of any severing of our loves!

Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might.

I only have relinquish'd one delight,

* Life of Wordsworth, vol. i. p. 338, 339.

† Letter to Lady Beaumont, Life of Wordsworth, vol. i. p. 332.

To live beneath your more habitual sway.

I love the Brooks which down their channels fret,
E'en more than when I tripp'd lightly as they;
The innocent brightness of a new-born day,
Is lovely yet;

The clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye

That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears."

His "Ode to Duty" is worthy of being studied for its profound moral.

ODE TO DUTY.

"Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love,
Who art a Light to guide, a Rod
To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou, who art victory and law

When empty terrors overawe;

From vain temptations dost set free,

From strife and from despair; a glorious ministry.

"There are who ask not if thine eye

Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely

Upon the genial sense of youth .

Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot

Who do thy work, and know it not :

May joy be theirs while life shall last!

And Thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast!

"Serene will be our days and bright,

And happy will our nature be,

When love is an unerring light,

And joy its own security.

And bless'd are they who in the main,

This faith, even now, do entertain;

Live in the spirit of this creed;

Yet find that other strength, according to their need.

"I, loving freedom, and untried;

No sport of every

random gust,

Yet being to myself a guide,

Too blindly have repos'd my trust :
Resolv'd that nothing e'er should press

Upon my present happiness,

I shov'd unwelcome tasks away;

But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.

"Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy controul;
But in the quietness of thought:
Me this uncharter'd freedom tires;
I feel the weight of chance-desires :
My hopes no more must change their name,
I long for a repose which ever is the same.

"Yet not the less would I throughout
Still act according to the voice

Of my own wish; and feel past doubt,
That my submissiveness was choice:

Not seeking in the school of pride
For 'precepts over dignified,'

Denial and restraint I prize,

No farther than they breed a second Will, more wise.

"Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace;
Nor know we any thing so fair
As is the smile upon thy face;

Flowers laugh before thee on their beds;
And Fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;

And the most ancient heavens, through thee, are
fresh and strong.

"To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
Oh! let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;

The confidence of reason give;

And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live! Nothing can well be more beautiful, either in description or lyric flow, than his stanzas on

THE POWER OF MUSIC.

"An Orpheus! an Orpheus!-yes, Faith may grow sold, And take to herself all the wonders of old;

Near the stately Pantheon you'll meet with the same In the street that from Oxford hath borrow'd its name.

"His station is there;- and he works on the crowd,
He sways them with harmony merry and loud;
He fills with his power all their hearts to the brim
Was aught ever heard like his fiddle and him?

B B

"What an eager assembly! what an empire is this!
The weary have life, and the hungry have bliss;
The mourner is cheered, the anxious have rest;
And the guilt-burthen'd soul is no longer opprest.

"As the Moon brightens round her the clouds of the night, So he, where he stands, is a centre of light;

It gleams on the face, there, of dusky-fac'd Jack,
And the pale-visag'd Baker's, with basket on back.

“That errand-bound 'Prentice was passing in haste— What matter! he's caught—and his time runs to wasteThe Newsman is stopp'd, though he stops on the fret, And the half-breathless Lamp-lighter he's in the net!

"The Porter sits down on the weight which he bore;
The Lass with a barrow wheels hither her store;
If a Thief could be here he might pilfer with ease;
She sees the Musician, 'tis all that she sees!

“He stands, back'd by the wall;—he abates not his din ;
His hat gives him vigour, with boons dropping in,
From the old and the young, the poorest-and there!
The one-pennied boy has his penny to spare.

"O blest are the hearers, and proud be the hand

Of the pleasure it spreads through so thankful a band;
I am glad for him, blind as he is! all the while
If they speak 'tis to praise, and they praise with a smile.

"That tall Man, a giant in bulk and in height,
Not an inch of his body is free from delight;
Can he keep himself still, if he would? oh, not he!
The music stirs in him like wind through a tree.