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SELECTED PROSE

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[Priface (1800) composed between 29 June and 27 September 1800; firstpublished 1800. In.l.~Q~-illl4iJiQl1L!.!Lt~.t~~!~l1!LIl.~pp'efl~i~ increasedthe Je.ngthpIJb.{...1.~.o.Q versio.'l~IzY_lltc!!!uban_ half; they were composedperhaps early 1802 (by 6 April 1802) and werefirst published 1802.~ybstan-

. tial moif.ificl,ltionsWe[l;ma.de bY_.Wordsworth in 1836. The version printedbelow appeared in The Poetical Works (1850), V, 157-95.)

This preface and its appendix are the best-known of Wordworth's prosewritings and together constitute a m.ajor 4.ocum!l]~ l!! ..Lhe,hiJJory .oj literarytheory. Wordsworth clearly considers himself to be operating in the centraltradition, subscribing by name' to Aristotle's mimetic 'beliif that poetry's'object is truth, not individual and local, but general, and operative'.Wor~sworth's more particular debts are not so easily determined, for thereare few ideas, even those sometimes ascribed to David Hartley, that werenot generally current in the eighteenth century. Wordsworth's major originalc/?,IJt.ributionto /.iterar), t~eo!x }!!~L~i~}'..~:.~.!.~.aD_~;_!!!~~1Jli3!i.h~rent inlitera~urewor~edsl:l.bt1y. a[ld indirectly, noJ..l&.9.ygiLP.!JJJp.1J:!.nd.exampleastaught by the central tradition. His creative theory - 'the spontaneousoverflow' exposition - was likewise original as derived from the psychologyof his own practice. And poetic practice itself received a revolutionary joltwhen he both broke from t~~.eighwntb.~£I:!Jl!:,rxr!f.I! ,!J14~~or,:!mby openingup.,seriouLp.'Qeb:y-JJu£.hg.1.JP_I?~J4 I2revi~!i~y..l!..~!!.t:..E~!:!J.EO!1~i4!!t;.4.'!:'IJdig-nified' subjects (lee.ch~g(l~b.5.r~!..s.,._h!ggQ!1,...f!t!4 lAe.Jike) and also from theexclusive kind of poetical diction in which serious poetry was written in the

278

- -.Preface to Lyrical Ballads and Appendix (1850)•

eighteenth century. Poetry and literarytbep!y'~£,,!!,d,/!~~,r_b!.qu.i.te the same~&_~in.

Appendix, Prefaces,etc. etc.--...~--...~----

Much the greatest part of the foregoing Poems has been so longbefore the Public that no prefatory matter, explanatory of any por-tion of them, or of the arrangement which has been adopted, appearsto be required; and had it not been for the observations contained inthose Prefaces upon the principles of Poetry in general they wouldnot have been reprinted even as an Appendix in this Edition .•

PREFACE

to the second edition of several oj the foregoing poems, published, with anadditional volume, under the title oJ'Lyrical Ballads'. 2

(Note.-In succeeding Editions, when the Collection was muchenlarged and diversified, this Preface was transferred to the end ofthe Volumes as having little of a special application to their con-tents. 3) .

The first Volume of these Poems has already been submitted togeneral perusal. It was published, a~_anexperiment, which, I hoped,might be of some use to ascertain, how far, by fitting to metricalarrangement a selection of the real language of men in a state of vrvidsensation, that sQr.t.9fple~s~re<ll'!.d..th~L9~~rti~¥.,2.fJ?1~~~uremar beimparted, )"lli(;h:~. r~.e~..m~y~H,tj9.naJJy"eQ-qS<lY8~!toimpart.

I had formed no very inaccurate estimate of the probable effectof those Poems: I flattered my~l<lLt9:lLth~.y_~40_should bepleased

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William W ordswotth: Selected Prose

with them would read them w~thI?:?,~et.~~n. S!?n.!.!?':9El,..p!C!as\lre~and.,,,.Qn.dl~St~!;g:rhand, L~.\l:.s_:v.y~!l,.~.:v.y.:l~.e.~_th~~.EY.!~.9se.,w:h~shoulddislike them, they would be read with more than common dislike.The result has differed from my expectation in i:hi~"o~iy, that agreater number have been pleased than I ventured to hope I shouldplease."

* * *Several of my Friends are anxious for the success of these Poems,from a belief, that, if the views with which they were composedwere indeed realised, a class of Poetry would be produced, welladapted to interest mankind permanently, and not unimportant inthe quality, and in the multiplicity of its moral relations: and on thisaccount they have advised me." to prefix a systematic defence of thetheory upon which the Poems were written. But I was unwilling toundertake the task, knowing that on this occasion the Reader wouldlook coldly upon my arguments, since I might be suspected of having.been principally influenced by the selfish and foolish hope of reasoninghim into an approbation of these particular Poems: and I was stillmore unwilling to undertake the task, because, adequately to displaythe opinions, and fully to enforce the arguments, would require aspace wholly disproportionate to a preface. For, to treat the subjectwith the clearness and coherence of which it is susceptible, it wouldbe necessary ~givC!. a,fll.Q,a~'£()ll~t,~(!h(!..P,~(!~91LS.f~tc::"of the publict_a~t.\!)n...~hisc04ntry, alld.!9.Q!;~~!;mmeho~ f~lli~H~,~~c::ls.h(!~tthyordepraved; which, again, could not be determined, without pointingout in what manner language and the human mind act and re-act oneach other, and without retracing the revolutions, not of literaturealone, but likewise of society itself. I have therefore altogetherdeclined to enter regularly upon this defence; yet I am sensible, thatthere would be something like impropriety in abruptly obtrudingupon the Public, without a few words of introduction, Poems somaterially different from those upon which general approbation is atpresent bestowed.

It is supposed, that ,by. the..act of writinginverse.an .Au,thor makesa formalengageme.Qtth~.t.h!;.,$jJLg,£i!!j,fY_£~,n.il!n.Js.!tQw'n.P.ap'itsof

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•Preface to Lyrical Ballads and Appendix (1850)

ass~£!:J.,~i()n;that he not only thus ~prises the Reader that certainclasses of ideas and expressions "{ill be found in his book, but thatothers will be carefully .excluded. This exponent. ()r .•s.Y.~l?olheldforth by met.rk~,Lg!)g!!ag,!;."m'!~ti.ndifferent eras of literature haveexcited very different expectations: for example, in the age ofCatullus, Terence;' and Lucretius, and that of Statius or Claudian; 6

and in our own country, in the age ofShakspeare and Beaumont andFletcher, and that of Donne and Cowley, or Dryden, or Pope." Iwill not take upon me to determine the exact import of the promisewhich, by the act of writing in verse, an Author, in the present daymakes to his reader: but it will undoubtedly appear to many personsthat I have not fulfilled the terms of an engagement thus voluntarilycontracted. They who have been accustoITled to the gaudiness andinanephra.$eolog~Q.f.miillY.m.9..QS:_Q!~i~i~:I[ih~y',:p.~~~i~t'inreadingthis .book XI) it~.cQ~i.<;lu.,s,.i_()!h.Y'i!!l..!!2.<i£~£!!fr~.9'?'':~~~l.!~~v~~?strugglewi.th,f~eJingLQf.gg!!g~.!!5:~~Q~L~~l<~a~4':less:they will look roundfor poetry, and will be induced to inquire by what species of courtesythese attempts can be permitted to assume that title. I hope thereforethe reader will not censure me for attempting to state what I haveproposed to myself to perform; and also (as far as the limits of apreface will permit) to explain some of the chief reasons which havedetermined me in the choice of my purpose: that at least he may bespared any unpleasant feeling of disappointment, and that I myselfmay be protected from one of the most dishonourable accusationswhich can be brought against an Author; namely, that of an indolencewhich prevents him from endeavouring to ascertain what is his duty,or, when his duty is ascertained, prevents him from performing it ..

The principal objeft,.Jh.~!!,J?f2p'g~s:.~LigSh~S:.Y.2s:_rn~."Ya~to chooseiI1~jdent~jl~~~J.~~ations.frE-~,..s'?~.~~~.[ife, and to.J.el;ite.or describethem, throughout, I!~{3~.:J..~;w:!;E:p?~silJle.J~~.a.sol~ction.oflanguage

"J·(!~!!y.us~d.by ..men, and, at the. same t~I!l_<:L.E£.!~!~~.~~<:!._th~m,.-aceI,tain.c9J9_1;!!:jllg..2ijm~gIRa.~9n, whereby ordinary things should b~presentedlq.cm$;"':U\I1H,.!~.~I1."mY~J,l.~1aspect; and, further, and aboveall, to make these incidents and situations interesting by tracing inthem, truly though not ostentatiously, the primary laws of our

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nature: chiefly, as far as regards the manner in which we associateideas in a state of excitement. Humble and rustic life: was generallychQ.s,eF"pec,au~~,in,dl<!LC;.QD9i.ti2E!,~h<:,.e.,~,se.Tl,~.!eJ,P<!§si9ns9f theheartfinda better ,.s.9iLjn..~,J:.~~Juh~'y,.~,~~_~.~i!!luh!:k.!Jl,;g...urity, are less

__1,1,l1d!,;Ln~s~raiQt,and speak a plainer and more emphatic language;bec;u,ls..ejnJ,ha~c:o~1~~~2!:1_?i.!~f~...£?~:~~)el!:.s!}.t~,r.:yIe_c:li~gsco-exist in astgt~,91gg:~.~r siI1}E!i~j,!y-,-and, cO,nseq)lentIY,JTla.yp,e_~9!,!!_a.~£ur~te~y,con!~mplated, all~L!!!2!L.fu~~,!.¥~~~~!:icated; because themanners _QfnlI:aJli(c:;g~Pr,li.11.il~e_fI()m~those.,E.l~J;l!~I:tt,~wfeelings,and,from the necessary character.()Lrtl.Ii:ll.c:>.q::,upa,J!q.!'lS"<Ire more easilycomprehended, and are,more durable; and, lastly, because in thatcondition, the passiQm"Q.f:,:m~9.,a,i.~_~!1fQIp,mi!~c:;g,Y':iJI}"'ih-;-b~-a~tifuland.permanent.forms.ofnarure, The language, too, of these men hasbeen adopted (purified indeed from what appear to be its real defects,from all lasting and rational causes of dislike or disgust) because suchmen hourly communicate with the best objects from which the bestpart oflanguage is originally derived; and because, from their rank insociety and the sameness, and narrow circle of their intercourse, beingless under the influence of social vanity, they convey their feelingsand notions in simple and unelaborated expressions. Accordingly, sucha language, arising out of repeated experience and regular feelings, isa more permanent, and a far more philosophical language, than thatwhich is' frequently subs~ituted for it by_Poets, who think that theyare cogferri!lK ll£P~)-!I.,~p'~~~~~seli~~s ~~iI:~!,r.~:~~t:i~p~-;p·ortionas they separate Jh~Ql~,s;!Ys..sJrornJh~~lY!!!Eell.!!~s.<:>fmen, and indulgeih arbitrary and capricious habits of expression, in order to furnishfood for fickle tastes, and fickle appetites, of their own creation.f

I cannot, however, be insensible to the present outcry against thetriviality and meanness, both of thought and language, which someof my contemporaries have occasionally introduced into their metri-cal compositions; and I acknowledge that this defect, where it exists, is

'more dishonourable to the Writer's own character than false refine-ment or arbitrary innovation, though I should contend at the sametime, that it is far less pernicious in the sum of its consequences. Fromsuch verses the Poems in these volumes will be found distinguished at

282


least by one mark of differenc~. that each of them has a worthypurpose. Not that I always began to write with a distinct purposeformally conceived; but habits of meditation have, I trust, so promptedand regulated my feelings, that my descriptions of such objects asstrongly excite those feelings, will be found to carry along with thema purpose. If this opinion be erroneous, I can have little right to thename of a Poet.,_Fo~ alI.g~Q~"'p...9.~!!:.y_~_~be_.~po,~~,a.n.,C:_Q_usoverflow ofpowerful feelings: ..and ,thpJml:!. thh I?~_true, Poems to which anyvalue can be attached were never produced on any variety of subjectsb!l.~J~y._~.'!1,~.,!:_~~?,being possessed of more than usual organicsensibility, had also thought long and deeply. For OUr continuedinfluxes of feeling are modified and directed by our thoughts, whichare indeed the representatives of all our past feelings; and, as bycontemplating the relation of these general representatives to eachother, we discover what is really important to men, so, by therepetition and continuance of this act, our feelings will be connectedwith important subjects, till at length, if we be originally possessed ofmuch sensibility, such habits of mind will be produced, that, byobeying blindly and mechanically the impulses of those habits, weshall describe objects, and utter sentiments, of such a nature, and insuch connection with each other, that the understanding of theReader must necessarily be in some degree enlightened, and hisaffections strengthened .am1purified.?

It has been said, that each. of these poems has a purpose. Anothercircumstance must be mentioned which distinguishes these Poemsfrom the popular Poetry of the day; it is this, that the feeling thereindeveloped gives importance to the action and situation, and not theaction and situation to the feeling.

A sense of false modesty shall not prevent me from asserting, thatthe Reader's attention is pointed to this mark of distinction, far lessfor the sake of these particular Poems than from the general im-portance of the subject. The subject is indeed important! For thehuman.mindiscgpgble J;>f.p'r,:j!:!g_e~£i~c:;dwithout the application ofgross andyioleI1HtiTP:ll,lants; and he must have a very faint perceptionof its beauty and dignity who does not know this, and who does not

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further know, that one being is elevated above another, in proportion-as he possesses this capability. It has therefore appeared to me, that toendeavour to produce or enlarge this capability is one of the bestservices in which, at any period, a Writer can be engaged; but thisservice, excellent at all times, is especially so at the present day. For amultitude .Qf.3!'s~'o~n}9]<?~n to former times, are now acting witha combined force to blunt the d~s.~ri[I1in,~tingp0'\Yers(;t ihetpind,and, unfitting it for all voluntary' exertion, to reduce it to a state ofalmost savage torpor. The JJ1.gsJ_ef('*Jiy~..Qf!.hf§f-s~usei~~!:l~e~g~eatB~~ion-eLev!!nts10 which are daily!a~~gJ?!:!ce!~~~.!~5_~9::..~sE:!g .accumulation, of m~n in cities, wh.!O;I!e.J.m:uniformitY..J?f...!h.ei~occu-pations proJ;hl,Cf;,L;L~J.i!Xi!lK_(QL~iS,t..r1l.Q~d4!a~yincident, wh!!;h...therapjdcommunication 11 ofil1.t<:llig.~n.c~.h~u.Elygratifies. To this tend-ency of life and manners the literature and theatrical exhibitions ofthe country have conformed themselves. The invaluable works ofour elder writers, I had almost said the works of Shakspeare andMilton, are driven into neglect by frantic novels, sickly and stupidGerman Tragedies, 12 and deluges of idle and extravagant stories inverse. - When I think upon this degrading thirst after outrageousstimulation, I am almost ashamed to have spoken of the feebleendeavour made in these volumes to counteract it; and, reflectingupon the magnitude of the general evil, I should be oppressed withno dishonourable melancholy, had! not a de~Fjmp.~.s.s.i<;m.j)fcertaininh'erent and indestructible,qu.:}Ji~i.es"9ith~~~!n.~~~ind,and likewiseof certain powers in the great and permanent objects that act upon it,which are equally inherent and indestructible; and were there notadded to this impression a belief, that the time is approaching whenthe evil will be systematically opposed, by men of greater powers,and with far more distinguished success.

Having dwelt thus long on the subjects and aim of these Poems, Ishall request the Reader's permission to apprise him of a few circum-stances relating to their style, in order, among other reasons, that hemay not censure me for not having performed what I neverattempted. The Reader will find that personifications of abstractideas rarely occur in these volumes; and are utterly rejected, as anordinary device to elevate the style, and raise it above prose. My

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. Preface to Lyrical Balla~s and Appendix (1850)

pumose was to imitate, anci.!.~~.,~a.~,~~..!~.P,~~~~!~-,....t2-_~.~~p!.}?e.very.lang!:!!:g.~_2.Lmen;.and assuredly such personifications do not makeany natural or regular part of that language. They are, indeed, afigure of speech occasionally prompted by passion, and I have madeuse of them as such; but have endeavoured utterly to reject them as amechanical device of style, or as a family language which Writers inmetre seem to lay claim to by prescription. L~.~~~.~~.sh~5L~0keep theReader in ~~~._<:~~E~EY_~r.,!!~~~,_:l~~b~.<?<?2.'.J>_e~~.~<!..th3_t_by sodO~JLI.!~all_~~~est him. Others who pursue a different track willinterest him likewise; I do not interfere with their claim, but wish toprefer a claim of my own. There will also be found in these volumeslittle of what is usually called poetic diction; as much pains has beentaken to avoid it as is ordinarily taken to produce it; this has beendone for the reason already alleged, to bring my language near to thelanguage of men; and further, because the pleasure which I haveproposed to myself to impart, is of a kind very different from thatwhich is supposed by many persons to be the proper object of poetry.Without being culpably particular, I do not know how to give myReader a more exact notion of the style in which it was my wish andintention to write, than by informing him that I have at all timesendeavoured to look steadily at my subject; consequently, there is Ihope in these Poems little falsehood of description, and my ideas areexpressed in language fitted to their respective importance. Some-thing must have been gained by this practice, as it is friendly to oneproperty of all good poetry, namely, good sense; bu]; it ~_!!.~~~~rilycut me off from a large portion of phrases and figures of speechwhich fr~'~ fath~~' t~~;~;;h~y~]q~g·J;~~9:~!.~g~!4e.d a~ the commoninheriJ:J..!1se9LPoets. Ihave also thought it expedient to restrict my-self still further, having abstained from the use of many expressions,in themselves proper and beautiful, but which have been foolishly re-peated by bad Poets, till such feelings of disgust are connected 'withthem as it is scarcely possible by any art of association to overpower.

Jf in a PQerp.th~J:~!hQ!!!~.!?"e"i9!lE.~..!.!'~!i.~_~fJ!a~2.!£Le.y~asingle1ine,in_whickth!;.1;mg"-~g~.Jl1..9.1JgP..J1i!Hll:'!.lly_~H.~QgS9,,_i\Qd·.accQrdingto the ~!ric.tla~s of metre, does not differ from that of prose, there isa..nlJ..m.~tQ1tt.£lM~.....QLc.!!.~i£~,~wh'?,-,~E~n ..E:!Y..:tu~~!~~P9E_~~ese

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prosaisms, as th!!y-.~.alUh!!Jll,jm:lgjp!! that they have. made a notablediscovery, and exult over the Poet as over aman ignorant of his ownpr.()J~!ision.Now these men would establish a canon of criticismwhich the Reader will conclude he must utterly reject, if he wishesto be pleased with these volumes. And it would be a most easy taskto prove to him, that not only the language ofa large portion ofevery good poem, even of the most elevated character, must neces-sarily, except with reference to the' metre, in no respect differ fromthat of good prose.ibut li!ceV'{is~tJl:aL§.2,m~.2fJh.L!l12~til!t~L~;;~i.I!g.,parts of the best poems will befound t()be strictly the language of

!to prosewhenprose ,iswell written. i3 'Th~t;';ith-;;fthi~';~~;;'tT~;:;~~ightbe demonstrated by innumerable passages from almost all the poeticalwritings, even of Milton himself. To illustrate the subject in a generalmanner, I will here adduce a short composition of Gray, who was atthe head of those who, by their reasonings, have attempted to widen

'the space of separation betwixt Prose and Metrical composirion.J+and was more than any other man curiously elaborate in the structureof his own poetic diction.

'In vain to me the smiling mornings shine,And reddening Phoebus lifts his golden fire:The birds in vain their amorous descant join,

•Or cheerful fields resume their green attire.These ears, alas! for other notes repine;A different object do these eyes require;My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine;And in my breast the imperfect joys expire;Yet morning smiles the busy race to cheer,And new-born pleasure brings to happier men;The fields to all their wonted tribute bear;To warm their little loves the birds complain.Lfruitless mourn to him that cannot hear I

And weep the more because I weep in vain.'!5

It will easily be perceived, that the only part of this Sonnet whichis of any value is the lines printed in Italics; it is equally obvious, that,except in the rhyme, and in the use of the single word 'fruitless' for

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Preface to Lyrical Balladg and Appendix (1850)

fruitlessly, which is so far a defect, the languageof these lines does inno respect differ from ,that of prose.

lly the. foregoingquota tj.QJ)..!,thilS J~_e.~.l11!h9.v,w,Jh~uhelaJ1R!JageofProse may yet be. ~~!L~~ap..!ed to Poetry; and it was previouslyass~rted, that a large portion of the langu~ge of every good poem. can Jin no' ~espect,.di~§E~fi9i?~~~;;!,?Ii2~~( p~~~'e:>w~"';rfrg;;-{~;th~;:'Itmay be safely affirmed, that there neither- is, nor can be, any essentialdifference between J.heJ.anguage of prose and metricalcoJP.Rosition.W e ~;e-fu~d ~7tr;~ing"the';~;;:;'bia~~e b~t~~~~"p'a~~r~ a~clP;i~~ing,and, accordingly, we call the-n Sisters: b:'1t where shall we find bondsof connection sufficiently strict to typify the affinity betwixt metricaland prose composition? They both speak by and to the same organs;the bodies in which both of them are clothed may be said to be of thesame substance, their affections are kindred, and almost identical, notnecessarily differing even in degree; Poetry 16 sheds no tears 'such asAngels weep,'!? but natural and human tears; she can boast of nocelestial ichor that distinguishes her vital juices from those of prose;the same human blood circulates ,~h1-'o~g'lJr~,veins of tg,em both.

If it be affirmed that rhyme and metrical arrangement of them-selves constitute a distinction which overturns what has just been saidon the strict affinity of metrical language with that of prose, andpaves the way for other artificial distinctions which the mind volun-tarily admits, I answer that the language of such Poetry as is hererecommended is, as far as is possible, a selection of the languagereally spoken by men; that this selection, wherever it is made withtrue taste and feeling, will of itself form a distinction far greater thanwould at first be imagined, and will entirely separate the compositionfrom the vulgarity and meanness of ordinary life; and, if metre besuperadded thereto, I believe that a dissimilitude will be producedaltogether sufficient for the gratification of a rational mind. Whatother distinction would we have? Whence is it to come? And whereis it to exist? Not, surely, where the Poet speaks through the mouthsof his characters: it cannot be necessary here, either for elevation ofstyle, or any of its supposed ornaments: for, if the Poet's subject bejudiciously chosen, it will naturally, and upon fit.occasion, lead him

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to passions the language of which, if selected truly and judiciously,must necessarily be dignified and variegated, and alive with meta-phors and figures. I forbear to speak of an incongruity which wouldshock the intelligent Reader, should the Poet interweave any foreignsplendour of his own with that which the passion naturally suggests:it is sufficient to say that such addition is unnecessary. And, surely, itis more probable that those passages, which with propriety aboundwith metaphors and figures, will have their due effect, if, upon otheroccasions where the passions are of a milder character, the style alsobe subdued and temperate.

But, as the pleasure which I hope to give by the Poems nowpresented to the Reader must depend entirely on just notions uponthis subject, and, as it is in itself of high importance to our taste andmoral feelings, I cannot content myself with these detached remarks.And if, in what I am about to say, it shall appear to some that mylabour is unnecessary, and that I a~, Iikea m:l.n fighting a battlewjthout enemies, such persons may be reminded, that, whatever bethe language outwardly holden by men, a practical faith in the opin-ions which I am wishing to establish is almost unknown. If myconclusions are admitted, and carried as far as they must be carried ifadmitted at all, our judgments concerning the works of the greatestPoets QQ1hJ.D.g,~!!unqJnQdern will be far different from what theyareat pre;~t,boih when we praise, and when we censure: and ourmoral feelings influencing and influenced by these judgments will. Ibelieve, be corrected and purified.

Taking up the subject. then, upon general grounds, let me ask.,what is meant by the word Poet?.s£hat !S~Ro.~~,tr2. ¥!hom does headdress,~!m~elf?And,w,h.iLl~J!gl!~g~jU2.J~!!_.~2!-:E..~S!~ftf.rom,him? -He iuunan w,,s~lsi!m.J.'LIE£.n':~3.n,itjs.,t~,_!'!l1d,QYJe.dwith morelively sensibility•.J!lQ!£_~I:l,~h.l.!s.!~~!!!,~n~,!e.,~4,e.v~e.s,~!~~.().~as,~greaterknowledge of human nature.and a mQ.r.!!_cOJJ1p'~~p~t;l~ivesoul,18 thanare,sUl'P9s~qJ:PQl;.~g1!Un.Q!Vm~mg,Q.1.;J.n~ind;a man pleased with hisown passions and volitions, and..whQJ;.ctiQi.<;.csmp'!'!!tqal:l,~Q.ti!~m.El!.JI}th~~p-iri,LoLlife thaUdn..him; delighting to contemplate similarvolitions and passions as manifested in the goings-on of the Universe,

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Preface to Lyrical Ballads and Appendix (1850)•and habitually impelled to create them where he does not find them.

To these qualities he has added a disposition to be affected more thanother men by absent things as if they were present;"? an ability ofconjuring up in himself passions, which are indeed far from being thesame as those produced b;! real .<;';erlts.y,:f: (especially ill those partsof the general sympathy which are pleasing and delightful) do morenearly resemble the passions produced by real events, than anythingwhich. from the motions of their own minds merely, other men areaccustomed to feel in themselves: - whence, and from practice, hehas acquired a greater readiness and power in expressing what hethinks and feels, and especially those thoughts and feelings which, byhis own choice, or from the structure of his own mind, arise in himwithout immediate external excitement.

But whatever portion of this faculty we may suppose even thegreatest Poet to possess, there cannot be a doubt that the languagewhich it will suggest to him, must often, in liveliness and truth, fallshort of that which is uttered by men in real life, under the actualpressure of those passions, certain shadows of which the Poet thusproduces, or feels to be produced. in himself. 20

However exalted a notion we would wish to cherish of the characterof a Poet, it is obvious, that while he describes and imitates passions,his employment is in some 'degree, mechanical, compared with thefreedom and power of real and substantial action and suffering, Sothat it will be the wish of the Poet to bring his feelings near to thoseof the persons whose feelings he describes, nay, for short spaces oftime. perhaps, to le~ himself slip into an entire delusion, and evenconfound and identify his own feelings with theirs; 21 modifyingonly the language which is thus suggested to him by a considerationthat he describes for a particular. ptlr::>Q£e•.that of giving pleasure.Here, then, he will apply' the principle of selection which has beenalready 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, themore industriously he applies this principle, the deeper will be hisfaith that no words, which his fancy or imagination can suggest, will

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be to be compared with those which are the emanations of realityand truth.

But it may be said by those who do not object to the general spiritof these remarks, that, as it is impossible for the Poet to produceupon all occasions language as exquisitely fitted for the passion asthat which the real passion itself suggests, it is proper that he shouldconsider himself as in the situation of a translator, who does notscruple to substitute excellencies of another kind for those which areunattainable by him; and endeavours occasionally to surpass hisoriginal, in order to make some amends for the. general inferiority towhich he feels that he must submit. But this would be to encourageidleness and unmanly despair. Further, it is the language of men whospeak of what they do not understand; who talk of Poetry as of amatter of amusement and idle pleasure; who will converse with us asgravely about a taste for Poetry, as they express it, as ifit were a thingas indifferent as a taste for rope-dancing, or Frontiniac or Sherry.Aristotle, I have been told, has said, that Poetry is the most philo-sophic of all writing: it is so: its object is truth, not individual andlocal, but general, and operative; 22 not standing upon external testi-mony, but carried alive into the heart by passion; truth which is itsown testimony, which gives competence and confidence to thetribunal to which it appeals, and receives them from the sametri-bunal. Poetry i; the image of man and nature. The obstacles whichstand in ,the way of the fidelity of the Biographer and Historian, andof their consequent utility, are incalculably greater than those whichare to bd encountered by the Poet who comprehends the dignity ofhis art. The Poet writes under one restriction only, namely, thenecessity of giving Immediate pleasure to a human Being possessedof that information which may be expected from him, not as alawyer, a physician, a mariner, an astronomer, or a natural philo-sopher, but as a Man. Except this one restriction, there is no objectstanding between the Poet and the image of things; between this, andthe Biographer and Historian, there are a thousand.

Nor let this necessity of producing immediate pleasure be con-sidered as a degradation of the Poet's art. It is far otherwise. It is an

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Preface to Lyrical Ballads and Appendix (1850)•

acknowledgment of the beauty of the universe, an acknowledgmentthe more sincere, because not formal, but indirect; it is a task lightand 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 thegrand elementary principle of pleasure, by which he knows, andfeels, and lives, and moves. We have no sympathy but what ispropagated by pleasure: I would not be misunderstood; but whereverwe sympathise with pain, it will be found that the sympathy isproduced and carried on by subtle combinations with pleasure. Wehave no knowledge, that is, no general principles drawn from thecontemplation of particular facts, but what has been built up bypleasure, and exists in us by pleasure alone. The Man of science, theChemist and Mathematician, whatever difficulties and disgusts theymay have had to struggle with, know and feel this. However painfulmay be the objects with which the Anatomist's knowledge is con-nected, he feels that his knowledge is pleasure; and where he has nopleasure he has no knowledge. What then does the Poet? He considersman and the objects that surround him as acting and re-acting uponeach other, so as to produce an infinite complexity of pain andpleasure; he considers Man in ,his own nature ilncl )<1 his ordinary lifeas contemplating this with a certain quantity of immediate know-ledge, with certain convictions, intuitions, arid deductions. whichfrom habit acquire the quality of intuitions; he considers him aslooking upon this complex SCeneof ideas and sensations, and finding

, ,every where objects that immediately excite in hirnsympathieswhich, from the necessities of his nature, are accompanied by anoverbalance of enjoyment.

To this knowledge which all men carry about with them, and tothese sympathies in which, without any other discipline than that ofour daily life, we are fitted to take delight, the Poet principallydirects his attention. He considers man and nature as essentially..adapted to each other, and the mind of man as naturally the mirror',of the fairest and most interesting properties of nature. And thus thePoet, prompted by this feeling of pleasure, which accompanies himthrough the whole course of his studies, converses with general

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nature, with affections akin to those, which, through labour andlength of time, the Man of science has raised up in himself, byconversing with those particular parts of nature which are the objectsof his studies. The knowledge both of the Poet and the Man ofscience is pleasure; but the knowledge of the one cleaves to us as anecessary part of our existence, our natural and unalienable inheri-tance; the other is a personal and individual acquisition, slow to cometo us, and by no habitual and direct sympathy connecting us with ourfellow-beings. The Man of science seeks truth as a remote and un-known benefactor; he cherishes and loves it in his solitude: the Poet,singing a song in which all human beings join with him, rejoices inthe presence of truth as our visible friend and hourly companion.Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the im-passioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science.Emphatically may it be said of the Poet, as Shakspeare hath said ofman, 'that he looks before and after.' 23 He is the rock of defence forhuman nature; an upholder and preserver, carrying everywhere withhim relationship and love. In spite of difference of soil and climate,of language and manners, of laws and customs: in spite of thingssilently gone out of mind, and things violently destroyed; the Poetbinds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of humansociety, as it is spread over the whole earth, and over all time. Theobjectsof' the Poet's thoughts-are every wherej jhough the eyes andsenses of man are, it is true, his favourite guides, yet he will followwheresoever he can find an atmosphere of sensation in which tomove his wings. Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge - it is asimmortal as the heart of man. If the labours of Men of science shouldever create any material revolution, direct or indirect, in our condi-tion, and in the impressions which we habitually receive, the Poetwill sleep then no more than at present; he will be ready to follow

. the steps of the Man of science, not only in those general indirecteffects, but he will be at his side, carrying sensation into the midst ofthe objects of the science itself. The remotest discoveries of theChemist, the Botanist, or Mineralogist, will be as proper objects ofthe Poet's art as any upon which it can be employed, if the time

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should ever come when these things shall be familiar to us, and therelations under which they are contemplated by the followers ofthese respective sciences shall be manifestly and palpably material tous as enjoying and suffering beings. If the time should ever comewhen what is now called science, thus familiarised to men, shall beready to put on, as it were, a form of flesh and blood, the Poet willlend his divine spirit to aid the transfiguration, and will welcome theBeing thus produced, as a dear and genuine inmate of the householdof man. - It is not, then, to be supposed that anyone, who holds thatsublime notion of Poetry which I have attempted to convey, willbreak in upon the sanctity and truth of his pictures by transitory andaccidental ornaments, and endeavour to excite admiration of himselfby arts, the necessity of which must manifestly depend upon theassumed meanness of his subject.

What has been. thus far said applies to Poetry in general; butespecially to those parts of composition where the Poet speaksthrough the mouths of his characters; and upon this point it appearsto authorise the conclusion that there are few persons of good sense,who would not allow that the dramatic parts of composition aredefective, in proportion as they deviate from the real language ofnature, and are coloured by a diction of the Poet's own, eitherpeculiar to him as an individual Poet or belonging simply to Poets ingeneral; to a body of men who, from the circumstance of theircompositions being in metre, it is expected will employ a particularlanguage.

It is not, then, in the dramatic parts of composition that we lookfor this distinction of language; but still it may be proper andnecessary where the Poet speaks to us in his own person and character.To this I answer by referring the Reader to the description beforegiven of a Poet. Among the qualities there enumerated as principallyconducing to form a Poet, is implied nothing differing in kind fromother men, but only in degree. The sum of what was said is, that thePoet is chiefly distinguished from other men by a greaterpromptnes~ .to think and feel without immediate external excitement, and agreater power in expressing such thoughts and feelings as are

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produced in him in that manner. But these passions and thoughtsand feelings are the general passions and thoughts and feelings ofmen. And with what are they connected? Undoubtedly with ourmoral sentiments and animal sensations, and with the causes whichexcite these; with the operations of the elements, and the appear-ances of the visible universe; with storm and sunshine, withthe revolutions of the seasons, with cold and heat, with loss offriends and kindred, with injuries. and resentments, gratitude andhope, with fear and sorrow. These, and the like, are the sensationsand objects which the Poet describes, as they are the sensations ofother men, and the objects which interest them. The Poet thinksand feels in the spirit of human passions. How, then, can his lan-guage differ in any material degree from that of all other men whofeel vividly and see clearly? It might be proved that it is impossible.But supposing that this were not the case, the Poet might then beallowed to use a peculiar language when expressing his feelings forhis own gratification, or that of men like himself. But Poets donot write for Poets alone, but for men. Unless therefore we areadvocates for that admiration which subsists upon ignorance, andthat pleasure which arises from hearing what we do not under-stand, the Poet must descend from this supposed height; and, inorder to excite rational sympathy, he must expre$s himself as othermen 'express themselves. T~ this it may be zdded, that while he isonly, selecting from the real language of men, or, which amountsto the same thing, composing accurately in the spirit of such selec-tion,"he is treading upon safe ground, and we know what we areto expect from him. Our feelings are the same with respect tometre; for, as it may be proper to remind the Reader, the distinc-tion of metre is regular and uniform, and not, like that which isproduced by what is usually called POETIC mcrrox, arbitrary, andsubject to infinite caprices upon which no calculation whatever canbe made. In the one case, the Reader is utterly at the mercy of thePoet, respecting what imagery or diction he may choose to connectwith the passion; whereas, in the other, the metre obeys certainlaws, to which the Poet and Reader both willingly submit because

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Preface to Lyrical Ballads and Appendix (1850)•they are certain, and because no interference is made by them with

the passion, but 'such -asthe concurringfestimony of ages has shownto heighten and improve the pleasure which co-exists with it.

It will now be proper to answer an obvious question, namely,Why, professing these opinions, have I written in verse? To this, inaddition to such answer as is included in what has been already said, Ireply, in the first place, Because, however I may have restrictedmyself, there is still left open to me what confessedly constitutes themost valuable object of all writing, whether in prose or verse; thegreat and universal passions of men, the most general and interestingof their occupations, and the entire world of nature before me - tosupply endless combinations of forms and imagery. Now, supposingfor a moment that whatever is interesting in these objects may be asvividly described in prose, why should Ibe condemned forattempting to superadd to such description, the charm which, by theconsent of all nations, is acknowledged to exist in metrical language?To this, by such as are yet unconvinced, it may be answered that avery small part of the pleasure given by Poetry depends upon themetre, and that it is injudicious to write in metre, unless it beaccompanied with the other artificial distinctions of style with whichmetre is usually accompanied, and that, by such deviation, more willbe lost from the shock which will thereby be given to the Reader'sassociations than will' be counterbalanced by any pleasure which hecan derive from the general power of numbers. In answer to thosewho still contend for the necessity of accompanying metre withcertain appropriate.colours of'Sty kit. order :to the accomplishmentof its appropriate end, and who also, in my opinion, greatly underratethe power of metre in itself, it might, perhaps, as far as relates tothese Volumes, have been almost sufficient to observe, that poemsare extant,24 written upon more humble subjects, and in a still morenaked and simple style, which have continued to give pleasurefro.ngeneration to generation. Now, if nakedness and simplicity be 'ildefect, the fact here mentioned affords a strong presumption thatpoems somewhat less naked and simple are capable of affordingpleasure at the present day; and, what I wished chiefly to attempt, at

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present, was to justify myself for having written under the irnpression'of this belief.

But various causes might be pointed out why, when the style ismanly, and the subject of some importance, words metricallyarranged will long continue to impart such a pleasure to mankind ashe who proves the extent of that pleasure will be desirous to impart.The end of Poetry is to produce excitement in co-existence with anoverbalance of pleasure; but, by the supposition, excitement is anunusual and irregular state of the mind; ideas and feelings do not, inthat state, succeed each other in accustomed order. If the words.however, by which this excitement is produced be in themselvespowerful, or the images and feelings have an undue proportion ofpain connected with them, there is some danger that the excitementmay be carried beyond its proper bounds. Now the co-presence ofsomething regular, something to which the mind has been accus-tomed in various moods and in a less excited state, cannot but havegreat efficacy in tempering and restraining the passion by an inter-texture of ordinary feeling, and of feeling not strictly and necessarilyconnected with the passion. This is unquestionably true; and hence.though the opinion will at first appear paradoxical, from the tendencyof metre to divest language, in a certain degree, of its reality, andthus to throw a sort of half-consciousness of unsubstantial existenceover the whole composition, there can be little doubt but that morepathetic situations and sentiments, that is, those which have a greaterproportion of pain connected with them, may be endured in metricalcomposition, especially in rhyme, than in prose. The metre of the oldballads is very artless; yet they contain many passages which wouldillustrate this opinion; and, I hope, if the following Poems be at-tentively perused, similar instances will be found in them. This opin-ion may be further illustrated by appealing to the Reader's ownexperience of the reluctance with which he comes to the re-perusalof the distressful parts of Clarissa Harlowe, or the Gamester; 2S whileShakspeare's writings, in the most pathetic scenes, never act upon us,as pathetic, beyond the bounds of pleasure - an effect which, in amuch greater degree than might at first be imagined, is to be ascribed

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to small, but continual and regular. impulses of pleasurable surprisefrom themetri'cal arrangement. -'o» the other hand (what it mustbe allowed will much more frequently happen) if the Poet's wordsshould be incommensurate with the passion, and inadequate to raisethe Reader to a height of desirable excitement, then, (unless thePoet's choice of his metre has been grossly injudicious) in the feelingsof pleasure which the Reader has been accustomed to connect withmetre in general, and in the feeling, whether cheerful or melancholy.which he has been accustomed to connect with that particularmovement of metre. there will be found something which willgreatly contribute to impart passion to the words. and to effect thecomplex end which the Poet proposes to himself.

If I had undertaken ';l SY5:·Si,lATlC 'clclcm:c .of the theory heremaintained. it would have been my duty to develope the variouscauses upon which the pleasure received from metrical languagedepends. Among the chief-of these causes is to be reckoned a principlewhich must be well known to those who have made any of the Artsthe object of accurate reflection; namely. the pleasure which themind derives from the perception of similitude in dissimilitude. Thisprinciple is the great spring of the activity of our minds. and theirchief feeder. From this principle the direction of the sexual appetite.and all the passions connected with it. take their origin: it is the life ofour ordinary conversation; and upon the accuracy with which sim-ilitude in dissimilitude, and dissimilitude in similitude arc perceived,depend our taste and our moral feelings. It would not be a uselessemployment to apply this principle to the consideration of metre.and to show that metre is hence enabled to afford much pleasure. andto point out in what manner that pleasure is produced. But my limitswill not permit me to enter upon this subject. and I must contentmyself with a general summary.,.

I have said that poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful+feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity: ~,the emotion is contemplated till. by a species of re-action. thetranquillity gradually disappears. and an emotion. kindred to thatwhich was before the subject of contemplation. is gradually

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produced, and does itself actually exist in the mind. In this moodsuccessful composition generally begins, and in a mood similar tothis it is carried on; but the emotion, of whatever kind, and inwhatever degree, from various causes, is qualified by variouspleasures, so that in describing any passions whatsoever, which arevoluntarily described, the mind will, upon the whole, be in a state ofenjoyment. If Nature be thus cautious to preserve in a state of en-joyment a being so employed, the Poet ought to profit by the lessonheld forth to him, and ought especially to take care, that, whateverpassions he communicates to his Reader, those passions, if hisReader's mind be sound and vigorous, should always be accompaniedwith an overbalance of pleasure. Now the music of harmoniousmetrical language, the sense of difficulty overcome, and the blindassociation of pleasure which has been previously received fromworks of rhyme or metre of the same or similar construction, anindistinct perception perpetually renewed oflanguage closely resem-bling that of real life, and yet, in the circumstance of metre, differingfrom it so widely - all these imperceptibly make up a complexfeeling of delight, which is of the most important use in temperingthe painful feeling always found intermingled with powerful de-scriptions of the deeper passions. This effect is always produced inpathetic and impassioned poetry; while, in lighter compositions, theease and gracefulness with which the Poet manages' his numbers arethemselves confessedly a principal source of the gratification of theReader. All that it is necessary to say, however, upon this subject,may be effected by affirming, what few persons will deny, that; oftwo descriptions, either of passions, manners, or characters, each ofthem equally well executed, the one in pro~e and the other in verse,the verse will be read a hundred times where the prose is read once .

Having thus explained a few of my reasons for writing in verse,and why I have chosen subjects from common life, and endeavouredto bring my language near to the real language of men, if! have beentoo minute in pleading my own cause, I have at. the same time beentreating a subject of general interest; and for this reason a few wordsshall be added with reference solely to these particular poems, and to

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Preface to Lyrical Ballads and.Appendix (1850)

some defects which will probably be, found in them. I am sensiblethat my associations must have sometimes been particular instead ofgeneral, and that, consequently, giving to things a false importance, Imay have sometimes written upon unworthy subjects; but I am lessapprehensive on this account, than that my language may frequentlyhave suffered from those arbitrary connections of feelings and ideaswith particular words and phrases, from which no man can altogetherprotect himself. Hence I have no doubt, that, in some instances,feelings, even of the ludicrous, may be given to my Readers byexpressions which appeared to me tender and pathetic. Such faultyexpressions, were I convinced they were faulty at present, and thatthey must necessarily continue to be so, I would willingly take allreasonable pains to correct. But it is dangerous to make these altera-tions on the simple authority of a few individuals, or even of certainclasses of men; for where .the understanding of an Author is notconvinced, or his feelings altered, this cannot be done without greatinjury to himself: for his own feelings are his stay and support; and, ifhe set them aside in one instance, he may be induced to repeat this acttill his mind shall lose all confidence in itself, and become utterlydebilitated. To this it may be added, that the critic ought never toforget that he is himself exposed to the same errors as the Poet, and,perhaps, in a much greater degree..for there can be no presumptionin saying of most readers, that it is not probable they will be so wellacquainted with the various stages of meaning through which wordshave passed, or with the fickleness or stability of the relations ofparticular ideas to each other; and, above all, since.they are so muchless interested in the subject, they may decide lightly and carelessly,

Long as the Reader has been detained, I hope he will permit me tocaution him against a mode offalse criticism which has been applied toPoetry, in which the language closely resembles that of life and nature.Such verses have been triumphed over in parodies, of which DrJohnson's stanza 15 a fair specimen: _.

'I put my hat upon my headAnd walked into the Strand,And there 1 met another manWhose hat was in his hand.'26

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William W~riJsworth: Selected Prose

Immediately under these lines let us place one of the most justly-admired stanzas of the 'Babes in the Wood' ."

'These pretty Babes with hand in handWent wandering up and down;But never more they saw the ManApproaching from the Town.V?

In both these stanzas the words, and the order of the words, in norespect differ from the most unimpassioned conversation. There arewords in both, for example, 'the Strand', and 'the Town', connectedwith none but the most familiar ideas; yerthe one stanza we admit asadmirable, and the other as a fair example of the superlatively con-temptible. Whence arises this difference? Not from the metre, notfrom the language, not from the order of the words; but the matterexpressed in Dr Johnson's stanza is contemptible. The proper methodof treating trivial and simple verses, to which Dr Johnson's stanzawould be a fair parallelism, is not to say, this is a bad kind of poetry,or, this is not poetry; but, this wants' sense; it is neither interesting initself, nor can lead to any thing interesting; the images neither origin-ate in that sane state of feeling which arises out of thought, nor canexcite thought or feeling in the Reader. This is the only sensiblemanner of dealing with such verses. Why trouble yourself about thespecies till you have previously decided upo,P the genus? Why takepains to prove that an ape is not a Newton, when it is self-evidentthat, he is not a man?

One request I must make of my reader, which is, that in judgingthes~ Poems he would decide by his own feelings genuinely, and notby reflection upon what will probably be the judgment of others.How common is it to hear a person say, I myself do not object to thisstyle .of composition, or this or that expression, but, to such and suchclasses of people it will appear mean or ludicrous! This mode ofcriticism, so destructive of all sound unadulterated judgment, isalmost universal: let the Reader then abide, independently, by hisown feelings, and, if he finds himself affected, let him not suffer suchconjectures to interfere with his pleasure.

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If an Author, by any single composition, has impressed us withrespect for his talents, it is useful to consider this as affording apresumption, that on other occasions where we have been displeased,he, nevertheless, may not have written ill or absurdly; and further,to give him so much credit for this one composition as may induceus to review what has displeased us, with more care than we shouldotherwise have bestowed upon it. This is not only an act of justice,but, in our decisions upon poetry especially, may conduce, in a highdegree, to the improvement of our own taste; for an accurate taste inpoetry, and in all the other arts, as Sir Joshua Reynolds has observed,is an acquired talent, which can only be produced by thought and along-continued intercourse with the best models of composition.VThis is mentioned, not with so ridiculous a purpose as to prevent themost inexperienced Reader from judging for himself, (1have alreadysaid that I wish him to judge for himself;) but merely to temper therashness of decision, and to suggest, that, if Poetry be a subject onwhich much time has not been bestowed, the judgment may beerroneous; and that, in many cases, it necessarily will be so.

Nothing would, I know, have-so-effectually contributed to furtherthe end which I have in view, as to have shown of what kind thepleasure is, and how that pleasure is produced, which is confessedlyproduced by metrical composition essentially different from thatwhich I have here endeavoured to recommend: for the Reader willsay that he has been pleased by such composition; and what more canbe done for him? The power of any art is limited; and he willsuspect, that, if it be proposed to furnish him with new friends, thatcan be only upon condition of his abandoning his old friends, Besides,as I have said, the Reader is himself conscious of the pleasure whichhe has received from such composition, composition to which he haspeculiarly attached the endearing name of Poetry; and all men feel anhabitual gratitude, and something of an honourable bigotry, fortheobjects which have long continued to please them: we not only wishto be pleased. but to be pleased in that particular way in which wehave been accustomed to be pleased. There is in these feelings enoughto resist a host of arguments; and I should be the less able to combat

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them successfully, as I am willing to allow, that, in order entirely t~:'enjoy the Poetry .which I.am recommending, it would be necessaryto give up much of what is ordinarily enjoyed. But, would my limitshave permitted me to point out how this pleasure is produced, manyobstacles might have been removed, and the Reader assisted inperceiving that the powers oflanguage are not so limited ashe maysuppose; and that it is possible for poetry to give other enjoyments,of a purer, more lasting, and more exquisite nature. This part of thesubject has not been altogether neglected, but it has not been somuch my present aim to prove, that the interest excited by someother kinds of poetry is less vivid, and less worthy of the noblerpowers of the mind, as to offer reasons for presuming, that if mypurpose were fulfilled, a species of poetry would be produced, whichis genuine poetry; in its nature well adapted to interest mankindpermanently, and likewise important in the multiplicity and qualityof its moral relations.P?

From what has been said, and from a perusal of the Poems, theReader will be able clearly to perceive the object which I had inview: he will determine how far it has been attained; and, what is amuch more important question, whether it be worth attaining: andupon the decision of these two questions will rest my claim to theapprobation of the Public.. ,

APPBNDIX30

Perhaps, as I have no right to expect that attentive perusal, withoutwhich, confined, as I have been, to the narrow limits of a preface, mymeaning cannot be thoroughly understood, I am anxious to give anexact notion of the sense in which the phrase poetic diction has beenused; and for this purpose, a few words shall here be added, concern-ing the origin and characteristics of the phraseology, which I havecondemned under that name.

The earliest poets of all nations generally wrote from passionexcited by real events; they wrote naturally, and as men: feelingpowerfully as they did, their language was daring, and figurative.P!

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.Preface to Lyrical Ballads and Appendix (1850)

•In succeeding times, Poets, and Men ambitious of the fame of Poets,perceiving the influence of such l~nguage, and desirous of producingthe same effect without being animated by the same passion, setthemselves to a mechanical adoption of these figures of speech, andmade use of them, sometimes with propriety, but much more fre-quently applied them to feelings and thoughts with which they hadno natural connection whatsoever. A language was thus insensiblyproduced, differing materially from the real language of men in anysituation. The Reader or Hearer of this distorted language foundhimself in a perturbed and unusual state of mind: when affected bythe genuine language of passion he had been in a perturbed andunusual state of mind also: in both cases he was willing that hiscommon judgment and understanding should be laid asleep,andhe had no instinctive and infallible perception of the true to make himreject the false; the one served asa passport for the other. The emotionwas in both cases delightful, and no wonder if he confounded theone with the other, and believed them both to be produced by thesame, or similar causes. Besides, the Poet spake to him in the characterof a man to be looked up to, a man of genius and authority. Thus,and from a variety of other causes, this distorted language wasreceived with admiration; and Poets, it is probable, who had beforecontented themselves for the most part with misapplying only ex-pressions which at first had been dictated by real passion, carried theabuse still further, and introduced phrases composed apparently inthe spirit of the original figurative language of passion, yet altogetherof their own invention, and characterised by various degrees ofwanton deviation from good sense and nature.

It is indeed true, that the language of the earliest Poets was felt todiffer materially from ordinary language, because it was the languageof extraordinary occasions; but it w~s re<:\lly.spokenby men, languagewhich the Poet himself'had uttered ~h~~he hadbeen affected by the:events which he described, or which he had heard uttered by thosearound him. To this language it is probable that metre of some sortor other was early superadded. This separated the genuine languageof Poetry still further from common life, so that whoever read or

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heard the poems of these earliest Poets felt himself moved in a way inwhich he had not been accustomed to be moved in real life, and bycauses manifestly different from those which acted upon him in reallife. This was the great temptation to all the corruptions which havefollowed: under the protection of this feeling succeeding Poets con-structed a phraseology which hid one thing, it is true, in commonwith the genuine language of poetry, namely, that it was not heard inordinary conversation; that it was unusual. But the first Poets, as Ihave said, spake a language which, though unusual, was still thelanguage of men. This circumstance, however, was disregarded bytheir successors; they found that they could please by easier means:they became proud of modes of expression which they themselveshad invented, and which were uttered only by themselves. In processof time metre became a symbol or promise of this unusual language,and whoever took upon him to write in metre, according as hepossessed more or less of true poetic genius, introduced less or moreof this adulterated phraseology into his compositions, and the trueand the false were inseparably interwoven until, the taste of'menbecoming gradually perverted, this language was received as a naturallanguage: and at length, by the influence of books upon men, did toa certain degree really become so. Abuses of this kind' were importedfrom one nation to another, and with the progress of refinement thisdiction became daily more and mOEecorrupt, thrusting out of sightthe plain humanities of nature by a motley masquerade of tricks,quaintnesses, hieroglyphics, and enigmas.

It would J10tbe uninteresting to point out the causesof the pleasuregiven by this extravagant and absurd diction. It depends upon a greatvariety of causes, but upon none,perhaps, more than its influence inimpressing a notion of the peculiarity and exaltation of the Poet'scharacter, and in flattering the Reader's self-love by bringing himnearer to a sympathy with that character; an effect which is accom-plished by unsettling ordinary habits of thinking, and thus assistingthe Reader to approach to that perturbed and dizzy state of mind inwhich if he does not find himself, he imagines that he is.balked of apeculiar enjoyment which poetry can and ought to bestow.

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The sonnet quoted from Gray, in the -Preface, except the linesprinted in Italics, consists oflittle else but this diction, though not ofthe worst kind; and indeed, if one may be permitted to say so, it is fartoo common in the best writers both ancient and modem. Perhaps inno way, by positive example, could more easily be given a notion ofwhat I mean by the phrase poetic diction than by referring to a com-parison between the metrical paraphrases which we have of passagesin the Old and New Testament, and those passages as they exist inour common Translation. See Pope's 'Messiah' throughout; Prior's'Did sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue,' &c. &c. 'Though Ispeak with the tongues of men and of angels,' &c. &c. rst Corinthians,chap. xiii.32 By way of immediate example, take the following of DrJohnson:

'Turn on the prudent Ant thy heedless eyes,Observe her labours, Sluggard, and be wise;No stem command, no monitory voice,Prescribes her duties, or directs her choice;Yet, timely provident, she ~ane5 :".vrayTo snatch the blessings of a plenteous day;When fruitful Summer loads the teeming plain,She crops the harvest, and she stores the grain.How long shall sloth usurp thy useless hours,Unnerve thy vigour, and enchain thy powers?While artful shades thy downy couch enclose,And sof~ solicieaeion courts repose,Amidst the drowsy charms of dull delight,Year chases year with unremitted flight,Till Want now following, fraudulent and slow,Shall spring to seize thee, like an ambush'd foe.' 33

From this hubbub of words pass to the original. 'Go to the Ant,thou Sluggard, consider her ways, and be wise: which having noguide, overseer, or ruler, provideth her meat in the summer, andgathereth her food in the harvest. How long wilt thou sleep, 0Sluggard? when wilt thou arise out of thy sleep? Yet a little sleep, alittle slumber, a little folding of the hands to sleep. So shall thy

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poverty come as one that travelleth, and thy want as an armed man."Proverbs, chap. vi.34

One more quotation, and I have done. It is from Cowper's Versessupposed to be written by Alexander Selkirk: -

'Religion! what treasureuntoldResidesin that heavenlyword!More preciousthan silverand gold,Or all that this earth can afford.But the sound of the church-goingbellThesevalleysand rocksnever heard,Ne'er sighedat the sound of a knell,Or smiledwhen a sabbathappeared.

Ye winds, that have made me your sportConvey to this desolateshoreSome cordial endearing reportOf a land I must visitno more.My Friends,do they now and then sendA wish or a thought after me?o tell me I yet have a friend,Though a friend I am never to see.'35

This passage is quoted as..an instance' of three different styles ofcomposition. The first four lines are poorly expressed; some Criticswould call the language prosaic; the fact is, it would be bad prose, sobad, that it is scarcely worse in metre. The epithet 'church-going' 36applied to a bell, and that by so chaste a writer as Cowper, is aninstance of the strange abuses which Poets have introduced into theirlanguage, till they and their Readers take them as matters of course,if they do not single them out expressly as objects of admiration. Thetwo lines 'Ne'er sighed at the sound,' &c., are, in my opinion, aninstance of the language of passion wrested from its proper use, and,from the mere circumstance of the composition being in metre,applied upon an occasion that does not justify such violent expres-sions; and I should condemn the passage, though perhaps few Readerswill agree with me, as vicious 37 poetic diction. The last stanza is

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•throughout admirably expressed: it would be equally good whetherin prose or verse, except that the Reader has an exquisite pleasure inseeing such natural language so naturally connected with metre. Thebeauty of this stanza tempts me to conclude with a principle whichought never to be lost sioht of, ?!!iI which has bee-n;ny chief guide inall I have said, - namely, that in works of imagination and sentiment,for of these only have I been treating, in proportion as ideas andfeelings are valuable, whether the composition be in prose or inverse, they require and exact one and the same language:38 Metre isbut adventitious to composition, and the phraseology for which thatpassport is necessary, even where it may be graceful at all, will belittle valued by the judicious.

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wordsworth preface to lyrical ballads-1

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