existence, let us not forget that there | Aristarchus and his opponents, reis a friend who sticketh closer than a specting the comparative merits of brother. Lord Byron and Mr. Wordsworth.

JUVENIS.

Aberdeen, 24th October, 1821.

A priori, I was surprised that such a comparison should ever have been instituted. I thought that to compare Lord Byron to Wordsworth, was like

OBSERVATIONS ON THE ENVIOUS MAN. comparing the meridian sun to a rush

BY R. R. T.

FRIENDSHIP, that great law of nature, the envious man violates. Hence his character is universally detested.

Every incident which ought to give him pleasure, promotes his pain. The objects that gratify him who is exempt from this hateful passion, give the most corroding pangs to him who is subject to it. The envious man thinks the excellencies of his fellow creatures odious. Another's merit or prosperity awakens the seeds of this detestable vice in his breast. To conceive ill of one who has done him no injury, to be offended with a man for excelling him, to hate him because he is approved, is a disposition altogether unnatural; it partakes of the rancour of an evil spirit. The envious man's life must be most miserable, because he is surrounded by those who all tend to inflame his mind, by improving their own happiness and convenience.

light. And, a posteriori, that opinion has been confirmed. No impartial sides, can for a moment hesitate to reader of the productions on both admit that Lord Byron towers infinitely above the Lake Poet.

the Derby writer has received, it may After the complete trouncing which be thought too hard upon him to say Aristarchus would declare that “twice any thing more; and perhaps even they slew" poor G. M. But I really think that one or two things in G. M.'s letters ought not to escape censure.

And, first, observe his disingenuousness. He is afraid of a contest with Aristarchus; refers him to his mighty production half-a-year ago; tells him that he will not say any thing more about Byron; and yet, in the same number, he calumniates his Lordship in delineating "the maudlin prince of

mournful sonneteers."

"The creature's at his dirty work again."

Aristarchus appears to deem such tempt; but I think right to hold it up conduct deserving only silent conto public infamy.

Let him whose heart is tainted with this detestable vice, bring often into view those religious sentiments which Mark G. M.'s logic; he says that respect him as a Christian; namely, Dr. Woolcott was formerly thought how unworthy he appears in the sight the greatest poet of the age, and yet of God, and how much the blessings no one now quotes from him, THEREthat he every day experiences, beFORE Lord Byron will share the same stowed upon him by the Divine good-fate!!! A child can deny his ergo. ness, are beyond what he deserves; so shall the roots of this malignant passion weaken in his heart, and be annihilated. His heart will become an irresistible barrier to many a wicked passion, and he will learn in whatsoever state he is, "therewith to be content."

Norwich, 3rd October, 1821.

BYRON AND WORDSWORTH. BYRON
VINDICATED.

"Hearken unto me; I also will shew mine opinion." JOB Xxxii. 10.

MR. EDITOR.
Sir,--With considerable pleasure I
have read the controversy between
No. 34.-VOL. III.

66

his opponent, merits the severest re-
G. M.'s imputation of bad motives to
harsh upon a man that insinuates that
probation.
cannot have read any British poet;"
one who differs from him in opinion
and that "an admirer of Lord Byron's
poetry must be an infidel?" Infidelity
Aristarchus has abjured ex animo; and
his letter, containing French, Latin,
and Greek, shows that he is not igno-
rant. I cannot help thinking that
G. M. himself is nothing better than
a SCIOLIST; or he would not be so
ready to charge ignorance upon an-
other.

What censure can be too

Aristarchus' "letter is as much superior to G. M.'s in temper, as it is in argument." Indeed their modes of

4 B

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Byron and Wordsworth.

SIR,-As many pages of your valuable and impartial publication have of late been occupied in discussing the respective merits of Byron and Wordsworth, I trust I shall not incur the censure of your disinterested readers, for obtruding the subsequent remarks on their attention.

I had resolved, Sir, to remain a passive spectator of this literary contest, and merely

through the loop-holes of retreat

1116

tion, as that which appeared in col. 921 of your number for October. The ingenious writer of the passage to which I allude, has, by a species of interpretation exclusively his own, imagined that by poetry his Lordship means morality! And, Sir, from this ignoratio elenchi-this mistake of the proposition, G. M. very logically asks, if it be conceded that poetry, viz. morality, is in a state of declension, to whom can it be imputed? This ingenuous question he replies to with corresponding candour, and very calmly tells us that we may address the fascinating Byron in the bold and positive terms with which the inspired Nathan struck terror to the soul of the guilty monarch: "Thou art the man." Is this, Sir, the plain and deliberate procedure that should characterize the awarders of poetic merit? Is this the generous and impartial conduct so essential in discharging the duties of decision to blast the laurels, yet smila critic? Is this premature and unjust ing on the brow of the beneficent Byron? No, Sir, every principle of virtue and honour forbids it; and while his muse continues to breathe

the high-wrought minstrelsy she has hitherto donc, as soon will Wordsworth's Excursion eclipse Paradise Lost, as G. M.'s lilliputian arrows the glory of Byron.

limits to vindicate the moral character I will not step beyond my prescribed of our British bard; I will not attempt to echo the prayers of the captive, the blessings of the unfortunate, the joyful cries of the orphan and widowed, whom BYRON has restored to liberty, to home, and to happiness. On ArisTo peep at tarchus the task devolves: to him, the combatants; but since the spirited Sir, I cheerfully resign the enviable advocate of Byron has been meanly charge of convincing the unbiassed and illiberally assailed by the philo- readers of your widely circulated mismusi who contend for the gentle cellany, that the poet whom he so ably Wordsworth, I care not to thwart the defends, is not that "monstrum horopportunity presented me of assuring rendum," that "exquisitely disgustAristarchus, that the Imperial Maga-ing, yea, iniquitous" object, some zine has one correspondent besides have endeavoured to mis-represent himself, who admires the brilliant effu- him. sions of the Caledonian bard, and who, as he is not below his teens, cannot relish the puerile productions that distinguish the poet of the lakes.

Of the various methods by which the reputation of Lord Byron is attacked, none, Sir, is marked with such peculiar acrimony, such unwarranted license, and such fecundity of inven

The precious morceau which principally gave rise to these observations, its inimitable author has interwoven with the threads of encomium sofairly and deservedly lavished on the sonnets of the Rev. W. L. Bowles. None, Sir, more esteems the genuine loveliness, the touching simplicity, of these elegant compositions, than myself;

1117

Byron and Wordsworth.

and well would it be for G. M. could he treat Lord Byron with a spark of that urbanity and respect, pre-eminent in the controversy to which he refers. But I forbear; had he eulogized the one without reprobating the other, all animadversion would be superseded.

In concluding, Sir, I would direct the attention of those who may peruse these remarks, to the song which composes their peroration: the melody of

1118

WORTH VINDICATED.

MR. EDITOR.

its numbers, the energy of its diction, BYRON AND WORDSWORTH.-WORDSthe descriptive power it displays, and above all, the sacred feeling it creates, forcibly evince that the writer of "Hebrew Melodies" has rendered himself not less intimate with the beauties of poesy, than with the characters and passions of those, whose memory he so expressively revives.

Farewell to others, but never we part,
Heir to my royalty, son of my heart!
Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway,
Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day!
Thou whose spell can raise the dead,
Bid the prophet's form appear.
Samuel, raise thy buried head!

King, behold the phantom seer!"
Earth yawned; he stood the centre of a cloud:
Light chang'd its hue retiring from his shroud;
Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye,

His hand was wither'd, and his veins were
dry;

His foot, in bony whiteness, glitter'd there,
Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare:
From lips that mov'd not, and unbreathing
frame,

Like cavern'd winds the hollow accents came.
Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak,
At once, and blasted by the thunder stroke.

Samuel.

"Why is my sleep disquieted?
Who is he that calls the dead?
Is it thou, Oh king? Behold
Bloodless are these limbs, and cold:
Such are mine; and such shall be
Thine to-morrow when with me:
Ere the coming day is done,
Such shalt thou be, such thy son.

SIR,-May I be permitted to intrude myself once more upon your notice, and that of the public, in replying to the invectives of Aristarchus, inserted in your last number, whose anger it appears I have kindled not a little. My motive is the elucidation and establishment of truth; and if a firm adherence to what I conceive to be the cause of truth and virtue, subject me to be termed a bigot, I shall, nevertheless, not shrink from my duty. It is also to be hoped, that when my opponent has considered the whole of the discussion, especially his own paper of October 2d, he will learn to acknowledge the truth of the adage, which tells us, we may sometimes make more haste than good speed. Learning, be it little or much, ought not to be a shield for arrogance; and though Aristarchus, as if fearful of trusting his cause to the living, has called up the dead languages to reinforce his positions, I will not shun to meet him on the fair and open ground of legitimate controversy. First, let me vindicate my own character, next expose the errors of my opponent, and, finally, seek to confirm the assertions which I have primarily advanced.

Whenever a writer descends to the use of scurrilous epithets, he has an evident advantage in sheltering himself under an anonymous signature; an advantage which, in the present instance, I have to labour against. The charge of arrogance, however, cannot but fall harmless upon me, when applied by one assuming the name of an ancient critic, who would suffer no verse to pass for Homer's of which he did not himself approve. But I pass on to a more serious imputation. Aristarchus, after giving ex

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Byron and Wordsworth.

1120

depicted aberrations of the Idiot Boy, in his mistaking the cold moon for the luminary of day, nor in his infantile expressions of joyous feeling under his novel situation---it is a corroboration of my opinion, that he is utterly blinded by prejudice, and unfit for engaging in the analysis of poetic merit. Surely it augurs well for the character of Wordsworth's poetry, to find his reviler driven to such unworthy expedients. The testimony of the contemporary poets adduced in my former paper, is treated by my opponent as the unmeaning language of compliment, which he seeks to overturn by an anonymous paragraph, that, for any thing the public knows to the contrary, may be one of those mites which he before tells us he has contributed to the fund of literature. Such a conjecture might be plausibly supported; for I am desired to mark the contents of the quotation, and I find

tracts from Hazlitt's earlier works, pretty plainly draws the inference, that the words I have quoted from the same author must be a fabrication of my own. The public may readily determine on this case by referring to Hazlitt's Table Talk, page 100. Let them also consult the whole of the paragraph from which they were taken. In the hands of this author the rod of criticism, when applied to Wordsworth, becomes a serpent, which swallows up not only his own detractions, but also the mite of praise which he had bestowed upon that “noble poet, who is fulfilling the promise of his youth." If Aristarchus could imagine that I had not perused Hazlitt, what must be said of his strange inaccuracy respecting the poems of Wordsworth, which he informs me he has read? Were he indeed the student he would lead the public to suppose, he must have known that the "Ancient Mariner" is a poem, not written by Words-it to be silly enough, overshooting the worth, but by Coleridge; and is that on which his reputation as a poet principally rests, as being the most original and powerful of his productions.

"A little learning Is a dangerous thing."

The inadvertency of which Aristarchus has here been guilty, leads me to suspect that he has never consulted the long prose critique upon Wordsworth, given by his friend in the Literaria Biographia; indeed I cannot but surmise that my antagonist is very scantily prepared for the critical exploit which he has undertaken. His quotations are peculiarly unfortunate for his purpose, and, where they have any weight, they seem to bear upon the opposite side of the question. Would

any poem, even the writer's favourite Don Juan, be fairly represented by a couple of lines maliciously selected; especially when it can be shewn that the objectionable lines are corrected in a later edition? One other specimen of Wordsworth's poetry is given, which is termed a farrago and it certainly is not the fault of Aristarchus, if it merits a better appellation; for it consists of part of the last stanza, omitting the line which gives its principal interest, then follows the 17th, and after that the 14th stanza of the poem. But taking the verses as they are here given, may I not affirm, that if the critic can see no beauty in the

mark it aims at, and degrading its
arrogant style of vituperation, by the
lowness of a pun. Let the following
extract suffice as a specimen of the
poem which Aristarchus would per-
suade us is a tissue of "daudling im-
potent drivel."

Long have I lov'd what I behold,
The night that calms, the day that cheers:
The common growth of mother earth
Suffices me-her tears, her mirth,
Her humblest mirth and tears.

The dragon's wing, the magic wing,
I shall not covet for my dower,
If I along that lowly way
With sympathetic heart may stray,
And with a soul of power.

These given, what more need I desire,
To stir to soothe-or elevate?
What nobler marvels than the mind
May in life's daily prospect find,
May find or there create?

A potent wand doth sorrow wield;
What spell so strong as guilty fear?
Repentance is a tender sprite;
If aught on earth have heav'nly might,
'Tis lodg'd within her silent tear.

After this exposure of the critical sagacity of my antagonist, it may be superfluous to seek, by any further arguments, to convince him that my eulogy of Wordsworth does not rest on the baseless fabric of a distempered imagination, but is supported by very many passages of extraordinary beauty, sublimity, and pathos, which abound in the volumes of his poetry.

Byron and Wordsworth.

Aristarchus can see beauty in Lord | great, but an immoral poet. Whether

by which the idea was probably sug- BYRON AND WORDSWORTH.-WORDSgested to his Lordship; and he can even embellish his diction by borrowing at unawares from the Excursion.