modest disparagement of the poem, but in sorrow for the
sickly taste of the public in verse. The _people_ would love the poem of
'Peter Bell,' but the _public_ (a very different being) will never love
it. Thanks for dear Lady B.'s transcript from your friend's letter; it
is written with candour, but I must say a word or two not in praise of
it. 'Instances of what I mean,' says your friend, 'are to be found in a
poem on a Daisy' (by the by, it is on _the_ Daisy, a mighty difference!)
'and on _Daffodils reflected in the Water_.' Is this accurately
transcribed by Lady Beaumont? If it be, what shall we think of criticism
or judgment founded upon, and exemplified by, a poem which must have
been so inattentively perused? My language is precise; and, therefore,
it would be false modesty to charge myself with blame.

Beneath the trees,
Ten thousand dancing in the _breeze_.
The _waves beside_ them danced, but they
Outdid the _sparkling waves_ in glee.

Can expression be more distinct? And let me ask your friend how it is
possible for flowers to be _reflected_ in water where there are _waves_?
They may, indeed, in _still_ water; but the very object of my poem is
the trouble or agitation, both of the flowers and the water. I must
needs respect the understanding of every one honoured by your
friendship; but sincerity compels me to say that my poems must be more
nearly looked at, before they can give rise to any remarks of much
value, even from the strongest minds. With respect to this individual
poem, Lady B. will recollect how Mrs. Fermor expressed herself upon it.
A letter also was sent to me, addressed to a friend of mine, and by him
communicated to me, in which this identical poem was singled out for
fervent approbation. What then shall we say? Why, let the poet first
consult his own heart, as I have done, and leave the rest to
posterity,--to, I hope, an improving posterity. The fact is, the English
_public_ are at this moment in the same state of mind with respect to my
poems, if small things may be compared with great, as the French are in
respect to Shakspeare, and not the French alone, but almost the whole
Continent. In short, in your friend's letter, I am condemned for the
very thing for which I ought to have been praised, viz., that I have not
written down to the level of superficial observers and unthinking minds.
Every great poet is a teacher: I wish either to be considered as a
teacher, or