ng way of phrase here and
phrase there (which is detestable as a general practice), but where he
has had essential obligations either as to matter or manner.

If I can be of any use to you, do not fail to apply to me. One thing I
may take the liberty to suggest, which is, when you come to the fables,
might it not be advisable to print the whole of the Tales of Boccace in
a smaller type in the original language? If this should look too much
like swelling a book, I should certainly make such extracts as would
show where Dryden has most strikingly improved upon, or fallen below,
his original. I think his translations from Boccace are the best, at
least the most poetical, of his poems. It is many years since I saw
Boccace, but I remember that Sigismunda is not married by him to
Guiscard (the names are different in Boccace in both tales, I believe,
certainly in Theodore, &c.). I think Dryden has much injured the story
by the marriage, and degraded Sigismunda's character by it. He has also,
to the best of my remembrance, degraded her still more, by making her
love absolute sensuality and appetite; Dryden had no other notion of the
passion. With all these defects, and they are very gross ones, it is a
noble poem. Guiscard's answer, when first reproached by Tancred, is
noble in Boccace, nothing but this: _Amor pua molto piu che ne roi ne io
possiamo_. This, Dryden has spoiled. He says first very well, 'The
faults of love by love are justified,' and then come four lines of
miserable rant, quite _a la Maximin_. Farewell, and believe me ever,

Your affectionate friend,
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

31. _Of Marmion_.

EXTRACT OF LETTER TO SIR WALTER SCOTT (1808).

Thank you for 'Marmion.' I think your end has been attained. That it is
not the end which I should wish you to propose to yourself, you will be
well aware, from what you know of my notions of composition, both as to
matter and manner. In the circle of my acquaintance it seems as well
liked as the 'Lay,' though I have heard that in the world it is not so.
Had the Poem been much better than the Lay, it could scarcely have
satisfied the public, which has too much of the monster, the moral
monster, in its composition. The Spring has burst out upon us all at
once, and the vale is now in exquisite beauty; a gentle shower has
fallen this morning, and I hear the thrush, who has built in my orchard,
singing amain. How happy we sh