e has done this--he has exhibited human life in a greater variety
of forms and lights, all definite and distinct, than any other man whose
name has reached our ears; and therefore, without fear or trembling, we
tell the world to its face, that he is, out of all sight, the greatest
genius of the age, not forgetting Goethe, the Devil, and Dr Faustus.

"What? Scott a greater genius than Byron!" Yes--beyond compare. Byron
had a vivid and strong, but not a wide, imagination. He saw things as
they are, occasionally standing prominently and boldly out from the flat
surface of this world; and in general, when his soul was up, he
described them with a master's might. We speak now of the external
world--of nature and of art. Now observe how he dealt with nature. In
his early poems he betrayed no passionate love of nature, though we do
not doubt that he felt it; and even in the first two cantos of "Childe
Harold" he was an unfrequent and no very devout worshipper at her
shrine. We are not blaming his lukewarmness; but simply stating a fact.
He had something else to think of, it would appear; and proved himself a
poet. But in the third canto, "a change came over the spirit of his
dream," and he "babbled o' green fields," floods, and mountains.
Unfortunately, however, for his originality, that canto is almost a
cento--his model being Wordsworth. His merit, whatever it may be, is
limited therefore to that of imitation. And observe, the imitation is
not merely occasional or verbal; but all the descriptions are conceived
in the spirit of Wordsworth, coloured by it and shaped--from it they
live, and breathe, and have their being; and that so entirely, that had
"The Excursion" and "Lyrical Ballads" never been, neither had any
composition at all resembling, either in conception or execution, the
third canto of "Childe Harold." His soul, however, having been awakened
by the inspiration of the Bard of Nature, never afterwards fell asleep,
nor got drowsy over her beauties or glories; and much fine description
pervades most of his subsequent works. He afterwards made much of what
he saw his own--and even described it after his own fashion; but a
greater in that domain was his instructor and guide--nor in his noblest
efforts did he ever make any close approach to those inspired passages,
which he had manifestly set as models before his imagination. With all
the fair and great objects in the world of art, again, Byron dealt like
a poet of origin