with a less glowing aspect and less tumult in the veins than Lord
Byron's on similar occasions, bends a calmer and keener eye on mortality;
the impression, if less vivid, is more pleasing and permanent; and we
confess it (perhaps it is a want of taste and proper feeling) that there
are lines and poems of our author's, that we think of ten times for once
that we recur to any of Lord Byron's. Or if there are any of the latter's
writings, that we can dwell upon in the same way, that is, as lasting and
heart-felt sentiments, it is when, laying aside his usual pomp and
pretension, he descends with Mr. Wordsworth to the common ground of a
disinterested humanity. It may be considered as characteristic of our
poet's writings, that they either make no impression on the mind at all,
seem mere _nonsense-verses_, or that they leave a mark behind them that
never wears out. They either

"Fall blunted from the indurated breast"--

without any perceptible result, or they absorb it like a passion. To one
class of readers he appears sublime, to another (and we fear the largest)
ridiculous. He has probably realised Milton's wish,--"and fit audience
found, though few:" but we suspect he is not reconciled to the
alternative. There are delightful passages in the EXCURSION, both of
natural description and of inspired reflection (passages of the latter
kind that in the sound of the thoughts and of the swelling language
resemble heavenly symphonies, mournful _requiems_ over the grave of human
hopes); but we must add, in justice and in sincerity, that we think it
impossible that this work should ever become popular, even in the same
degree as the _Lyrical Ballads_. It affects a system without having any
intelligible clue to one; and instead of unfolding a principle in various
and striking lights, repeats the same conclusions till they become flat
and insipid. Mr. Wordsworth's mind is obtuse, except as it is the organ
and the receptacle of accumulated feelings: it is not analytic, but
synthetic; it is reflecting, rather than theoretical. The EXCURSION, we
believe, fell still-born from the press. There was something abortive, and
clumsy, and ill-judged in the attempt. It was long and laboured. The
personages, for the most part, were low, the fare rustic: the plan raised
expectations which were not fulfilled, and the effect was like being
ushered into a stately hall and invited to sit down to a splendid banquet
in the company of clowns, and with