rejudices and superstitions as
a relief to the modern reader, while Lord Byron floats on swelling
paradoxes--

"Like proud seas under him;"

if the one defers too much to the spirit of antiquity, the other panders
to the spirit of the age, goes to the very edge of extreme and licentious
speculation, and breaks his neck over it. Grossness and levity are the
playthings of his pen. It is a ludicrous circumstance that he should have
dedicated his _Cain_ to the worthy Baronet! Did the latter ever
acknowledge the obligation? We are not nice, not very nice; but we do not
particularly approve those subjects that shine chiefly from their
rottenness: nor do we wish to see the Muses dressed out in the flounces of
a false or questionable philosophy, like _Portia_ and _Nerissa_ in the
garb of Doctors of Law. We like metaphysics as well as Lord Byron; but not
to see them making flowery speeches, nor dancing a measure in the fetters
of verse. We have as good as hinted, that his Lordship's poetry consists
mostly of a tissue of superb common-places; even his paradoxes are
_common-place_. They are familiar in the schools: they are only new and
striking in his dramas and stanzas, by being out of place. In a word, we
think that poetry moves best within the circle of nature and received
opinion: speculative theory and subtle casuistry are forbidden ground to
it. But Lord Byron often wanders into this ground wantonly, wilfully, and
unwarrantably. The only apology we can conceive for the spirit of some of
Lord Byron's writings, is the spirit of some of those opposed to him. They
would provoke a man to write anything. "Farthest from them is best." The
extravagance and license of the one seems a proper antidote to the
bigotry and narrowness of the other. The first _Vision of Judgment_ was a
set-off to the second, though

"None but itself could be its parallel."

Perhaps the chief cause of most of Lord Byron's errors is, that he is that
anomaly in letters and in society, a Noble Poet. It is a double privilege,
almost too much for humanity. He has all the pride of birth and genius.
The strength of his imagination leads him to indulge in fantastic
opinions; the elevation of his rank sets censure at defiance, he becomes a
pampered egotist. He has a seat in the House of Lords, a niche in the
Temple of Fame. Everyday mortals, opinions, things, are not good enough
for him to touch or think of. A mere nobleman is, in his estimation, but
"the