er in the entire
extent of Hazlitt's writing a great living genius has been turned into a
mockery or a figurehead been set up for the admiration of posterity. Of
his personal and political antipathies enough has been said, but against
literary orthodoxy his only great sin is a harsh review of
"Christabel."[96] If in general we look at the age through Hazlitt's eyes,
we shall see its literature dominated by the figures of Wordsworth and
Scott, the one regarded as the restorer of life to poetry, the other as
the creator or transcriber of a whole world of romance and humanity.
Coleridge stands out prominently as the widest intellect of his age.
Byron's poetry bulks very large, though it is not estimated as
superlatively as in the criticism of our own day. It is a pity that
Hazlitt never wrote formally of Keats, for his casual allusions indicate a
deep enjoyment of the "rich beauties and the dim obscurities" of the "Eve
of St. Agnes"[97] and an appreciation of the perfection of the great
odes.[98] If he failed to give Shelley his full dues, he did not overlook
his exquisite lyrical inspiration. He spoke of Shelley as a man of genius,
but "'all air,' disdaining the bars and ties of mortal mould;" he praised
him for "single thoughts of great depth and force, single images of rare
beauty, detached passages of extreme tenderness," and he rose to
enthusiasm in commending his translations, especially the scenes from
Faust.[99] He has been accused of writing a Spirit of the Age which
omitted to give an account of Shelley and Keats, but in the title of the
book consists his excuse. As it was not his idea to anticipate the
decision of posterity but only to sketch the personalities who were in
control of the public attention, he passed over the finer poets who were
still neglected, and wrote instead about Campbell and Moore and Crabbe. It
is sufficient praise for the critic that those of whom he has undertaken
to treat stand irreversibly judged in his pages. He is generous toward
Campbell and Moore, who were both personally hostile to him; he is
scrupulously honest toward Bentham, with whose system he had no sympathy.
The concluding pages of his sketch of Southey, in view of that poet's
rancor against him, are almost defiant in their magnanimity. His adverse
judgments, moreover, are as permanent as his favorable ones. He pronounced
the verdict against the naked realism of Crabbe's poetry, which persons
like Jeffrey thought superior to