is praiseworthy, in the execution.

[Here follows a detailed outline of the plot of _Marmion_.]

Now, upon this narrative, we are led to observe, in the first place,
that it forms a very scanty and narrow foundation for a poem of such
length as is now before us. There is scarcely matter enough in the main
story for a ballad of ordinary dimensions; and the present work is not
so properly diversified with episodes and descriptions, as made up and
composed of them. No long poem, however, can maintain its interest
without a connected narrative. It should be a grand historical picture,
in which all the personages are concerned in one great transaction, and
not a mere gallery of detailed groups and portraits. When we accompany
the poet in his career of adventure, it is not enough that he points out
to us, as we go along, the beauties of the landscape, and the costumes
of the inhabitants. The people must do something after they are
described, and they must do it in concert, or in opposition to each
other; while the landscape, with its castles and woods and defiles, must
serve merely as the scene of their exploits, and the field of their
conspiracies and contentions. There is too little connected incident in
Marmion, and a great deal too much gratuitous description.

In the second place, we object to the whole plan and conception of the
fable, as turning mainly upon incidents unsuitable for poetical
narrative, and brought out in the denouement in a very obscure,
laborious, and imperfect manner. The events of an epic narrative should
all be of a broad, clear, and palpable description; and the difficulties
and embarrassments of the characters, of a nature to be easily
comprehended and entered into by readers of all descriptions. Now, the
leading incidents in this poem are of a very narrow and peculiar
character, and are woven together into a petty intricacy and
entanglement which puzzles the reader instead of interesting him, and
fatigues instead of exciting his curiosity. The unaccountable conduct of
Constance, in first ruining De Wilton in order to forward Marmion's suit
with Clara, and then trying to poison Clara, because Marmion's suit
seemed likely to succeed with her--but, above all, the paltry device of
the forged letters, and the sealed packet given up by Constance at her
condemnation, and handed over by the abbess to De Wilton and Lord Angus,
are incidents not only unworthy of the dignity of poetry, but really
incapab