line energy of style. He had beauty,
tenderness, delicacy, in an uncommon degree, but there was a want of
strength and substance. His _Endymion_ is a very delightful description
of the illusions of a youthful imagination given up to airy dreams--we
have flowers, clouds, rainbows, moonlight, all sweet sounds and smells,
and Oreads and Dryads flitting by--but there is nothing tangible in it,
nothing marked or palpable--we have none of the hardy spirit or rigid
forms of antiquity. He painted his own thoughts and character, and did
not transport himself into the fabulous and heroic ages. There is a
want of action, of character, and so far of imagination, but there is
exquisite fancy. All is soft and fleshy, without bone or muscle. We
see in him the youth without the manhood of poetry. His genius breathed
'vernal delight and joy.' 'Like Maia's son he stood and shook his
plumes,' with fragrance filled. His mind was redolent of spring. He had
not the fierceness of summer, nor the richness of autumn, and winter he
seemed not to have known till he felt the icy hand of death!

NOTES to ESSAY IX

No notes for this essay.

ESSAY X. WHY DISTANT OBJECTS PLEASE

Distant objects please, because, in the first place, they imply an idea
of space and magnitude, and because, not being obtruded too close upon
the eye, we clothe them with the indistinct and airy colours of fancy.
In looking at the misty mountain-tops that bound the horizon, the mind
is as it were conscious of all the conceivable objects and interests
that lie between; we imagine all sorts of adventures in the interim;
strain our hopes and wishes to reach the air-drawn circle, or to
'descry new lands, rivers, and mountains,' stretching far beyond it:
our feelings, carried out of themselves, lose their grossness and their
husk, are rarefied, expanded, melt into softness and brighten into
beauty, turning to ethereal mould, sky-tinctured. We drink the air
before us, and borrow a more refined existence from objects that hover
on the brink of nothing. Where the landscape fades from the dull sight,
we fill the thin, viewless space with shapes of unknown good, and tinge
the hazy prospect with hopes and wishes and more charming fears.

But thou, oh Hope! with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure?
Still it whisper'd promised pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!

Whatever is placed beyond the reach of sense and knowledge, whatever is
i