d, himself, a number of ballads from
forgetfulness; what was equally important, his book prompted others to
hunt out and publish similar relics before it was too late. It was the
occasion of collections like Herd's (1769), Scott's (1802-03), and
Motherwell's (1827), and many more, resting on purer texts and edited on
more scrupulous principles than his own. Futhermore, his ballads helped
to bring about a reform in literary taste and to inspire men of original
genius. Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey, Scott, all acknowledged the
greatest obligations to them. Wordsworth said that English poetry had
been "absolutely redeemed" by them. "I do not think there is a writer in
verse of the present day who would not be proud to acknowledge his
obligations to the 'Reliques.' I know that it is so with my friends;
and, for myself, I am happy that it is so with my friends; and, for
myself, I am happy in this occasion to make a public avowal of my
own."[48] Without the "Reliques," "The Ancient Mariner," "The Lady of
the Lake," "La Belle Dame sans Merci," "Stratton Water," and "The
Haystack in the Floods" might never have been. Perhaps even the "Lyrical
Ballads" might never have been, or might have been something quite unlike
what they are. Wordsworth, to be sure, scarcely ranks among romantics,
and he expressly renounces the romantic machinery:

"The dragon's wing,
The magic ring,
I shall not covet for my dower."[49]

What he learned from the popular ballad was the power of sincerity and of
direct and homely speech.

As for Scott, he has recorded in an oft-quoted passage the impression
that Percy's volumes made upon him in his school-days: "I remember well
the spot where I read these volumes for the first time. It was beneath a
huge plantain tree in the ruins of what had been intended for an
old-fashioned arbor in the garden I have mentioned. The summer day sped
onward so fast that, notwithstanding the sharp appetite of thirteen, I
forgot the hour of dinner, was sought for with anxiety, and was still
found entranced in my intellectual banquet. To read and to remember was,
in this instance, the same thing; and henceforth I overwhelmed my
school-fellows, and all who would hearken to me, with tragical
recitations from the ballads of Bishop Percy. The first time, too, I
could scrape a few shillings together, I bought unto myself a copy of
these beloved volumes; nor do I believe I ever read a book so frequently,