ls of the Castle of Chillon, and found to be a thousand
feet deep."

Now, if Reynolds be right in his idea of the difference between
history and poetry, we shall find that Byron leaves out of this
statement certain _un_necessary details, and retains only the
invariable,--that is to say, the points which the Lake of Geneva and
Castle of Chillon have in common with all other lakes and castles.

Let us hear, therefore.

A thousand feet in depth below.

"Below"? Here is, at all events, a word added (instead of anything
being taken away); invariable, certainly in the case of lakes, but not
absolutely necessary.

The massy waters meet and flow.

"Massy"! why massy? Because deep water is heavy. The word is a good
word, but it is assuredly an added detail, and expresses a character,
not which the Lake of Geneva has in common with all other lakes, but
which it has in distinction from those which are narrow, or shallow.

"Meet and flow." Why meet and flow? Partly to make up a rhyme; partly
to tell us that the waters are forceful as well as massy, and
changeful as well as deep. Observe, a farther addition of details, and
of details more or less peculiar to the spot, or, according to
Reynolds's definition, of "heavy matter, retarding the progress of the
imagination."

So far the fathom line was sent.

Why fathom line? All lines for sounding are not fathom lines. If the
lake was ever sounded from Chillon, it was probably sounded in metres,
not fathoms. This is an addition of another particular detail, in
which the only compliance with Reynolds's requirement is, that there
is some chance of its being an inaccurate one.

From Chillon's snow-white battlement.

Why snow-white? Because castle battlements are not usually snow-white.
This is another added detail, and a detail quite peculiar to Chillon,
and therefore exactly the most striking word in the whole passage.

"Battlement"! Why battlement? Because all walls have not battlements,
and the addition of the term marks the castle to be not merely a
prison, but a fortress.

This is a curious result. Instead of finding, as we expected, the
poetry distinguished from the history by the omission of details, we
find it consist entirely in the _addition_ of details; and instead of
being characterized by regard only of the invariable, we find its
whole power to consist in the clear expression of what is singular and
particular!

The reader may pursue the inves