in other sources than its
descriptions, notwithstanding the _curiosa felicitas_ of Cowper's diction.

The pleasure which we feel in reading descriptive poetry may perhaps in
all cases be traced to one of the three following sources: the conception
in our own minds of objects corresponding in a greater or less degree to
those which exist in the mind of the poet; the train of associations which
his language awakens; or the moral interest with which he invests what he
describes. In the case first mentioned, the emotions we feel are similar
to those which the sight of the objects themselves would produce; if
beautiful, of pleasure; if terrible, of awe. A painting, which is an
accurate representation of nature, regarded irrespective of the skill of
the artist, would affect us in the same way. But the effects resulting
from this cause are too inconsiderable to require particular mention. The
picture which words are able to present is so indistinct and vague as
rarely to produce any strong emotion. If the objects themselves are
generally looked upon with indifference, much less can a verbal
description of them afford us any great degree of pleasure.

The language which the poet uses often suggests to the mind of the reader
trains of thought and imagery which were never present to his own mind.
Hence many expressions which are in themselves eminently poetic, will
arouse associations, oftentimes, that entirely spoil the passage. On the
other hand, an expression low and vulgar may be ennobled by its
associations, and give dignity and force to the composition. We not
unfrequently meet phrases which have great beauty in the eyes of one man,
which seem flat and insipid in the eyes of another. Every writer who has
attempted dignified or pathetic composition, has felt how difficult it is
to avoid those words which will suggest ideas that are unworthy of the
subject. If, however, the poet is sometimes a loser, he is also sometimes
a gainer from this cause. The reader often finds in his own associations,
sources of pleasure independent of the poet. The light that illumines the
page is but the reflected radiance of his own thoughts, and is unseen by
all save himself.

But it is in the moral interest with which the poet invests the objects he
describes, that the chief source of our pleasure is to be found. The poet
paints Nature, not as she is, but as she seems. He adorns her with beauty
not her own, and presents her thus adorned to men,