eir mark on the literature of
Europe; as _Beppo_, the _avant courrier_ of _Don Juan_, or the
"inimitable" _Vision of Judgment_, which the "hungry generations" have
not trodden down or despoiled of its freshness. Not one of these poems
suggests or resembles the other, but each has its crowd of associations,
a history and almost a literature of its own.

The whole of this volume was written on foreign soil, in Switzerland or
Italy, and, putting aside _The Dream_, _The Monody on the Death of
Sheridan_, _The Irish Avatar_, and _The Blues_, the places, the persons
and events, the _materiel_ of the volume as a whole, to say nothing of
the style and metre of the poems, are derived from the history and the
literature of Switzerland and Southern Europe. An unwilling, at times a
vindictive exile, he did more than any other poet or writer of his age
to familiarize his own countrymen with the scenery, the art and letters
of the Continent, and, conversely, to make the existence of English
literature, or, at least, the writings of one Englishman, known to
Frenchmen and Italians; to the Teuton and the Slav. If he "taught us
little" as prophet or moralist; as a guide to knowledge; as an educator
of the general reader--"your British blackguard," as he was pleased to
call him--his teaching and influence were "in widest commonalty spread."

Questions with regard to his personality, his morals, his theological
opinions, his qualifications as an artist, his grammar, his technique,
and so forth, have, perhaps inevitably, absorbed the attention of friend
and foe, and the one point on which all might agree has been overlooked,
namely, the fact that he taught us a great deal which it is desirable
and agreeable to know--which has passed into common knowledge through
the medium of his poetry. It is true that he wrote his plays and poems
at lightning speed, and that if he was at pains to correct some obvious
blunders, he expended but little labour on picking his phrases or
polishing his lines; but it is also true that he read widely and studied
diligently, in order to prepare himself for an outpouring of verse, and
that so far from being a superficial observer or inaccurate recorder,
his authority is worth quoting in questions of fact and points of
detail.

The appreciation of poetry is a matter of taste, and still more of
temperament. Readers cannot be coerced into admiration, or scolded into
disapproval and contempt. But if they are willing or