n the
former, from Donne to Cowley, we find the most fantastic out-of-the-way
thoughts, but the most pure and genuine mother English; in the latter,
the most obvious thoughts, in language the most fantastic and arbitrary.
Our faulty elder poets sacrificed the passion, and passionate flow of
poetry, to the subtleties of intellect and to the starts of wit; the
moderns to the glare and glitter of a perpetual yet broken and
heterogeneous imagery. The one sacrificed the heart to the head, the
other both heart and head to drapery.

_II.--In Praise of Southey_

Reflect on the variety and extent of his acquirements! He stands second
to no man, either as a historian or as a bibliographer; and when I
regard him as a popular essayist I look in vain for any writer who has
conveyed so much information, from so many and such recondite sources,
with as many just and original reflections, in a style so lively yet so
uniformly classical and perspicuous; no one, in short, who has combined
so much wisdom with so much wit; so much truth and knowledge with so
much life and fancy.

Still more striking to those who are familiar with the general habits of
genius will appear the poet's matchless industry and perseverance in his
pursuits, the worthiness and dignity of those pursuits, his generous
submission to tasks of transitory interest. But as Southey possesses,
and is not possessed by, his genius, even so is he the master even of
his virtues. The regular and methodical tenor of his daily labours,
which might be envied by the mere man of business, lose all semblance of
formality in the dignified simplicity of his manners, in the spring and
healthful cheerfulness of his spirit. Always employed, his friends find
him always at leisure.

No less punctual in trifles than steadfast in the performance of highest
duties, he inflicts none of those small pains and discomforts which
irregular men scatter about them, and which in the aggregate so often
become formidable obstacles both to happiness and utility. He bestows
all the pleasures, and inspires all that ease of mind on those around
him, which perfect consistency and absolute reliability cannot but
bestow. I know few men who so well deserve the character which an
ancient attributes to Marcus Cato--namely, that he was likest virtue,
inasmuch as he seemed to act aright, not in obedience to any law or
outward motive, but by the necessity of a happy nature which could not
act otherwise.

As