Preface to Lyrical Ballads William Wordsworth (1800)

THE FIRST volume of these Poems has already been submitted to general perusal. It was published, as an e periment, whi!h, I hoped, might be of some use to as!ertain, how far, by fitting to metri!al arrangement a sele!tion of the real language of men in a state of vivid sensation, that sort of pleasure and that "uantity of pleasure may be imparted, whi!h a Poet may rationally endeavour to impart. I had formed no very ina!!urate estimate of the probable effe!t of those Poems# I flattered myself that they who should be pleased with them would read them with more than !ommon pleasure# and, on the other hand, I was well aware, that by those who should disli$e them, they would be read with more than !ommon disli$e. The result has differed from my e pe!tation in this only, that a greater number have been pleased than I ventured to hope I should please. Several of my Friends are an ious for the su!!ess of these Poems, from a belief, that, if the views with whi!h they were !omposed were indeed reali%ed, a !lass of Poetry would be produ!ed, well adapted to interest man$ind permanently, and not unimportant in the "uality, and in the multipli!ity of its moral relations# and on this a!!ount they have advised me to prefi a systemati! defen!e of the theory upon whi!h the Poems were written. &ut I was unwilling to underta$e the tas$, $nowing that on this o!!asion the Reader would loo$ !oldly upon my arguments, sin!e I might be suspe!ted of having been prin!ipally influen!ed by the selfish and foolish hope of reasoning him into an approbation of these parti!ular Poems# and I was still more unwilling to underta$e the tas$, be!ause, ade"uately to display the opinions, and fully to enfor!e the arguments, would re"uire a spa!e wholly disproportionate to a prefa!e. For, to treat the sub'e!t with the !learness and !oheren!e of whi!h it is sus!eptible, it would be ne!essary to give a full a!!ount of the present state of the publi! taste in this !ountry, and to determine how far this taste is healthy or depraved( whi!h, again, !ould not be determined, without pointing out in what manner language and the human mind a!t and re)a!t on ea!h other, and without retra!ing the revolutions, not of literature alone, but li$ewise of so!iety itself. I have therefore altogether de!lined to enter regularly upon this defen!e( yet I am sensible, that there would be something li$e impropriety in abruptly obtruding upon the Publi!, without a few words of introdu!tion, Poems so materially different from those upon whi!h general approbation is at present bestowed. It is supposed, that by the a!t of writing in verse an *uthor ma$es a formal engagement that he will gratify !ertain $nown habits of asso!iation( that he not only thus apprises the Reader that !ertain !lasses of ideas and e pressions will be found in his boo$, but that others will be !arefully e !luded. This e ponent or symbol held forth by metri!al language must in different eras of literature have e !ited very different e pe!tations# for e ample, in the age of +atullus, Teren!e, and ,u!retius, and that of Statius or +laudian( and in our own !ountry, in the age of Sha$espeare and &eaumont and Flet!her, and that of -onne and +owley, or -ryden, or Pope. I will not ta$e upon me to determine the e a!t import of the promise whi!h, by the a!t of writing in verse, an *uthor in the present day ma$es to his reader# but it will undoubtedly appear to many persons that I have not fulfilled the terms of an engagement thus voluntarily !ontra!ted. They who have been a!!ustomed to the gaudiness and inane phraseology of many modern writers, if they persist in reading this boo$ to its !on!lusion, will, no doubt, fre"uently have to struggle with feelings of strangeness and aw$wardness# they will loo$ round for poetry, and will be indu!ed to in"uire by what spe!ies of !ourtesy these attempts !an be permitted to assume that title. I hope therefore the reader will not !ensure me for attempting to state what I have proposed to myself to perform( and also .as far as the limits of a prefa!e will permit/ to e plain some of the !hief reasons whi!h have determined me in the !hoi!e of my purpose# that at least he may be spared any unpleasant feeling of disappointment, and that I myself may be prote!ted from one of the most dishonourable a!!usations whi!h !an be brought against an *uthor, namely, that of an indolen!e whi!h prevents him from endeavouring to as!ertain what is his duty, or, when his duty is as!ertained, prevents him from performing it. The prin!ipal ob'e!t, then, proposed in these Poems was to !hoose in!idents and situations from !ommon life, and

to relate or des!ribe them, throughout, as far as was possible in a sele!tion of language really used by men, and, at the same time, to throw over them a !ertain !olouring of imagination, whereby ordinary things should be presented to the mind in an unusual aspe!t( and, further, and above all, to ma$e these in!idents and situations interesting by tra!ing in them, truly though not ostentatiously, the primary laws of our nature# !hiefly, as far as regards the manner in whi!h we asso!iate ideas in a state of e !itement. Humble and rusti! life was generally !hosen, be!ause, in that !ondition, the essential passions of the heart find a better soil in whi!h they !an attain their maturity, are less under restraint, and spea$ a plainer and more emphati! language( be!ause in that !ondition of life our elementary feelings !oe ist in a state of greater simpli!ity, and, !onse"uently, may be more a!!urately !ontemplated, and more for!ibly !ommuni!ated( be!ause the manners of rural life germinate from those elementary feelings, and, from the ne!essary !hara!ter of rural o!!upations, are more easily !omprehended, and are more durable( and, lastly, be!ause in that !ondition the passions of men are in!orporated with the beautiful and permanent forms of nature. The language, too, of these men has been adopted .purified indeed from what appear to be its real defe!ts, from all lasting and rational !auses of disli$e or disgust/ be!ause su!h men hourly !ommuni!ate with the best ob'e!ts from whi!h the best part of language is originally derived( and be!ause, from their ran$ in so!iety and the sameness and narrow !ir!le of their inter!ourse, being less under the influen!e of so!ial vanity, they !onvey their feelings and notions in simple and unelaborated e pressions. *!!ordingly, su!h a language, arising out of repeated e perien!e and regular feelings, is a more permanent, and a far more philosophi!al language, than that whi!h is fre"uently substituted for it by Poets, who thin$ that they are !onferring honour upon themselves and their art, in proportion as they separate themselves from the sympathies of men, and indulge in arbitrary and !apri!ious habits of e pression, in order to furnish food for fi!$le tastes, and fi!$le appetites, of their own !reation. 0 I !annot, however, be insensible to the present out!ry against the triviality and meanness, both of thought and language, whi!h some of my !ontemporaries have o!!asionally introdu!ed into their metri!al !ompositions( and I a!$nowledge that this defe!t, where it e ists, is more dishonourable to the 1riter2s own !hara!ter than false refinement or arbitrary innovation, though I should !ontend at the same time, that it is far less perni!ious in the sum of its !onse"uen!es. From su!h verses the Poems in these volumes will be found distinguished at least by one mar$ of differen!e, that ea!h of them has a worthy purpose. 3ot that I always began to write with a distin!t purpose formerly !on!eived( but habits of meditation have, I trust, so prompted and regulated my feelings, that my des!riptions of su!h ob'e!ts as strongly e !ite those feelings, will be found to !arry along with them a purpose. If this opinion be erroneous, I !an have little right to the name of a Poet. For all good poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings# and though this be true, Poems to whi!h any value !an be atta!hed were never produ!ed on any variety of sub'e!ts but by a man who, being possessed of more than usual organi! sensibility, had also thought long and deeply. For our !ontinued influ es of feeling are modified and dire!ted by our thoughts, whi!h are indeed the representatives of all our past feelings( and, as by !ontemplating the relation of these general representatives to ea!h other, we dis!over what is really important to men, so, by the repetition and !ontinuan!e of this a!t, our feelings will be !onne!ted with important sub'e!ts, till at length, if we be originally possessed of mu!h sensibility, su!h habits of mind will be produ!ed, that, by obeying blindly and me!hani!ally the impulses of those habits, we shall des!ribe ob'e!ts, and utter sentiments, of su!h a nature, and in su!h !onne ion with ea!h other, that the understanding of the Reader must ne!essarily be in some degree enlightened, and his affe!tions strengthened and purified. It has been said that ea!h of these poems has a purpose. *nother !ir!umstan!e must be mentioned whi!h distinguishes these Poems from the popular Poetry of the day( it is this, that the feeling therein developed gives importan!e to the a!tion and situation, and not the a!tion and situation to the feeling. * sense of false modesty shall not prevent me from asserting, that the Reader2s attention is pointed to this mar$ of distin!tion, far less for the sa$e of these parti!ular Poems than from the general importan!e of the sub'e!t. The sub'e!t is indeed important4 For the human mind is !apable of being e !ited without the appli!ation of gross and violent stimulants( and he must have a very faint per!eption of its beauty and dignity who does not $now this, and who does not further $now, that one being is elevated above another, in proportion as he possesses this !apability. It has therefore appeared to me, that to endeavour to produ!e or enlarge this !apability is one of the best servi!es in whi!h, at any period, a 1riter !an be engaged( but this servi!e, e !ellent at all times, is espe!ially so at the present

day. For a multitude of !auses, un$nown to former times, are now a!ting with a !ombined for!e to blunt the dis!riminating powers of the mind, and, unfitting it for all voluntary e ertion, to redu!e it to a state of almost savage torpor. The most effe!tive of these !auses are the great national events whi!h are daily ta$ing pla!e, and the in!reasing a!!umulation of men in !ities, where the uniformity of their o!!upations produ!es a !raving for e traordinary in!ident, whi!h the rapid !ommuni!ation of intelligen!e hourly gratifies. to this tenden!y of life and manners the literature and theatri!al e hibitions of the !ountry have !onformed themselves. The invaluable wor$s of our elder writers, I had almost said the wor$s of Sha$espeare and 5ilton, are driven into negle!t by franti! novels, si!$ly and stupid 6erman Tragedies, and deluges of idle and e travagant stories in verse.71hen I thin$ upon this degrading thirst after outrageous stimulation, I am almost ashamed to have spo$en of the feeble endeavour made in these volumes to !ountera!t it( and, refle!ting upon the magnitude of the general evil, I should be oppressed with no dishonourable melan!holy, had I not a deep impression of !ertain inherent and indestru!tible "ualities of the human mind, and li$ewise of !ertain powers in the great and permanent ob'e!ts that a!t upon it, whi!h are e"ually inherent and indestru!tible( and were there not added to this impression a belief, that the time is approa!hing when the evil will be systemati!ally opposed, by men of greater powers, and with far more distinguished su!!ess. Having dwelt thus long on the sub'e!ts and aim of these Poems, I shall re"uest the Reader2s permission to apprise him of a few !ir!umstan!es relating to their style, in order, among other reasons, that he may not !ensure me for not having performed what I never attempted. The Reader will find that personifi!ations of abstra!t ideas rarely o!!ur in these volumes( and are utterly re'e!ted, as an ordinary devi!e to elevate the style, and raise it above prose. 5y purpose was to imitate, and, as far as possible, to adopt the very language of men( and assuredly su!h personifi!ations do not ma$e any natural or regular part of that language. They are, indeed, a figure of spee!h o!!asionally prompted by passion, and I have made use of them as su!h( but have endeavoured utterly to re'e!t them as a me!hani!al devi!e of style, or as a family language whi!h 1riters in metre seem to lay !laim to by pres!ription. I have wished to $eep the Reader in the !ompany of flesh and blood, persuaded that by so doing I shall interest him. 8thers who pursue a different tra!$ will interest him li$ewise( I do not interfere with their !laim, but wish to prefer a !laim of my own. There will also be found in these volumes little of what is usually !alled poeti! di!tion( as mu!h pains has been ta$en to avoid it as is ordinarily ta$en to produ!e it( this has been done for the reason already alleged, to bring my language near to the language of men( and further, be!ause the pleasure whi!h I have proposed to myself to impart, is of a $ind very different from that whi!h is supposed by many persons to be the proper ob'e!t of poetry. 1ithout being !ulpably parti!ular, I do not $now how to give my Reader a more e a!t notion of the style in whi!h it was my wish and intention to write, than by informing him that I have at all times endeavoured to loo$ steadily at my sub'e!t( !onse"uently, there is I hope in these Poems little falsehood of des!ription, and my ideas are e pressed in language fitted to their respe!tive importan!e. Something must have been gained by this pra!ti!e, as it is friendly to one property of all good poetry, namely, good sense# but it has ne!essarily !ut me off from a large portion of phrases and figures of spee!h whi!h from father to son have long been regarded as the !ommon inheritan!e of Poets. I have also thought it e pedient to restri!t myself still further, having abstained from the use of many e pressions, in themselves proper and beautiful, but whi!h have been foolishly repeated by bad Poets, till su!h feelings of disgust are !onne!ted with them as it is s!ar!ely possible by any art of asso!iation to overpower. If in a poem there should be found a series of lines, or even a single line, in whi!h the language, though naturally arranged, and a!!ording to the stri!t laws of metre, does not differ from that of prose, there is a numerous !lass of !riti!s, who, when they stumble upon these prosaisms, as they !all them, imagine that they have made a notable dis!overy, and e ult over the Poet as over a man ignorant of his own profession. 3ow these men would establish a !anon of !riti!ism whi!h the Reader will !on!lude he must utterly re'e!t, if he wishes to be pleased with these volumes. and it would be a most easy tas$ to prove to him, that not only the language of a large portion of every good poem, even of the most elevated !hara!ter, must ne!essarily, e !ept with referen!e to the metre, in no respe!t differ from that of good prose, but li$ewise that some of the most interesting parts of the best poems will be found to be stri!tly the language of prose when prose is well written. The truth of this assertion might be demonstrated by innumerable passages from almost all the poeti!al writings, even of 5ilton himself. to illustrate the sub'e!t in a general manner, I will here addu!e a short !omposition of 6ray, who was at the head of those who, by their reasonings, have attempted to widen the spa!e of separation betwi t Prose and 5etri!al !omposition, and was more than any other man !uriously elaborate in the stru!ture of his own poeti! di!tion.

In vain to me the smiling mornings shine, *nd reddening Ph9bus lifts his golden fire# The birds in vain their amorous des!ant 'oin, 8r !heerful fields resume their green attire. These ears, alas4 for other notes repine( A different object do these eyes require; My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine; And in my breast the imperfect joys expire; :et morning smiles the busy ra!e to !heer, *nd new)born pleasure brings to happier men( The fields to all their wonted tribute bear( To warm their little loves the birds !omplain. I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear, And weep the more because I weep in vain. It will easily be per!eived, that the only part of this Sonnet whi!h is of any value is the lines printed in Itali!s( it is e"ually obvious, that, e !ept in the rhyme, and in the use of the single word 2fruitless2 for fruitlessly, whi!h is so far a defe!t, the language of these lines does in no respe!t differ from that of prose. &y the foregoing "uotation it has been shown that the language of Prose may yet be well adapted to Poetry( and it was previously asserted, that a large portion of the language of every good poem !an in no respe!t differ from that of good Prose. 1e will go further. It may be safely affirmed, that there neither is, nor !an be, any essential differen!e between the language of prose and metri!al !omposition. 1e are fond of tra!ing the resemblan!e between Poetry and Painting, and, a!!ordingly, we !all them Sisters# but where shall we find bonds of !onne ion suffi!iently stri!t to typify the affinity betwi t metri!al and prose !omposition; They both spea$ by and to the same organs( the bodies in whi!h both of them are !lothed may be said to be of the same substan!e, their affe!tions are $indred, and almost identi!al, not ne!essarily differing even in degree( Poetry < sheds no tears 2su!h as *ngels weep,2 but natural and human tears( she !an boast of no !elestial !hoir that distinguishes her vital 'ui!es from those of prose( the same human blood !ir!ulates through the veins of them both. If it be affirmed that rhyme and metri!al arrangement of themselves !onstitute a distin!tion whi!h overturns what has 'ust been said on the stri!t affinity of metri!al language with that of prose, and paves the way for other artifi!ial distin!tions whi!h the mind voluntarily admits, I answer that the language of su!h Poetry as is here re!ommended is, as far as is possible, a sele!tion of the language really spo$en by men( that this sele!tion, wherever it is made with true taste and feeling, will of itself form a distin!tion far greater than would at first be imagined, and will entirely separate the !omposition from the vulgarity and meanness of ordinary life( and, if metre be superadded thereto, I believe that a dissimilitude will be produ!ed altogether suffi!ient for the gratifi!ation of a rational mind. 1hat other distin!tion would we have; 1hen!e is it to !ome; and where is it to e ist; 3ot, surely, where the Poet spea$s through the mouths of his !hara!ters# it !annot be ne!essary here, either for elevation of style, or any of its supposed ornaments# for, if the Poet2s sub'e!t be 'udi!iously !hosen, it will naturally, and upon fit o!!asion, lead him to passions the language of whi!h, if sele!ted truly and 'udi!iously, must ne!essarily be dignified and variegated, and alive with metaphors and figures. I forbear to spea$ of an in!ongruity whi!h would sho!$ the intelligent Reader, should the Poet interweave any foreign splendour of his own with that whi!h the passion naturally suggests# it is suffi!ient to say that su!h addition is unne!essary. and, surely, it is more probable that those passages, whi!h with propriety abound with metaphors and figures, will have their due effe!t, if, upon other o!!asions where the passions are of a milder !hara!ter, the style also be subdued and temperate. &ut, as the pleasure whi!h I hope to give by the Poems now presented to the Reader must depend entirely on 'ust notions upon this sub'e!t, and, as it is in itself of high importan!e to our taste and moral feelings, I !annot !ontent myself with these deta!hed remar$s. and if, in what I am about to say, it shall appear to some that my labour is unne!essary, and that I am li$e a man fighting a battle without enemies, su!h persons may be reminded, that,

whatever be the language outwardly holden by men, a pra!ti!al faith in the opinions whi!h I am wishing to establish is almost un$nown. If my !on!lusions are admitted, and !arried as far as they must be !arried if admitted at all, our 'udgements !on!erning the wor$s of the greatest Poets both an!ient and modern will be far different from what they are at present, both when we praise, and when we !ensure# and our moral feelings influen!ing and influen!ed by these 'udgements will, I believe, be !orre!ted and purified. Ta$ing up the sub'e!t, then, upon general grounds, let me as$, what is meant by the word Poet; 1hat is a Poet; to whom does he address himself; and what language is to be e pe!ted from him;7He is a man spea$ing to men# a man, it is true, endowed with more lively sensibility, more enthusiasm and tenderness, who has a greater $nowledge of human nature, and a more !omprehensive soul, than are supposed to be !ommon among man$ind( a man pleased with his own passions and volitions, and who re'oi!es more than other men in the spirit of life that is in him( delighting to !ontemplate similar volitions and passions as manifested in the goings)on of the =niverse, and habitually impelled to !reate them where he does not find them. to these "ualities he has added a disposition to be affe!ted more than other men by absent things as if they were present( an ability of !on'uring up in himself passions, whi!h are indeed far from being the same as those produ!ed by real events, yet .espe!ially in those parts of the general sympathy whi!h are pleasing and delightful/ do more nearly resemble the passions produ!ed by real events, than anything whi!h, from the motions of their own minds merely, other men are a!!ustomed to feel in themselves# 7 when!e, and from pra!ti!e, he has a!"uired a greater readiness and power in e pressing what he thin$s and feels, and espe!ially those thoughts and feelings whi!h, by his own !hoi!e, or from the stru!ture of his own mind, arise in him without immediate e ternal e !itement. &ut whatever portion of this fa!ulty we may suppose even the greatest Poet to possess, there !annot be a doubt that the language whi!h it will suggest to him, must often, in liveliness and truth, fall short of that whi!h is uttered by men in real life, under the a!tual pressure of those passions, !ertain shadows of whi!h the Poet thus produ!es, or feels to be produ!ed, in himself. However e alted a notion we would wish to !herish of the !hara!ter of a Poet, it is obvious, that while he des!ribes and imitates passions, his employment is in some degree me!hani!al, !ompared with the freedom and power of real and substantial a!tion and suffering. So that it will be the wish of the Poet to bring his feelings near to those of the persons whose feelings he des!ribes, nay, for short spa!es of time, perhaps, to let himself slip into an entire delusion, and even !onfound and identify his own feelings with theirs( modifying only the language whi!h is thus suggested to him by a !onsideration that he des!ribes for a parti!ular purpose, that of giving pleasure. Here, then, he will apply the prin!iple of sele!tion whi!h has been already insisted upon. He will depend upon this for removing what would otherwise be painful or disgusting in the passion( he will feel that there is no ne!essity to tri!$ out or to elevate nature# and, the more industriously he applies this prin!iple, the deeper will be his faith that no words, whi!h his fan!y or imagination !an suggest, will be to be !ompared with those whi!h are the emanations of reality and truth. &ut it may be said by those who do not ob'e!t to the general spirit of these remar$s, that, as it is impossible for the Poet to produ!e upon all o!!asions language as e "uisitely fitted for the passion as that whi!h the real passion itself suggests, it is proper that he should !onsider himself as in the situation of a translator, who does not s!ruple to substitute e !ellen!ies of another $ind for those whi!h are unattainable by him( and endeavours o!!asionally to surpass his original, in order to ma$e some amends for the general inferiority to whi!h he feels that he must submit. &ut this would be to en!ourage idleness and unmanly despair. Further, it is the language of men who spea$ of what they do not understand( who tal$ of Poetry as of a matter of amusement and idle pleasure( who will !onverse with us as gravely about a taste for Poetry, as they e press it, as if it were a thing as indifferent as a taste for rope)dan!ing, or Frontinia! or Sherry. *ristotle, I have been told, has said, that Poetry is the most philosophi! of all writing# it is so# its ob'e!t is truth, not individual and lo!al, but general, and operative( not standing upon e ternal testimony, but !arried alive into the heart by passion( truth whi!h is its own testimony, whi!h gives !ompeten!e and !onfiden!e to the tribunal to whi!h it appeals, and re!eives them from the same tribunal. Poetry is the image of man and nature. The obsta!les whi!h stand in the way of the fidelity of the &iographer and Historian, and of their !onse"uent utility, are in!al!ulably greater than those whi!h are to be en!ountered by the Poet who !omprehends the dignity of his art. The Poet writes under one restri!tion only, namely, the ne!essity of giving immediate pleasure to a human &eing possessed of that information whi!h may be e pe!ted from him, not as a lawyer, a physi!ian, a mariner, an

astronomer, or a natural philosopher, but as a 5an. E !ept this one restri!tion, there is no ob'e!t standing between the Poet and the image of things( between this, and the &iographer and Historian, there are a thousand. 3or let this ne!essity of produ!ing immediate pleasure be !onsidered as a degradation of the Poet2s art. It is far otherwise. It is an a!$nowledgement of the beauty of the universe, an a!$nowledgement the more sin!ere, be!ause not formal, but indire!t( it is a tas$ light and easy to him who loo$s at the world in the spirit of love# further, it is a homage paid to the native and na$ed dignity of man, to the grand elementary prin!iple of pleasure, by whi!h he $nows, and feels, and lives, and moves. 1e have no sympathy but what is propagated by pleasure# I would not be misunderstood( but wherever we sympathi%e with pain, it will be found that the sympathy is produ!ed and !arried on by subtle !ombinations with pleasure. 1e have no $nowledge, that is, no general prin!iples drawn from the !ontemplation of parti!ular fa!ts, but what has been built up by pleasure, and e ists in us by pleasure alone. The 5an of s!ien!e, the +hemist and 5athemati!ian, whatever diffi!ulties and disgusts they may have had to struggle with, $now and feel this. However painful may be the ob'e!ts with whi!h the *natomist2s $nowledge is !onne!ted, he feels that his $nowledge is pleasure( and where he has no pleasure he has no $nowledge. 1hat then does the Poet; He !onsiders man and the ob'e!ts that surround him as a!ting and re)a!ting upon ea!h other, so as to produ!e an infinite !omple ity of pain and pleasure( he !onsiders man in his own nature and in his ordinary life as !ontemplating this with a !ertain "uantity of immediate $nowledge, with !ertain !onvi!tions, intuitions, and dedu!tions, whi!h from habit a!"uire the "uality of intuitions( he !onsiders him as loo$ing upon this !omple s!ene of ideas and sensations, and finding everywhere ob'e!ts that immediately e !ite in him sympathies whi!h, from the ne!essities of his nature, are a!!ompanied by an overbalan!e of en'oyment. To this $nowledge whi!h all men !arry about with them, and to these sympathies in whi!h, without any other dis!ipline than that of our daily life, we are fitted to ta$e delight, the Poet prin!ipally dire!ts his attention. He !onsiders man and nature as essentially adapted to ea!h other, and the mind of man as naturally the mirror of the fairest and most interesting properties of nature. and thus the Poet, prompted by this feeling of pleasure, whi!h a!!ompanies him through the whole !ourse of his studies, !onverses with general nature, with affe!tions a$in to those, whi!h, through labour and length of time, the 5an of s!ien!e has raised up in himself, by !onversing with those parti!ular parts of nature whi!h are the ob'e!ts of his studies. The $nowledge both of the Poet and the 5an of s!ien!e is pleasure( but the $nowledge of the one !leaves to us as a ne!essary part of our e isten!e, our natural and unalienable inheritan!e( the other is a personal and individual a!"uisition, slow to !ome to us, and by no habitual and dire!t sympathy !onne!ting us with our fellow)beings. The 5an of s!ien!e see$s truth as a remote and un$nown benefa!tor( he !herishes and loves it in his solitude# the Poet, singing a song in whi!h all human beings 'oin with him, re'oi!es in the presen!e of truth as our visible friend and hourly !ompanion. Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all $nowledge( it is the impassioned e pression whi!h is in the !ountenan!e of all S!ien!e. Emphati!ally may it be said of the Poet, as Sha$espeare hath said of man, >that he loo$s before and after.2 He is the ro!$ of defen!e for human nature( an upholder and preserver, !arrying everywhere with him relationship and love. In spite of differen!e of soil and !limate, of language and manners, of laws and !ustoms# in spite of things silently gone out of mind, and things violently destroyed( the Poet binds together by passion and $nowledge the vast empire of human so!iety, as it is spread over the whole earth, and over all time. The ob'e!ts of the Poet2s thoughts are everywhere( though the eyes and senses of man are, it is true, his favourite guides, yet he will follow wheresoever he !an find an atmosphere of sensation in whi!h to move his wings. Poetry is the first and last of all $nowledge7it is as immortal as the heart of man. If the labours of 5en of s!ien!e should ever !reate any material revolution, dire!t or indire!t, in our !ondition, and in the impressions whi!h we habitually re!eive, the Poet will sleep then no more than at present( he will be ready to follow the steps of the 5an of s!ien!e, not only in those general indire!t effe!ts, but he will be at his side, !arrying sensation into the midst of the ob'e!ts of the s!ien!e itself. The remotest dis!overies of the +hemist, the &otanist, or 5ineralogist, will be as proper ob'e!ts of the Poet2s art as any upon whi!h it !an be employed, if the time should ever !ome when these things shall be familiar to us, and the relations under whi!h they are !ontemplated by the followers of these respe!tive s!ien!es shall be manifestly and palpably material to us as en'oying and suffering beings. If the time should ever !ome when what is now !alled s!ien!e, thus familiari%ed to men, shall be ready to put on, as it were, a form of flesh and blood, the Poet will lend his divine spirit to aid the transfiguration, and will wel!ome the &eing thus produ!ed, as a dear and genuine inmate of the household of man.7It is not, then, to be supposed that any one, who holds that sublime notion of Poetry whi!h I have attempted to !onvey, will brea$ in upon

the san!tity and truth of his pi!tures by transitory and a!!idental ornaments, and endeavour to e !ite admiration of himself by arts, the ne!essity of whi!h must manifestly depend upon the assumed meanness of his sub'e!t. 1hat has been thus far said applies to Poetry in general( but espe!ially to those parts of !omposition where the Poet spea$s through the mouths of his !hara!ters( and upon this point it appears to authori%e the !on!lusion that there are few persons of good sense, who would not allow that the dramati! parts of !omposition are defe!tive, in proportion as they deviate from the real language of nature, and are !oloured by a di!tion of the Poet2s own, either pe!uliar to him as an individual Poet or belonging simply to Poets in general( to a body of men who, from the !ir!umstan!e of their !ompositions being in metre, it is e pe!ted will employ a parti!ular language. It is not, then, in the dramati! parts of !omposition that we loo$ for this distin!tion of language( but still it may be proper and ne!essary where the Poet spea$s to us in his own person and !hara!ter. to this I answer by referring the Reader to the des!ription before given of a Poet. *mong the "ualities there enumerated as prin!ipally !ondu!ing to form a Poet, is implied nothing differing in $ind from other men, but only in degree. The sum of what was said is, that the Poet is !hiefly distinguished from other men by a greater promptness to thin$ and feel without immediate e ternal e !itement, and a greater power in e pressing su!h thoughts and feelings as are produ!ed in him in that manner. &ut these passions and thoughts and feelings are the general passions and thoughts and feelings of men. and with what are they !onne!ted; =ndoubtedly with our moral sentiments and animal sensations, and with the !auses whi!h e !ite these( with the operations of the elements, and the appearan!es of the visible universe( with storm and sunshine, with the revolutions of the seasons, with !old and heat, with loss of friends and $indred, with in'uries and resentments, gratitude and hope, with fear and sorrow. These, and the li$e, are the sensations and ob'e!ts whi!h the Poet des!ribes, as they are the sensations of other men, and the ob'e!ts whi!h interest them. The Poet thin$s and feels in the spirit of human passions. How, then, !an his language differ in any material degree from that of all other men who feel vividly and see !learly; It might be proved that it is impossible. &ut supposing that this were not the !ase, the Poet might then be allowed to use a pe!uliar language when e pressing his feelings for his own gratifi!ation, or that of men li$e himself. &ut Poets do not write for Poets alone, but for men. =nless therefore we are advo!ates for that admiration whi!h subsists upon ignoran!e, and that pleasure whi!h arises from hearing what we do not understand, the Poet must des!end from this supposed height( and, in order to e !ite rational sympathy, he must e press himself as other men e press themselves. to this it may be added, that while he is only sele!ting from the real language of men, or, whi!h amounts to the same thing, !omposing a!!urately in the spirit of su!h sele!tion, he is treading upon safe ground, and we $now what we are to e pe!t from him. 8ur feelings are the same with respe!t to metre( for, as it may be proper to remind the Reader, the distin!tion of metre is regular and uniform, and not, li$e that whi!h is produ!ed by what is usually !alled P8ETI+ -I+TI83, arbitrary, and sub'e!t to infinite !apri!es upon whi!h no !al!ulation whatever !an be made. In the one !ase, the Reader is utterly at the mer!y of the Poet, respe!ting what imagery or di!tion he may !hoose to !onne!t with the passion( whereas, in the other, the metre obeys !ertain laws, to whi!h the Poet and Reader both willingly submit be!ause they are !ertain, and be!ause no interferen!e is made by them with the passion, but su!h as the !on!urring testimony of ages has shown to heighten and improve the pleasure whi!h !o)e ists with it. It will now be proper to answer an obvious "uestion, namely, 1hy, professing these opinions, have I written in verse; to this, in addition to su!h answer as is in!luded in what has been already said, I reply, in the first pla!e, be!ause however I may have restri!ted myself, there is still left open to me what !onfessedly !onstitutes the most valuable ob'e!t of all writing, whether in prose or verse( the great and universal passions of men, the most general and interesting of their o!!upations, and the entire world of nature before me7to supply endless !ombinations of forms and imagery. 3ow, supposing for a moment that whatever is interesting in these ob'e!ts may be as vividly des!ribed in prose, why should I be !ondemned for attempting to superadd to su!h des!ription the !harm whi!h, by the !onsent of all nations, is a!$nowledged to e ist in metri!al language; to this, by su!h as are yet un!onvin!ed, it may be answered that a very small part of the pleasure given by Poetry depends upon the metre, and that it is in'udi!ious to write in metre, unless it be a!!ompanied with the other artifi!ial distin!tions of style with whi!h metre is usually a!!ompanied, and that, by su!h deviation, more will be lost from the sho!$ whi!h will thereby be given to the Reader2s asso!iations than will be !ounterbalan!ed by any pleasure whi!h he !an derive from the general power of numbers. In answer to those who still !ontend for the ne!essity of a!!ompanying metre with !ertain appropriate

!olours of style in order to the a!!omplishment of its appropriate end, and who also, in my opinion, greatly underrate the power of metre in itself, it might, perhaps, as far as relates to these ?olumes, have been almost suffi!ient to observe, that poems are e tant, written upon more humble sub'e!ts, and in a still more na$ed and simple style, whi!h have !ontinued to give pleasure from generation to generation. 3ow, if na$edness and simpli!ity be a defe!t, the fa!t here mentioned affords a strong presumption that poems somewhat less na$ed and simple are !apable of affording pleasure at the present day( and, what I wish chiefly to attempt, at present, was to 'ustify myself for having written under the impression of this belief. &ut various !auses might be pointed out why, when the style is manly, and the sub'e!t of some importan!e, words metri!ally arranged will long !ontinue to impart su!h a pleasure to man$ind as he who proves the e tent of that pleasure will be desirous to impart. The end of Poetry is to produ!e e !itement in !o)e isten!e with an overbalan!e of pleasure( but, by the supposition, e !itement is an unusual and irregular state of the mind( ideas and feelings do not, in that state, su!!eed ea!h other in a!!ustomed order. If the words, however, by whi!h this e !itement is produ!ed be in themselves powerful, or the images and feelings have an undue proportion of pain !onne!ted with them, there is some danger that the e !itement may be !arried beyond its proper bounds. 3ow the !o)presen!e of something regular, something to whi!h the mind has been a!!ustomed in various moods and in a less e !ited state, !annot but have great effi!a!y in tempering and restraining the passion by an interte ture of ordinary feeling, and of feeling not stri!tly and ne!essarily !onne!ted with the passion. This is un"uestionably true( and hen!e, though the opinion will at first appear parado i!al, from the tenden!y of metre to divest language, in a !ertain degree, of its reality, and thus to throw a sort of half)!ons!iousness of unsubstantial e isten!e over the whole !omposition, there !an be little doubt but that more patheti! situations and sentiments, that is, those whi!h have a greater proportion of pain !onne!ted with them, may be endured in metri!al !omposition, espe!ially in rhyme, than in prose. The metre of the old ballads is very artless( yet they !ontain many passages whi!h would illustrate this opinion( and, I hope, if the following Poems be attentively perused, similar instan!es will be found in them. This opinion may be further illustrated by appealing to the Reader2s own e perien!e of the relu!tan!e with whi!h he !omes to the reperusal of the distressful parts of larissa !arlowe, or "he #amester; while Sha$espeare2s writings, in the most patheti! s!enes, never a!t upon us, as patheti!, beyond the bounds of pleasure7an effe!t whi!h, in a mu!h greater degree than might at first be imagined, is to be as!ribed to small, but !ontinual and regular impulses of pleasurable surprise from the metri!al arrangement.78n the other hand .what it must be allowed will mu!h more fre"uently happen/ if the Poet2s words should be in!ommensurate with the passion, and inade"uate to raise the Reader to a height of desirable e !itement, then .unless the Poet2s !hoi!e of his metre has been grossly in'udi!ious/, in the feelings of pleasure whi!h the Reader has been a!!ustomed to !onne!t with metre in general, and in the feeling, whether !heerful or melan!holy, whi!h he has been a!!ustomed to !onne!t with that parti!ular movement of metre, there will be found something whi!h will greatly !ontribute to impart passion to the words, and to effe!t the !omple end whi!h the Poet proposes to himself. If I had underta$en a S:STE5*TI+ defen!e of the theory here maintained, it would have been my duty to develop the various !auses upon whi!h the pleasure re!eived from metri!al language depends. *mong the !hief of these !auses is to be re!$oned a prin!iple whi!h must be well $nown to those who have made any of the *rts the ob'e!t of a!!urate refle!tion( namely, the pleasure whi!h the mind derives from the per!eption of similitude in dissimilitude. This prin!iple is the great spring of the a!tivity of our minds, and their !hief feeder. From this prin!iple the dire!tion of the se ual appetite, and all the passions !onne!ted with it, ta$e their origin# it is the life of our ordinary !onversation( and upon the a!!ura!y with whi!h similitude in dissimilitude, and dissimilitude in similitude are per!eived, depend our taste and our moral feelings. It would not be a useless employment to apply this prin!iple to the !onsideration of metre, and to show that metre is hen!e enabled to afford mu!h pleasure, and to point out in what manner that pleasure is produ!ed. &ut my limits will not permit me to enter upon this sub'e!t, and I must !ontent myself with a general summary. I have said that poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings# it ta$es its origin from emotion re!olle!ted in tran"uillity# the emotion is !ontemplated till, by a spe!ies of rea!tion, the tran"uillity gradually disappears, and an emotion, $indred to that whi!h was before the sub'e!t of !ontemplation, is gradually produ!ed, and does itself a!tually e ist in the mind. In this mood su!!essful !omposition generally begins, and in a mood similar to this it is

!arried on( but the emotion, of whatever $ind, and in whatever degree, from various !auses, is "ualified by various pleasures, so that in des!ribing any passions whatsoever, whi!h are voluntarily des!ribed, the mind will, upon the whole, be in a state of en'oyment. If 3ature be thus !autious to preserve in a state of en'oyment a being so employed, the Poet ought to profit by the lesson held forth to him, and ought espe!ially to ta$e !are, that, whatever passions he !ommuni!ates to his Reader, those passions, if his Reader2s mind be sound and vigorous, should always be a!!ompanied with an overbalan!e of pleasure. 3ow the musi! of harmonious metri!al language, the sense of diffi!ulty over!ome, and the blind asso!iation of pleasure whi!h has been previously re!eived from wor$s of rhyme or metre of the same or similar !onstru!tion, an indistin!t per!eption perpetually renewed of language !losely resembling that of real life, and yet, in the !ir!umstan!e of metre, differing from it so widely7all these imper!eptibly ma$e up a !omple feeling of delight, whi!h is of the most important use in tempering the painful feeling always found intermingled with powerful des!riptions of the deeper passions. This effe!t is always produ!ed in patheti! and impassioned poetry( while, in lighter !ompositions, the ease and gra!efulness with whi!h the Poet manages his numbers are themselves !onfessedly a prin!ipal sour!e of the gratifi!ation of the Reader. *ll that it is necessary to say, however, upon this sub'e!t, may be effe!ted by affirming, what few persons will deny, that, of two des!riptions, either of passions, manners, or !hara!ters, ea!h of them e"ually well e e!uted, the one in prose and the other in verse, the verse will be read a hundred times where the prose is read on!e. Having thus e plained a few of my reasons for writing in verse, and why I have !hosen sub'e!ts from !ommon life, and endeavoured to bring my language near to the real language of men, if I have been too minute in pleading my own !ause, I have at the same time been treating a sub'e!t of general interest( and for this reason a few words shall be added with referen!e solely to these parti!ular poems, and to some defe!ts whi!h will probably be found in them. I am sensible that my asso!iations must have sometimes been parti!ular instead of general, and that, !onse"uently, giving to things a false importan!e, I may have sometimes written upon unworthy sub'e!ts( but I am less apprehensive on this a!!ount, than that my language may fre"uently have suffered from those arbitrary !onne ions of feelings and ideas with parti!ular words and phrases, from whi!h no man !an altogether prote!t himself. Hen!e I have no doubt, that, in some instan!es, feelings, even of the ludi!rous, may be given to my Readers by e pressions whi!h appeared to me tender and patheti!. Su!h faulty e pressions, were I !onvin!ed they were faulty at present, and that they must ne!essarily !ontinue to be so, I would willingly ta$e all reasonable pains to !orre!t. &ut it is dangerous to ma$e these alterations on the simple authority of a few individuals, or even of !ertain !lasses of men( for where the understanding of an *uthor is not !onvin!ed, or his feelings altered, this !annot be done without great in'ury to himself# for his own feelings are his stay and support( and, if he set them aside in one instan!e, he may be indu!ed to repeat this a!t till his mind shall lose all !onfiden!e in itself, and be!ome utterly debilitated. to this it may be added, that the !riti! ought never to forget that he is himself e posed to the same errors as the Poet, and, perhaps, in a mu!h greater degree# for there !an be no presumption in saying of most readers, that it is not probable they will be so well a!"uainted with the various stages of meaning through whi!h words have passed, or with the fi!$leness or stability of the relations of parti!ular ideas to ea!h other( and, above all, sin!e they are so mu!h less interested in the sub'e!t, they may de!ide lightly and !arelessly. ,ong as the Reader has been detained, I hope he will permit me to !aution him against a mode of false !riti!ism whi!h has been applied to Poetry, in whi!h the language !losely resembles that of life and nature. Su!h verses have been triumphed over in parodies, of whi!h -r. @ohnson2s stan%a is a fair spe!imen#7 I put my hat upon my head *nd wal$ed into the Strand, *nd there I met another man 1hose hat was in his hand. Immediately under these lines let us pla!e one of the most 'ustly admired stan%as of the >&abes in the 1ood.2 These pretty &abes with hand in hand 1ent wandering up and down( &ut never more they saw the 5an *pproa!hing from the town.

In both these stan%as the words, and the order of the words, in no respe!t differ from the most unimpassioned !onversation. There are words in both, for e ample, >the Strand,2 and >the town,2 !onne!ted with none but the most familiar ideas( yet the one stan%a we admit as admirable, and the other as a fair e ample of the superlatively !ontemptible. 1hen!e arises this differen!e; 3ot from the metre, not from the language, not from the order of the words( but the matter e pressed in -r. @ohnson2s stan%a is !ontemptible. The proper method of treating trivial and simple verses, to whi!h -r. @ohnson2s stan%a would be a fair parallelism, is not to say, this is a bad $ind of poetry, or, this is not poetry( but, this wants sense( it is neither interesting in itself nor !an lead to anything interesting( the images neither originate in that sane state of feeling whi!h arises out of thought, nor !an e !ite thought or feeling in the Reader. This is the only sensible manner of dealing with su!h verses. 1hy trouble yourself about the spe!ies till you have previously de!ided upon the genus; 1hy ta$e pains to prove that an ape is not a 3ewton, when it is self) evident that he is not a man; 8ne re"uest I must ma$e of my reader, whi!h is, that in 'udging these Poems he would de!ide by his own feelings genuinely, and not by refle!tion upon what will probably be the 'udgement of others. How !ommon is it to hear a person say, I myself do not ob'e!t to this style of !omposition, or this or that e pression, but, to su!h and su!h !lasses of people it will appear mean or ludi!rous4 This mode of !riti!ism, so destru!tive of all sound unadulterated 'udgement, is almost universal# let the Reader then abide, independently, by his own feelings, and, if he finds himself affe!ted, let him not suffer su!h !on'e!tures to interfere with his pleasure. If an *uthor, by any single !omposition, has impressed us with respe!t for his talents, it is useful to !onsider this as affording a presumption, that on other o!!asions where we have been displeased, he, nevertheless, may not have written ill or absurdly( and further, to give him so mu!h !redit for this one !omposition as may indu!e us to review what has displeased us, with more !are than we should otherwise have bestowed upon it. This is not only an a!t of 'usti!e, but, in our de!isions upon poetry espe!ially, may !ondu!e, in a high degree, to the improvement of our own taste( for an accurate taste in poetry, and in all the other arts, as Sir @oshua Reynolds has observed, is an acquired talent, whi!h !an only be produ!ed by thought and a long !ontinued inter!ourse with the best models of !omposition. This is mentioned, not with so ridi!ulous a purpose as to prevent the most ine perien!ed Reader from 'udging for himself .I have already said that I wish him to 'udge for himself/, but merely to temper the rashness of de!ision, and to suggest, that, if Poetry be a sub'e!t on whi!h mu!h time has not been bestowed, the 'udgement may be erroneous( and that, in many !ases, it ne!essarily will be so. 3othing would, I $now, have so effe!tually !ontributed to further the end whi!h I have in view, as to have shown of what $ind the pleasure is, and how that pleasure is produ!ed, whi!h is !onfessedly produ!ed by metri!al !omposition essentially different from that whi!h I have here endeavoured to re!ommend# for the Reader will say that he has been pleased by su!h !omposition( and what more !an be done for him; The power of any art is limited( and he will suspe!t, that, if it be proposed to furnish him with new friends, that !an be only upon !ondition of his abandoning his old friends. &esides, as I have said, the Reader is himself !ons!ious of the pleasure whi!h he has re!eived from su!h !omposition, !omposition to whi!h he has pe!uliarly atta!hed the endearing name of Poetry( and all men feel an habitual gratitude, and something of an honourable bigotry, for the ob'e!ts whi!h have long !ontinued to please them# we not only wish to be pleased, but to be pleased in that parti!ular way in whi!h we have been a!!ustomed to be pleased. There is in these feelings enough to resist a host of arguments( and I should be the less able to !ombat them su!!essfully, as I am willing to allow, that, in order entirely to en'oy the Poetry whi!h I am re!ommending, it would be ne!essary to give up mu!h of what is ordinarily en'oyed. &ut, would my limits have permitted me to point out how this pleasure is produ!ed, many obsta!les might have been removed, and the Reader assisted in per!eiving that the powers of language are not so limited as he may suppose( and that it is possible for poetry to give other en'oyments, of a purer, more lasting, and more e "uisite nature. This part of the sub'e!t has not been altogether negle!ted, but it has not been so mu!h my present aim to prove, that the interest e !ited by some other $inds of poetry is less vivid, and less worthy of the nobler powers of the mind, as to offer reasons for presuming, that if my purpose were fulfilled, a spe!ies of poetry would be produ!ed, whi!h is genuine poetry( in its nature well adapted to interest man$ind permanently, and li$ewise important in the multipli!ity and "uality of its moral relations. From what has been said, and from a perusal of the Poems, the Reader will be able !learly to per!eive the ob'e!t whi!h I had in view# he will determine how far it has been attained( and, what is a mu!h more important "uestion,

whether it be worth attaining# and upon the de!ision of these two "uestions will rest my !laim to the approbation of the Publi!.

WILLIAM WORD WOR!" (1##0$18%0) 1illiam 1ordsworth is the most representative poet of the first generation of English Romanti!ism. He is best $nown as a nature poet who found beauty, !omfort and moral strength in the natural world. For him the world of nature is free from !orruption and stress, and offers man a means of es!aping from the evils of industriali%ed so!iety. LI&' 1illiam 1ordsworth .0AAB)0CDB/ was born on A *pril 0AAB in +o!$ermouth, +umberland, in the ,a$e -istri!t .the north)west of England/. 1hen he was 'ust C years old his mother died, and he also lost his father five years later. *s a result, 1illiam and his sister, -orothy, were separated and raised by guardians. 1ith the help of his two un!les, 1ordsworth entered a lo!al s!hool .Haw$shead 6rammar S!hool/ and made his debut as a writer in 0ACA, when he published a sonnet in "he $uropean Maga%ine. In 0ACA 1ordsworth also entered +ambridge, but he was not parti!ularly interested in his studies. 1hile still a university student, he went on a three) month wal$ing tour of Fran!e, the Swiss *lps and Italy, and was greatly impressed by the beauty of the lands!ape. 1hen he finished his degree .0AE0/ he returned to Fran!e for a year and be!ame an ardent supporter of the demo!rati! ideals of the Fren!h revolution. Finan!ial problems, however, for!ed him to return to England, where he went to live with his sister in a small village in -orset. In 0AEF he published his first < boo$s of verse . An $vening &al' and (escriptive )'etches/, whi!h re!eived little noti!e from either the !riti!s or the publi!.

Two events !hanged 1ordsworth2s life forever# in 0AED he inherited a sum of money whi!h !overed his daily ne!essities and, in the same year, he met Samuel Taylor +oleridge, a poet with similar radi!al politi!al and literary views. The friendship had a great influen!e on both poets and also resulted in a lasting, fruitful and famous literary !ollaboration# in 0AEC, they published the 'oint volume *yrical +allads whi!h may be !onsidered to have signalled the birth of the English Romanti!ism. In the same year 1ordsworth travelled to 6ermany with his sister -orothy and with +oleridge and started wor$ on his autobiographi!al volume, "he ,relude, whi!h he !ontinued to revise throughout the rest of his life. Two years later a se!ond edition of the *yrical +allads appeared, with new poems by 1ordsworth, who also provided a prefa!e illustrating his and +oleridge2s prin!iples of poetry. 1ordsworth and -orothy moved to 6rasmere, one of the loveliest villages in the ,a$e -istri!t, a region whi!h 1ordsworth immortalised in his writings. In 0CB<, he married a !hildhood friend .5ary Hut!hinson/ and together they had five !hildren( during this period, his reputation began to grow and his wor$ be!ame in!reasingly popular. He did, however, suffer personal tragedy when two of his !hildren died. His !lose friend, +oleridge, was e perien!ing serious health problems and the two be!ame estranged and never fully re!on!iled. *s his fame as a poet grew, 1ordsworth be!ame more !onservative politi!ally. He was offered a well)paid government 'ob and openly !ampaigned for the !onservative .Tory/ party. The younger generation of Romanti! poets !riti!i%ed him for abandoning the radi!al politi!s and idealism of his younger age, while re!ognising the debt they owed him for the great innovations of his poetry. *s he advan!ed in age, however, his poeti! vision grew wea$er and his output was largely uninspired and written in the >artifi!ial2 style he had previously protested against. In 0CGB he was awarded a government pension and the title of the Poet ,aureate, in re!ognition of his !ontribution to English literature. He died on *pril <F, 0CDB, a few days after his eightieth birthday. WOR(

1illiam 1ordsworth2s monumental poeti! lega!y rests on a large number of important poems, varying in length and weight from the short, simple lyri!s of the 0AEB2s to the vast !antos of "he ,relude. His literary debut is lin$ed to the publi!ation of his first < boo$s of verse . An Evening Walk ) dealing with the lands!ape round Haw$shead and *mbleside( and Descriptive Sketches - the materials of whi!h had been furnished by his +ontinental travels/, whi!h re!eived little noti!e from either the !riti!s or the publi!. The Lyrical Ballads 1illiam 1ordsworth2s !ontribution to the development of English poetry in general and to the shaping of English Romanti!ism in parti!ular !annot and should not be underestimated. His wor$ with Samuel Taylor +oleridge on the Lyrical Ballads .0AEC( 0CBB/ established Romanti!ism as a genuine literary movement in England. 5ore than being a momentous artisti! union between two of the most gifted writers of the day, *yrical +allads brought about a literary revolution ) the duo set out to !hange and transform the !ontent, language, and dire!tion of poetry, thus preparing the field for the poetry of the people. The title of the volume proposes a $ind of hybrid lin$ between two different literary genres, i.e. a lyric ) a poem, usually in the first person, whi!h is about the individual spea$er, i.e. it is personal and emotive( a ballad, on the other hand, is a narrative poem .one that tells a story/, i.e. it is publi!, narrative. *ll the poems in!luded in the *yrical +allads fall into this oxymoronic !ategory. In point of stru!ture, it should be mentioned that the volume !onsists of a number of poems written by both 1ordsworth and +oleridge# it opened with +oleridge2s "he .ime of the Ancient Mariner and also in!luded 1ordsworth2s famous "intern Abbey. The dominant theme of the poems was 3ature, spe!ifi!ally the power of 3ature to !reate strong impressions inHon the mind and imagination. The first edition of the volume was prefa!ed by an Advertisement written by 1illiam 1ordsworth, wherein it is stated that IIt is the honourable characteristic of ,oetry that its materials are to be found in every subject which can interest the human

mindJ. The poet admits that the poems in!luded in this volume should be treated as >experiments/ !reated Ichiefly with a view to ascertain how far the language of conversation in the middle and lower classes of society is adapted to the purposes of poetic pleasureJ and !omments on the novelty they bring. The se!ond edition of the volume began with a Preface that has sin!e been !onsidered a manifesto of Romanti!ism .the author of the ,reface was still 1ordsworth/. Poetry before *yrical +allads was predominately epi! or satiri! ) !on!erned with mythi! heroes or simply designed to please the upper !lasses ) and it was usually written in heroi! !ouplets and the most sophisti!ated style. 1ordsworth proposes that poetry should in fa!t be something !ompletely different# it should ma$e ordinary life interesting, and it should do so in simple language, I the very language of menJ. 1ordsworth ma$es new and demo!rati! !laims regarding poetry2s sub'e!t matter, language, and style, and he also tries to assert the importan!e of poetry and poets in an industriali%ed and in!reasingly urban world. In the treatment of this theme he advo!ated the re'e!tion of all artifi!es and !onventions of 0Cth K!entury verse, and the substitution of the language of a!tual life. His aim was to bring the sub'e!t of poetry, and with it the language of poetry ba!$ to the realities of life. Other Wor)s 5any !riti!s !onsider the long poem in blan$ verse The Prelude; or ro!th of a Poet"s #ind, .originally planned as an introdu!tion to another wor$, and published posthumously in 0CDB after four different manus!ript versions/ to be 1ordsworth2s greatest a!hievement. Prefa!ed by an Advertisement and organised in 0G boo$s, ea!h dealing with a parti!ular stage of the poet2s life .i.e. +oo' 0irst Introduction 1 hildhood and )chool-"ime( +oo' )econd 1 )chool-"ime 2continued3( +oo' "hird 1 .esidence at ambridge( +oo' 0ourth 1 )ummer 4acation L/, the poem des!ribes the !ru!ial e perien!es of the poet2s e isten!e and represents an introspe!tive a!!ount of his emotional and spiritual development. It illustrates in a poeti!al form pervaded by a philosophi!al substratum the for!es that shaped his imaginative powers, and his spiritual !risis and re!overy, thus be!oming the essential living do!ument for the interpre) tation of 1ordsworth2s life and poetry.

Further eviden!e of 1ordsworth2s genius !an be found in Poems$ in T!o %olumes .0CBA/, whi!h has been !onsidered to be the pea$ of his !reative powers .though not warmly wel!omed by some of his !ontemporaries/. The volume !ontains, among other !elebrated poems, some of his best wor$s# 5de to (uty, "he )olitary .eaper, I &andered *onely as a .ecollections of $arly loud, 5de. "he Intimations of Immortality from hildhood. The Intimations of Immortality epitomi%e briefly the

1ordsworthian philosophy. The poet uses the Platoni! theory of our pre)natal e isten!e as a premise. The soul !omes into earthly life, not a blan$ .as ,o!$ian empiri!ism de!lared/, but endowed with divine instin!ts and powers. 5undane and temporal interests en!roa!h upon these, but !annot wholly stifle them. In 0C0G, he produ!ed The E&cursion, another vast poem .nine !antos/ in!luding ample philosophi!al digressions whi!h was originally meant to be part of a mu!h larger wor$, The 'ecluse ) never !ompleted by the poet. The framewor$ is provided by an a!!ount of a three days2 ramble in the +umberland vales( into this are introdu!ed in!idents, stories, refle!tions, !onversations( the whole forming a vehi!le of the poet2s views on 5an, 3ature, and So!iety. In light of the above, "he $xcursion may be !onsidered as a philosophi!al pastoral poem, a des!ription of natural ob'e!ts and of the feelings asso!iated with them( an a!!ount of the poet2s refle!tions on the manners of rural life. In it the poet does not present the reader with a lively su!!ession of images or in!idents, but des!ribes his own feelings, the flight of his own imagination. In 0C<< he also published the !y!le of Ecclesiastical Sonnets and #emorials of a Tour on the (ontinen t 1 the fruits of his earlier travels in Europe. His last volume Poems$ (hiefly Written of Early and Late )ears .0CG</ reprodu!ed impressions of travels through Italy in 0CFA. Prose Wor)s *mong 1ordsworth2s prose wor$s, mention is due to# Apology for the *rench 'evolution$ in a Letter to the Bishop of Llandaff .0AEF, posthumously published/ (oncerning the 'elations of reat Britain$ Spain$ and Portugal to Each +ther$ and to the (ommon Enemy$ at This (risis$ and Specifically as Affected ,y the (onvention of (intra 20CBE/

T!o Addresses to the *reeholders of Westmoreland .0C0C/ A Description of the Scenery of the Lakes (18**+ 18,%- as A uide through the District of the Lakes) -endal and Windermere 'ail!ay. T!o Letters .0CGG/. /ature ?ery early in life 1illiam 1ordsworth had resolved to be!ome a poet of 3ature in a new and distin!t sense. In his $vening &al' he writes the following of a des!ription# II recollect the very spot where this struc' me. 6 "he moment was important in my poetical history, for I date from it my consciousness of the infinite variety of natural appearances which had been unnoticed by the poets of any age or country, so far as I was acquainted with them, and I made a resolution to supply, in some degree, this deficiency.J From this point of view, 1ordsworth was a great innovator. He found his greatest inspiration in nature, whi!h he believed !ould elevate the human soul and e ert a positive moral influen!e on human thoughts and feelings( in his opinion, 3ature was an ine haustible sour!e of beauty, permanently generating emotions while providing refuge from a world hostile to man. +ommunion with nature was a vehi!le for the ennobling of man. *s he !onfesses in "he .ecluse, he is Mmusing in solitudeMH75n Man, on 8ature, and on !uman *ife6J His !elebration of nature also laun!hes a philosophi!al meditation .in the Prefa!e, he openly states that Imy descriptions of such objects as strongly excite those feelings, will be found to carry along with them a purposeJ/. His poetry !elebrates the lives of simple rural people, whom he sees as being more sin!ere than those living in !ities sin!e they are !loser to nature. +hildren are also seen as pure and inno!ent, un!orrupted by edu!ation and the evils of the world( !hildhood is seen as the period when humanity is !loser to essential truth. Poetry as intuition 1ordsworth believed that intuition, not reason, should guide the poet in the pro!ess of writing. Inspiration should !ome from the dire!t e perien!e of the senses.

Poetry, he wrote in the ,reface to *yrical +allads, originates from Ithe spontaneous overflow of powerful feelingsJ, whi!h is filtered through Iemotion re!olle!ted in tran"uillityJ. MAI. ID'A 1. 1ordsworth was not only the most famous representative of the first generation of Romanti! poets .the so)!alled >,a$e S!hool of Poetry2/, but also one of the most gifted poets in English literature as a whole. He is e"ually appre!iated for his theoreti!al !ontribution to the development of the new literary trend .the Prefa!e to *yrical +allads/ and for his poeti! !reations .although the ones after 0CBA were inferior to the earlier ones as regards the value of ideas and the modalities of e pression/. 8riginally inspired by noble, revolutionary ideals, later on he indulged in the !onservatism he had on!e re'e!ted. However, the development of the English poetry and the development of Romanti!ism as a literary trend are very mu!h indebted to the poet2s substantial !ontribution to enri!hing the !ontent and style of poetry, to e panding the sphere of the notion of poetry, and to formulating a new perspe!tive on nature.

Preface to the Lyrical Ballads IThe prin!ipal ob'e!t, then, proposed in these Poems was to choose i/cide/ts a/d sit0atio/s from commo/ life- a/d to relate or descri1e them- thro02ho0t- as far as was 3ossi1le i/ a selectio/ of la/20a2e really 0sed 1y me/- a/d- at the same timeto throw o4er them a certai/ colo0ri/2 of ima2i/atio/ , whereby ordinary things should be presented to the mind in an unusual aspe!t( and, further, and above all, to ma$e these in!idents and situations interesting by tra!ing in them, truly though not ostentatiously, the primary laws of our nature# !hiefly, as far as regards the manner in whi!h we asso!iate ideas in a state of e !itement. Humble and rusti! life was generally !hosen, be!ause, in that !ondition, the essential passions of the heart find a better soil in whi!h they !an attain their maturity, are less under restraint, and spea$ a plainer and more emphati! language( be!ause in that !ondition of life our elementary feelings !oe ist in a state of greater simpli!ity, and, !onse"uently, may be more a!!urately !ontemplated, and more for!ibly !ommuni!ated( be!ause the manners of rural life germinate from those elementary feelings, and, from the ne!essary !hara!ter of rural o!!upations, are more easily !omprehended, and are more durable( and, lastly, be!ause in that !ondition the passions of men are in!orporated with the beautiful and permanent forms of nature. The language, too, of these men has been adopted .purified indeed from what appear to be its real defe!ts, from all lasting and rational !auses of disli$e or disgust/ be!ause su!h men hourly !ommuni!ate with the best ob'e!ts from whi!h the best part of language is originally derived( and be!ause, from their ran$ in so!iety and the sameness and narrow !ir!le of their inter!ourse, being less under the influen!e of so!ial vanity, they !onvey their feelings and notions in simple and unelaborated e pressions. *!!ordingly, su!h a language, arising out of repeated e perien!e and regular feelings, is a more permanent, and a far more philosophi!al language, than that whi!h is fre"uently substituted for it by Poets, who thin$ that they are !onferring honour upon themselves and their art, in proportion as they separate themselves from the sympathies of men, and indulge in arbitrary and !apri!ious habits of e pression, in order to furnish food for fi!$le tastes, and fi!$le appetites, of their own !reation. 0 I !annot, however, be insensible to the present out!ry against the triviality and meanness, both of thought and language, whi!h some of

my !ontemporaries have o!!asionally introdu!ed into their metri!al !ompositions( and I a!$nowledge that this defe!t, where it e ists, is more dishonourable to the 1riter2s own !hara!ter than false refinement or arbitrary innovation, though I should !ontend at the same time, that it is far less perni!ious in the sum of its !onse"uen!es. From su!h verses the Poems in these volumes will be found distinguished at least by one mar$ of differen!e, that ea!h of them has a worthy purpose. 3ot that I always began to write with a distin!t purpose formerly !on!eived( but habits of meditation have, I trust, so prompted and regulated my feelings, that my des!riptions of su!h ob'e!ts as strongly e !ite those feelings, will be found to !arry along with them a purpose. If this opinion be erroneous, I !an have little right to the name of a Poet. For all good poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings# and though this be true, Poems to whi!h any value !an be atta!hed were never produ!ed on any variety of sub'e!ts but by a man who, being possessed of more than usual organi! sensibility, had also thought long and deeply. For our !ontinued influ es of feeling are modified and dire!ted by our thoughts, whi!h are indeed the representatives of all our past feelings( and, as by !ontemplating the relation of these general representatives to ea!h other, we dis!over what is really important to men, so, by the repetition and !ontinuan!e of this a!t, our feelings will be !onne!ted with important sub'e!ts, till at length, if we be originally possessed of mu!h sensibility, su!h habits of mind will be produ!ed, that, by obeying blindly and me!hani!ally the impulses of those habits, we shall des!ribe ob'e!ts, and utter sentiments, of su!h a nature, and in su!h !onne ion with ea!h other, that the understanding of the Reader must ne!essarily be in some degree enlightened, and his affe!tions strengthened and purified. ..../ Ta$ing up the sub'e!t, then, upon general grounds, let me as$, what is meant by the word Poet; 1hat is a Poet; to whom does he address himself; and what language is to be e pe!ted from him;7He is a man spea$ing to men# a man, it is true, endowed with more lively sensibility, more enthusiasm and tenderness, who has a greater $nowledge of human nature, and a more !omprehensive soul, than are supposed to be !ommon among man$ind( a man pleased with his own passions and volitions, and who re'oi!es more than other men in the spirit of life that is in him( delighting to !ontemplate similar volitions and passions as manifested in the goings)on of the =niverse, and habitually impelled to

!reate them where he does not find them. to these "ualities he has added a disposition to be affe!ted more than other men by absent things as if they were present( an ability of !on'uring up in himself passions, whi!h are indeed far from being the same as those produ!ed by real events, yet .espe!ially in those parts of the general sympathy whi!h are pleasing and delightful/ do more nearly resemble the passions produ!ed by real events, than anything whi!h, from the motions of their own minds merely, other men are a!!ustomed to feel in themselves#7 when!e, and from pra!ti!e, he has a!"uired a greater readiness and power in e pressing what he thin$s and feels, and espe!ially those thoughts and feelings whi!h, by his own !hoi!e, or from the stru!ture of his own mind, arise in him without immediate e ternal e !itement. ..../ There will also be found in these volumes little of what is usually !alled poeti! di!tion( as mu!h pains has been ta$en to avoid it as is ordinarily ta$en to produ!e it( this has been done for the reason already alleged, to bring my language near to the language of men( and further, be!ause the pleasure whi!h I have proposed to myself to impart, is of a $ind very different from that whi!h is supposed by many persons to be the proper ob'e!t of poetry. ..../ I have said that poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings# it ta$es its origin from emotion re!olle!ted in tran"uillity# the emotion is !ontemplated till, by a spe!ies of rea!tion, the tran"uillity gradually disappears, and an emotion, $indred to that whi!h was before the sub'e!t of !ontemplation, is gradually produ!ed, and does itself a!tually e ist in the mind. In this mood su!!essful !omposition generally begins, and in a mood similar to this it is !arried on( but the emotion, of whatever $ind, and in whatever degree, from various !auses, is "ualified by various pleasures, so that in des!ribing any passions whatsoever, whi!h are voluntarily des!ribed, the mind will, upon the whole, be in a state of en'oyment. If 3ature be thus !autious to preserve in a state of en'oyment a being so employed, the Poet ought to profit by the lesson held forth to him, and ought espe!ially to ta$e !are, that, whatever passions he !ommuni!ates to his Reader, those passions, if his Reader2s mind be sound and vigorous, should always be a!!ompanied with an overbalan!e of pleasure. 3ow the musi! of harmonious metri!al language, the sense of

diffi!ulty over!ome, and the blind asso!iation of pleasure whi!h has been previously re!eived from wor$s of rhyme or metre of the same or similar !onstru!tion, an indistin!t per!eption perpetually renewed of language !losely resembling that of real life, and yet, in the !ir!umstan!e of metre, differing from it so widely7all these imper!eptibly ma$e up a !omple feeling of delight, whi!h is of the most important use in tempering the painful feeling always found intermingled with powerful des!riptions of the deeper passions. This effe!t is always produ!ed in patheti! and impassioned poetry( while, in lighter !ompositions, the ease and gra!efulness with whi!h the Poet manages his numbers are themselves !onfessedly a prin!ipal sour!e of the gratifi!ation of the Reader. *ll that it is necessary to say, however, upon this sub'e!t, may be effe!ted by affirming, what few persons will deny, that, of two des!riptions, either of passions, manners, or !hara!ters, ea!h of them e"ually well e e!uted, the one in prose and the other in verse, the verse will be read a hundred times where the prose is read on!e. ..../ .ote 15 I here use the word 2Poetry2 .though against my own 'udgement/ as opposed to the word Prose, and synonymous with metri!al !omposition. &ut mu!h !onfusion has been introdu!ed into !riti!ism by this !ontradistin!tion of Poetry and Prose, instead of the more philosophi!al one of Poetry and 5atter of Fa!t, or S!ien!e. The only stri!t antithesis to Prose is 5etre( nor is this, in truth, a strict antithesis, be!ause lines and passages of metre so naturally o!!ur in writing prose, that it would be s!ar!ely possible to avoid them, even were it desirable.

!'6! A.AL7 I
018ect of 3oetry Poetry was to deal with humble, rusti! life The best sub'e!ts to write about were about !ommon life( national history La/20a2e In nature or in the poet2s heart. The poems were to be written as far as possible in a sele!tion of language really used by men, and with a !olouring of imagination and as near as possible to the permanent forms of nature, which he
associates with rural speech and rural life.

though purified of appear to be its real defe!ts, from all lasting and rational

!auses of disli$e or disgust triviality and meanness, both of thought and language, whi!h some of my !ontemporaries have o!!asionally introdu!ed into their metri!al !ompositions( ) sophisti!ated elements
Role of the Ima2i/atio/ Imagination was to play a very important role, whi!h 1ordsworth identified with its !apa!ity of presenting ordinary things to the mind in an unusual aspe!t( In other words, it awa$ened and sharpened a spe!ial intuition, whi!h enables the poet to analyse the !omple relation between ideas and sensation immediate $nowledge, with !ertain !onvi!tions, intuitions, and dedu!tions, whi!h from habit a!"uire the "uality of intuitions( he !onsiders him as loo$ing upon this !omple s!ene of ideas and sensations, and finding everywhere ob'e!ts that immediately e !ite in him sympathies whi!h, from the ne!essities of his nature, are a!!ompanied by an overbalan!e of en'oyment. Poetry as memory *lthough the poet des!ribes natural and simple ob'e!ts and pea!eful lands!apes, he does not loo$ at them with the realism of ob'e!tive observation, but sees them through his imagination, operating on his or her perceptions, thoughts
and feelings. There is the dominance of feeling over intellect. In fact, feeling becomes the real basis of imagination, which is the power to grasp natural in its totality and to order one's experience.

Sin!e poetry is the Ispontaneous overflow of powerful feelingsJ, these feelings are not immediate, but originate in the a!tion of remembering those feelings in a state of >emotion2, re!olle!ted in tran"uillity, and then the tran"uillity is repla!ed by that feeling provo$ed by the remembering

!as) of the Poet

*lthough e"ual to other men in "uality, the Poet stands apart from them be!ause of his status of a man spea$ing to men( endowed with more lively sensibility,

more enthusiasm and tenderness, who has a greater $nowledge of human nature, and a more !omprehensive soul, than are supposed to be !ommon among man$ind( a man pleased with his own passions and volitions, and who re'oi!es more than other men in the spirit of life that is in him( delighting to !ontemplate similar volitions and passions as manifested in the goings)on of the =niverse, and habitually impelled to !reate them where he does not find them. to these "ualities he has added a disposition to be affe!ted more than other men by absent things as if they were present( an ability of !on'uring up in himself passions, whi!h are indeed far from being the same as those produ!ed by real events,
He is in fa!t possessed of more than usual organi! sensibility
lively sensibility, more enthusiasm and tenderness.

He is therefore best suited to rea!h the very essen!e of things and !ommuni!ate them in a simple, unelaborated language. 5oreover, he is a moral tea!her, whose tas$ is to purify men2s emotions through the des!ription of ob'e!ts, and of

utter sentiments, of su!h a nature, and in su!h !onne ion with ea!h other, that the understanding of the Reader must ne!essarily be in some degree enlightened, and his affe!tions strengthened and purified.

A//E0 T1/TE'/ ABBE) 2*ull title *ines omposed a 0ew Miles above "intern Abbey, on .evisiting the +an's of the &ye during a "our. 9uly :;, :<=>.3 0I4$ years have past; five summers, with the length 5f five long winters? and again I hear "hese waters, rolling from their mountain-springs &ith a soft inland murmur. -- 5nce again (o I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, "hat on a wild secluded scene impress "houghts of more deep seclusion; and connect "he landscape with the quiet of the s'y. "he day is come when I again repose !ere, under this dar' sycamore, and view "hese plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts, &hich at this season, with their unripe fruits, Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves @Mid groves and copses. The spea$er2s de!laration that five years have passed sin!e he last visited this lo!ation, en!ountered its tran"uil, rusti! s!enery, and heard the murmuring waters of the river. He re!ites the ob'e!ts he sees again, and des!ribes their effe!t upon him# the Isteep and lofty !liffsJ impress upon him Ithoughts of more deep se!lusionJ( he leans against the dar$ sy!amore tree and loo$s at the !ottage)grounds and the or!hard trees, whose fruit is still unripe. +DE2 1/T1#AT1+/S +* 1##+'TAL1T) *'+# 'E(+LLE(T1+/S +* EA'L) (31LD3++D "here was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, "he earth, and every common sight, "o me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, "he glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore;A "urn wheresoe@er I may, +y night or day, "he things which I have seen I now can see no more. 5any of 1ordsworth2s poems, in!luding this, deal with the sub'e!ts of !hildhood and the memory of !hildhood in the mind of the adult in parti!ular, !hildhood2s lost !onne!tion with nature, whi!h !an be preserved only in memory. In this poem 1ordsworth e plains how humans !hange over time. In fa!t, when we are a !hild we are !onne!ted with nature, but as we get old we tend to forget nature and be!ome more interested in other responsibilities of adulthood, and that !onne!tion with nature stays as re!olle!tions of !hildhood in our memory.

1 WA/DE'ED L+/EL) AS A (L+4D 15 O9R:' O& I. PIRA!IO. A.D P9BLI:A!IO.

*5 !"'M' Of !he Poem

,5 !R9:!9R' O& !"' PO'M

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