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tion, as that which appeared in col. 921 of your number for October. The ingenious writer of the passage to which I allude, has, by a species of interpretation exclusively his own, imagined that by poetry his Lordship means morality! And, Sir, from this ignoratio elenchi-this mistake of the

while Aristarchus "proceeds cheer-proposition, G. M. very logically asks, fully to the combat;" laughs at Farce, Comedy, and Tragedy;" triumphantly refutes his opponents, "Smiles in the tumult, and ENJOYS the storm.” I am, Sir, your's, &c. SCRUTATOR.

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SIR,-As many pages of your
able and impartial publication have of
late been occupied in discussing the
respective merits of Byron and Words-
worth, I trust I shall not incur the
censure of your disinterested readers,
for obtruding the subsequent remarks
on their attention.

I had resolved, Sir, to remain a passive spectator of this literary contest, and merely

111 through the loop-holes of retreat To peep at

if it be conceded that poetry, viz. morality, is in a state of declension, to whom can it be imputed? This ingenuous question he replies to with corresponding candour, and very calmly tells us that we may address the fascinating Byron in the bold and positive terms with which the inspired Nathan struck terror to the soul of the guilty monarch: "Thou art the man." Is this, Sir, the plain and deliberate procedure that should characterize the awarders of poetic merit? Is this the generous and impartial conduct so essential in discharging the duties of decision to blast the laurels, yet smila critic? Is this premature and unjust ing on the brow of the beneficent Byron? No, Sir, every principle of virtue and honour forbids it; and while his muse continues to breathe the high-wrought minstrelsy she has hitherto done, as soon will Wordsworth's Excursion eclipse Paradise Lost, as G. M.'s lilliputian arrows the glory of Byron.

limits to vindicate the moral character I will not step beyond my prescribed of our British bard; I will not attempt to echo the prayers of the captive, the blessings of the unfortunate, the joyful cries of the orphan and widowed, whom BYRON has restored to liberty, to home, and to happiness. On Aristarchus the task devolves: to him, the combatants; but since the spirited Sir, I cheerfully resign the enviable advocate of Byron has been meanly charge of convincing the unbiassed and illiberally assailed by the philo- readers of your widely circulated mismusi who contend for the gentle cellany, that the poet whom he so ably Wordsworth, I care not to thwart the defends, is not that “monstrum horopportunity presented me of assuring rendum," that "exquisitely disgustAristarchus, that the Imperial Maga-ing, yea, iniquitous" object, some zine has one correspondent besides have endeavoured to mis-represent himself, who admires the brilliant effusions of the Caledonian bard, and who, as he is not below his teens, cannot relish the puerile productions that distinguish the poet of the lakes.

Of the various methods by which the reputation of Lord Byron is attacked, none, Sir, is marked with such peculiar acrimony, such unwarranted license, and such fecundity of inven

him.

The precious morceau which principally gave rise to these observations, its inimitable author has interwoven with the threads of encomium sofairly and deservedly lavished on the sonnets of the Rev. W. L. Bowles. None, Sir, more esteems the genuine loveliness, the touching simplicity, of these elegant compositions, than myself;

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Byron and Wordsworth.

and well would it be for G. M. could he treat Lord Byron with a spark of that urbanity and respect, pre-eminent in the controversy to which he refers. But I forbear; had he eulogized the one without reprobating the other, all animadversion would be superseded.

In concluding, Sir, I would direct the attention of those who may peruse these remarks, to the song which composes their peroration: the melody of

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WORTH VINDICATED.

MR. EDITOR.

its numbers, the energy of its diction, BYRON AND WORDSWORTH.-WORDSthe descriptive power it displays, and above all, the sacred feeling it creates, forcibly evince that the writer of "Hebrew Melodies" has rendered himself not less intimate with the beauties of poesy, than with the characters and passions of those, whose memory he so expressively revives.

SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE.

Saul.

SIR,-May I be permitted to intrude myself once more upon your notice, and that of the public, in replying to the invectives of Aristarchus, inserted in your last number, whose anger it appears I have kindled not a little. My motive is the elucidation and esta

"Warriors and chiefs! should the shaft or the blishment of truth; and if a firm adhe

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Farewell to others, but never we part,
Heir to my royalty, son of my heart!
Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway,
Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day!
Thou whose spell can raise the dead,
Bid the prophet's form appear.
Samuel, raise thy buried head!

King, behold the phantom seer!"

Earth yawned; he stood the centre of a cloud:
Light chang'd its hue retiring from his shroud;
Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye,
His hand was wither'd, and his veins were
dry;

His foot, in bony whiteness, glitter'd there,
Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare:
From lips that mov'd not, and unbreathing

frame,

Like cavern'd winds the hollow accents came.
Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak,
At once, and blasted by the thunder stroke.

Samuel.

"Why is my sleep disquieted?
Who is he that calls the dead?
Is it thou, Oh king? Behold
Bloodless are these limbs, and cold:
Such are mine; and such shall be
Thine to-morrow when with me:
Ere the coming day is done,
Such shalt thou be, such thy son.

rence to what I conceive to be the cause of truth and virtue, subject me to be termed a bigot, I shall, nevertheless, not shrink from my duty. It is also to be hoped, that when my opponent has considered the whole of the discussion, especially his own paper of October 2d, he will learn to acknowledge the truth of the adage, which tells us, we may sometimes make more haste than good speed. Learning, be it little or much, ought not to be a shield for arrogance; and though Aristarchus, as if fearful of trusting his cause to the living, bas called up the dead languages to reinforce his positions, I will not shun to meet him on the fair and open ground of legitimate controversy. First, let me vindicate my own character, next expose the errors of my opponent, and, finally, seek to confirm the assertions which I have primarily advanced.

Whenever a writer descends to the use of scurrilous epithets, he has an evident advantage in sheltering himself under an anonymous signature; an advantage which, in the present instance, I have to labour against. The charge of arrogance, however, cannot but fall harmless upon me, when applied by one assuming the name of an ancient critic, who would suffer no verse to pass for Homer's of which he did not himself approve. But I pass on to a more serious imputation. Aristarchus, after giving ex

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Byron and Wordsworth.

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tracts from Hazlitt's earlier works, | depicted aberrations of the Idiot Boy, pretty plainly draws the inference, in his mistaking the cold moon for the that the words I have quoted from the luminary of day, nor in his infantile same author must be a fabrication of expressions of joyous feeling under my own. The public may readily de- his novel situation---it is a corroboratermine on this case by referring to tion of my opinion, that he is utterly Hazlitt's Table Talk, page 100. Let blinded by prejudice, and unfit for them also consult the whole of the engaging in the analysis of poetic meparagraph from which they were taken. rit. Surely it augurs well for the chaIn the hands of this author the rod of racter of Wordsworth's poetry, to find criticism, when applied to Words- his reviler driven to such unworthy worth, becomes a serpent, which swal- expedients. The testimony of the lows up not only his own detractions, contemporary poets adduced in my but also the mite of praise which he former paper, is treated by my oppohad bestowed upon that "noble poet, nent as the unmeaning language of who is fulfilling the promise of his compliment, which he seeks to overyouth." If Aristarchus could imagine turn by an anonymous paragraph, that, that I had not perused Hazlitt, what for any thing the public knows to the must be said of his strange inaccuracy contrary, may be one of those mites respecting the poems of Wordsworth, which he before tells us he has contriwhich he informs me he has read?buted to the fund of literature. Were he indeed the student he would lead the public to suppose, he must have known that the "Ancient Mariner" is a poem, not written by Words-it to be silly enough, overshooting the worth, but by Coleridge; and is that on which his reputation as a poet principally rests, as being the most original and powerful of his productions.

"A little learning Is a dangerous thing."

The inadvertency of which Aristarchus has here been guilty, leads me to suspect that he has never consulted the long prose critique upon Wordsworth, given by his friend in the Literaria Biographia; indeed I cannot but surmise that my antagonist is very scantily prepared for the critical exploit which he has undertaken. His quotations are peculiarly unfortunate for his purpose, and, where they have any weight, they seem to bear upon the opposite side of the question. Would any poem, even the writer's favourite Don Juan, be fairly represented by a couple of lines maliciously selected; especially when it can be shown that the objectionable lines are corrected in a later edition? One other specimen of Wordsworth's poetry is given, which is termed a farrago and it certainly is not the fault of Aristarchus, if it merits a better appellation; for it consists of part of the last stanza, omitting the line which gives its principal interest, then follows the 17th, and after that the 14th stanza of the poem. But taking the verses as they are here given, may I not affirm, that if the critic ean sce no beauty in the

Such

a conjecture might be plausibly supported; for I am desired to mark the contents of the quotation, and I find

mark it aims at, and degrading its arrogant style of vituperation, by the lowness of a pun. Let the following extract suffice as a specimen of the poem which Aristarchus would persuade us is a tissue of "daudling impotent drivel."

Long have I lov'd what I behold,

The night that calms, the day that cheers:
The common growth of mother earth
Suffices me her tears, her mirth,
Her humblest mirth and tears.

The dragon's wing, the magic wing,
I shall not covet for my dower,
If I along that lowly way
With sympathetic heart may stray,
And with a soul of power.

These given, what more need I desire,
To stir to soothe-or elevate?
What nobler marvels than the mind
May in life's daily prospect find,
May find or there create?

A potent wand doth sorrow wield;
What spell so strong as guilty fear?
Repentance is a tender sprite;
If aught on earth have heav'nly might,
"Tis lodg'd within her silent tear.

After this exposure of the critical sagacity of my antagonist, it may be superfluous to seek, by any further arguments, to convince him that my eulogy of Wordsworth does not rest on the baseless fabric of a distempered imagination, but is supported by very many passages of extraordinary beauty, sublimity, and pathos, which abound in the volumes of his poetry.

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Byron and Wordsworth.

Aristarchus can see beauty in Lord Byron's verse,

"The mind-the music breathing from her

face,"

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great, but an immoral poet. Whether the fetid exhalations of his impurities will gather into a cloud that shall eclipse the orb of his genius, or will be eventually dispelled by its purer determine.

while he has overlooked the fine lines rays, is a problem that posterity must

of Wordsworth,

"And she shall lean her ear

In many a secret place

Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound

Shall pass into her face."

I am, yours, &c.

Derby, November 7, 1821.

WORTH VINDICATED.

G. M.

by which the idea was probably sug- BYRON AND WORDSWORTH.-WORDSgested to his Lordship; and he can even embellish his diction by borrowing at unawares from the Excursion.

In making these remarks, I have already trespassed upon my third proposition, and may now hasten to dismiss the subject. The man who applies the epithet of "simple" to the Author of the Ode on the Intimations of Immortality, of the Sonnets to Liberty, the poems of Laodamia and of Dion, is not likely to be wrought upon by any further argument or assertion, by more enlarged quotations from his poetry, or more extended references to the expression of public opinion. I regard him as a greater incurable than the Idiot Boy, who, in the imbecility of his thoughts exclaimed

"And the sun did shine so cold."

One word more respecting Aristarchus's labourer in the vineyard" of impure grapes, and I have done. Like the impetuous ostrich, that wanders in the desart, and entrusts its progeny to be hatched into life by the solar heat, such is Lord Byron,-an isolated being, committing, with scorn and hate, the offspring of his gigantic intellect to the land which he has forsaken, and the countrymen whom he has traduced. Were he stripped of the plumage, which he without scruple has pillaged from others, still, as I have already done, I would call him a mighty one, a poet who has dignified the crest of nobility with the brighter wreath of Apollo: and yet, while I admire the beauty and majesty of his intellectual greatness, I cannot but perceive its resemblance to the image of Nebuchadnezzar; where the golden head, the silver, and the brass, have for their support the feet of clay. If his muse be from above, heavenly, she is also of the earth, earthy. In fine, it must be admitted as an incontrovertible fact, that Lord Byron is a

MR. EDITOR.

SIR,-As I am a constant reader of your miscellany, I could not fail to observe the "Byronic controversy" which has enriched your columns. Alternately delighted with the letters of G. M. and H. and made to smile at the fantastic folly of Aristarchus, I resolved to be a controversialist myself; and I now present you with the first-fruits of my determination, ardently requesting you to insert this letter in your next number.

"Passing over his petulance as unworthy of notice," (according to Aristarchus's own words,) I proceed to notice the quotations by which he endeavours to support his judgment of Wordsworth. Unfortunately, the two first examples of that poet's "namby-pamby compositions," though inserted in the Lyrical Ballads, are by Coleridge, as this ardent admirer of Lord Byron may find by turning to the Preface to that beautiful work.

Having thus, I trust, refuted his arguments respecting Wordsworth, I proceed to his stories of the charity of the author of Don Juan. The circumstances of Aristarchus's note have long ago been denied; and the inadvertency of the person who has endeavoured to depreciate Lord Byron's character by reports" as false as they are feeble" must indeed be great, so great indeed, that I suspect, "through inadvertency," he never received the pecuniary assistance mentioned.

As for the Editor of the Monthly Magazine, not six months ago, he published a long article, on the plagiarisms of Lord Byron; by which it appears, that the account of the shipwreck in Don Juan is copied (in some places word for word) from a book containing the accounts of several unsuccessful voyages. Thus Sir Richard

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Byron and Wordsworth.

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"That eagle's fate and mine are one,

Who on the shaft that made him die, Espied a feather of his own

With which he us'd to soar so high."

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"To rack and torture thy unmeaning brain,
In satire's praise with a low vulgar strain,
In thee is most impertinent and vain.
For in thy person we most plainly see
That satire's of divine authority,
Since GOD made one on man, when he made thee.

In my next letter I shall further expose the plagiarisms of Lord Byron, but at present I refrain, having, I see, reached nearly to the end of my paper; -so I conclude for the present with the following joyful information; joyful for Aristarchus, but, I trust, to no other contributor to your Magazine. The news is, viz. that Benbow is publishing English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, by Lord Byron, in threepenny numbers, having already published Don Juan, canto's 1 to 5, for half-a-crown, and Waltz, an apostrophic hymn, (both by the same author) for 3d.

I am, Sir,

As for "his Lordship's" verses on the Death of the Princess Charlotte, can any person think them superior to Wordsworth's exquisite Sonnet on our late revered Monarch (given in your last number in one of the controversial letters) but a fool_and_a driveller? I shall not mention the other quotations of Aristarchus's, but give an illustration of the charge made by the Editor of the Literary Gazette, and repeated by M. M. in the 981st column of your present volume, that his Lordship has "deigned to borrow" BYRON AND WORDSWORTH.--- WORDSfrom "turgid Coleridge," according to his own opinion.

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Your obedient humble servant,
MARK COLeridge.

November 9th, 1821.

WORTH VINDICATED.

MR. EDITOR.

SIR, The papers which have appeared in your interesting Magazine, on Byron and Wordsworth, I have perused with the greatest pleasure, and cannot but censure the passion which dictated the first letter of Aristarchus.

In his last he seems not to have abated any of his fiery temper: he has introduced in it the puerilities of Wordsworth, to compare with the best specimens of Byron's poetry he could select; this I consider as unfair. The conclusion of Wordsworth's "Comberland Beggar," as given in M. M.'s worth," col. 983, is fully equal to any "Observations on Byron and Wordsof the specimens of Byron's poetry given by Aristarchus; yet, that some

of Wordsworth's puerilities are unworthy of his genius, I will allow; but be "has long since made an amende honorable," by giving to the world poetry, not inferior to any of the present

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