Here was no poem, but here was poetry, and a sure index where
the subtle muse was about to pitch her tent and find the argument of
her song. It was the human soul in these last ages striving for a
just publication of itself. Add to this, however, the great praise
of Wordsworth, that more than any other contemporary bard he is
pervaded with a reverence of somewhat higher than (conscious)
thought. There is in him that property common to all great poets, a
wisdom of humanity, which is superior to any talents which they
exert. It is the wisest part of Shakspeare and of Milton. For they
are poets by the free course which they allow to the informing soul,
which through their eyes beholdeth again and blesseth the things
which it hath made. The soul is superior to its knowledge, wiser
than any of its works.
With the name of Wordsworth rises to our recollection the name
of his contemporary and friend, Walter Savage Landor -- a man working
in a very different and peculiar spirit, yet one whose genius and
accomplishments deserve a wiser criticism than we have yet seen
applied to them, and the rather that his name does not readily
associate itself with any school of writers.
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