ABSTRACT
[Joan of Arc] is certainly entitled to the first wreathe of honour among our late poetical productions. To ‘run a race with the press,’ in an epic poem, as Mr. Southey appears to have done, was juvenile presumption, of which the necessary consequence has been many defective and faulty passages: but, viewed as a whole, the performance has singular merit. It abounds in lofty conceptions, vigorous sentiments, rich imagery, and all the sublimer graces of poetry. The author possesses uncommon powers of poetic invention; and with that diligence of study, and severity of correction, to which genius so reluctantly submits, may become a poet of the first order.
