ABSTRACT
‘Why is the harp of Quantock 1 so long silent?’ was the affectionate expostulation of one who remembered its early melodies, and who lamented that they were so prematurely suffered to expire. But why, being a poet, it may be asked, did not Mr. Coleridge delight continually in his high calling? Did he feel no pleasure in the exercise of his art? how quenched he the fire of inspiration? how sealed his prophetic lips? In short, why, being a son of Apollo, did he cease to sing? We do not know that we are authorised even to suppose the cause; but in our days at least, we think it as much as even men highly gifted can expect, if they are enabled to rise to eminence in any one accomplishment or art; and though the mind is enriched and supported by fullness and variety of attainment, yet undoubtedly there are some studies that exercise apparently no favourable influence on the cultivation of others. We suppose no great mathematician was ever a great poet. Now, it is perhaps possible, that Mr. Coleridge’s profound investigations, various and splendid acquirements, remote speculations, recondite reasonings and disquisitions, may have carried his mind away from those trains of thoughts which poetry calls her own, and have given it other associations less favourable and native to it. Perhaps the reason is to be referred to other causes. To the engrossing nature of the important questions connected with the constitutional and religious welfare of the country. Something to the demands of society and distractions of conversation: something to the reluctance which all occasionally feel to write, when they can indulge in the luxury of spreading the thoughts of others before them, and feeding at will on the fruits of their rich imaginations, and gazing on the magnificent creations of their genius: or lastly, perhaps, the public mind has been slow in appreciating the value of Mr. Coleridge’s poems, has visited them with neglect, has met them with ridicule, and has found itself incapable of duly estimating their merit. We presume that this latter cause may not be without reason advanced by us. Mr. C. has profoundly studied the principles of 612poetry; he has rigidly adhered to those principles in the execution of his art, and he has left to the public the free choice of approbation or neglect. He has not, as other poets have done, supplicated their favour, followed their direction, bowed to their caprices, and pandered to their desires. Mr. Coleridge has studied, till study has led to well-grounded love and highest admiration, the elder poets of his country: he has recognized the justness of their views, the excellence of their execution; and he has been aware upon what deep and extensive basis they erected the imperishable edifice of their art. But in the meanwhile the public taste had followed far behind him; it had gradually been vitiated and impaired; it had lost its healthy desires and appetites; and became insatiably craving after a different kind of food. There was no lack of supply, when such was the demand; and its pampered gluttony was for ever seeking after new provocations. This has been the case with the poetic taste of the country for many years; and this at once accounts for the long neglect of those who were patiently working on the solid and assured principles of nature and truth, while others, more highly favoured, were throwing off their glittering corruscations before admiring crowds, and supplying with eager rapidity every vicious demand as it arose. Now the effect of all this has been to bring the public mind to a poetical taste and feeling which is decidedly incorrect, and opposed to the best models, ancient or modern, and to the most established rules and precedents. All the different and distinct provinces of poetry have been confounded, which had been so carefully, jealously, and properly guarded and separated. The deepest tragic passions, the most violent emotions, the most terrific inflictions, the most awful catastrophes, peculiar to that domain over which Melpomene presided, have been transplanted into those provinces which had been previously held sacred to feelings of a softer nature, more flexible, more various, more closely associated with the ordinary habits of life, with our habitual trains of thought, and with the associations and impressions which are moderated and subdued, and mingled, when the mind is in a state of health natural to it. Inordinate passion, fierce, uncontrollable resolves, inexorable destinies, and heart-rending catastrophes, have swept away before them every gentler feeling, every diversified incident, every mingled motive, every calmer desire; and all that constitutes the general character, that forms the common nature, and that makes the mingled yarn of which the life of man is woven. From this class of poets, from their erroneous views, and strange creations, and perishable theories, we turn with pleasure to the productions of Mr. 613Coleridge’s muse. There we meet with natural thoughts clothed in becoming and appropriate language, with fine picturesque imagery, rich fancies, and delicate modulation of language. While we candidly and unreservedly assert, that we do not think Mr. Coleridge successful in the delineation of the higher passions of tragedy; and that there is in his dramatic productions too much pomp of language, and a want of clear, distinct, and forcible character in his persons; while even in some other of his Poems, we still think that the gracefulness of his step is encumbered by the stately magnificence of his drapery; in many, or most of his lyrical productions, we acknowledge with delight their great and various excellence. ‘The Ancient Mariner’, ‘Christabel’, and ‘Genevieve’, are the productions of a truly poetical mind, combining original genius, with a knowledge of the Muse’s art, and with a command over the collected treasures of the realms of Parnassus. The thoughts which are conceived are expressed in the truest and most appropriate language, while the imagery that surrounds them is never wanting in harmony, and in fulness of effect. These Poems, however, are well known to the general reader, and safely inshrined in the hearts and heads of all the lovers of song. We will give therefore a fragment of one previously unknown to us, which seems to possess many of Mr. Coleridge’s peculiar excellencies—elegant in its design, and chaste in its execution.
[quotes ‘The Ballad of the Dark Ladíe’ (PW, i, 293–5)]
