ABSTRACT
The fault of Mr Coleridge is, that he comes to no conclusion. He is a man of that universality of genius, that his mind hangs suspended between poetry and prose, truth and falsehood, and an infinity of other things, and from an excess of capacity, he does little or nothing. Here are two unfinished poems, and a fragment. Christabel, which has been much read and admitted in manuscript, is now for the first time confided to the public. The Vision of Kubla Khan still remains a profound secret, for only a few lines of it ever were written.
