CHAPTER X. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. [Born at Cockermouth, April 7th, 1770. Poems first published 1798. Became Poet-Laureate 1843. Died at Rydal Mount, April 23rd, 1850.] E now come to the consideration of the WE character, work, and influence of William Wordsworth. In many respects, and those the most essential, Wordsworth's influence is the most powerful and abiding poetic influence of the Victorian period. During his lifetime his fame was comparatively restricted, and during the greater part of his career his very claim to be a poet was eagerly disputed, and widely and vehemently denied. Lord Jeffrey's verdict that he was a drivelling idiot, and wouldn't do, has become historical, and is a memorable example of the ineptitude and virulence of that criticism which prevailed in the palmy days of the Edinburgh Review. By a curious chastisement of Fate, the ancient criticism is chiefly remembered to-day by its contemptuous hostility to Byron, its brutal attack on Keats, and its undiscerning violence of hatred for Wordsworth. Sydney Smith said he would be glad to be as sure of anything as Macaulay was of everything, and the dogmatical criticism of Macaulay was typical of the criticism of the time. It possessed neither justice nor urbanity; its weapons were the bludgeon and the tomahawk; and it knew no mean between extravagant laudation and merciless abuse. Some one has spoken of Macaulay as "stamping" through the fields of literature, and the phrase admirably pictures the energetic Philistinism of the critical dogmatist. It was in this spirit that England first received the poetry of a man who has been, and is, one of the noblest voices in the literary life of the century. The critics simply "stamped" upon his writings; and not merely howled derision on them, but taught his countrymen everywhere to receive his name. guffaws of brutal ridicule. In considering the works and influence of Wordsworth, we are bound to take full cognisance of the peculiarities of his own character, and the events of his own life. With all poets it is necessary to do this, but with Wordsworth most of all, because everything he has written is deeply coloured with his own individuality. He has written little that is impersonal; across almost every page there is projected the huge shadow of his own peculiar personality. While other poets have gone to history or mythology for their themes, Wordsworth found his within himself, or in the simple surroundings of one of the simplest and most uneventful of lives. He brooded over the "abysmal deeps of personality," and from them he drew the inspiration of his noblest poetry. Sometimes this superb egotism of Wordsworth is irritating, and often he becomes tedious by attaching enormous importance to the very slightest influences which have helped to form his mind, or the most trivial incidents which have composed its record. "The Prelude," which is one of his longest poems, simply describes the growth of an individual mind, and among many passages of profound thought and beauty, contains others that are both tedious and trivial, and are tedious because they are trivial. It is because Wordsworth always found the impulse of poetry within himself that it is impossible to understand his writings without a clear understanding of the significance of his life. He boldly declared that he must be taken as a teacher or as nothing. He was no fitful singer of an idle day; he believed he had a message to deliver, as truly as ever ancient seer or prophet had. For this reason Wordsworth fulfils, more perfectly than any other modern poet, the ideal conception of the Bard. According to some philologists, "minister" and "minstrel" spring from the same root, and convey the same idea. The true poet is the bard, the seer, the minister; he has a Divine ordination, and is sacred by a Divine anointing; he is a consecrated spirit, selected and commissioned for the performance of a Divine behest. This was Wordsworth's view of the function of the poet, and he endeavoured to fulfil it. This is what he meant when he said that vows were made for him, and that he must be considered as a teacher or nothing. This is the secret of that prophetic force which throbs in his best verses, and which gives them a subtle and enduring charm. They are the expression of an austere and separated soul, of a spirit which dwells amid inaccessible heights of devout vision, and speaks with the accent of one who knows the peace of lofty and satisfying purposes. This claim of Wordsworth's-to be considered as a teacher or as nothing-was a new claim to the critics of fifty years ago, and was undoubtedly one cause, and perhaps the main cause, of their prolonged and bitter hostility. We shall see, hereafter, precisely what Wordsworth meant by the claim, and how he has built up a philosophy which is its justification. But, in the first instance, the claim was based almost as much upon the literary form of his work as on its philosophic qualities, and upon a theory of literary composition which he himself has stated and developed in his prefaces with great fulness. What was that theory? Briefly put, it amounted to this: Wordsworth complained that the commonly accepted theory of poetry was both false and vicious. It had practically invented a dialect of it own, which was as far as possible removed from the ordinary dialect of the common people. It was artificial and stilted-the cant of a coterie and not the language of ordinary life. Its spirit also was wholly wrong and mistaken it had lost hold on common life, and scorned it as low and mean; it had lost hold on Nature, because it did not know how to speak of her except in ancient rhetorical phrases, which were the bronze coinage of poetry, defaced by use, and whatever might once have been true or just about them was now depraved and mutilated by unthinking use. Wordsworth held that there was sufficient interest in common life to inspire the noblest achievements of the poet, and that Nature must be observed with unflinching fidelity if she was to be described with truth or freshness. He asks why should poetry be A history only of departed things, Or a mere fiction of what never was? I, long before the blissful hour arrives, Of this great consummation :—and, by words Theme this but little heard of among men- In this noble passage from the "Recluse," the gist of Wordsworth's peculiar view of poetry is to be found. He announces a return to simplicity, to simple themes and simple language, and teaches that in the simplest sights of life and Nature there is sufficient inspiration for the true poet. He speaks of nothing more than what we are, and is prepared to write nothing that is not justified by the actual truth of things. He sets himself against that species of poetry which finds its impulse and its public in theatrical passion and morbid or exaggerated sentiment. To him the "meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears," and by preserving his soul in austere simplicity he aims at producing a species of poetry which will affect men by its truth rather than its passion, and will affect even the lowliest of men, because it is expressed in the plain and unadorned language of common life. How truly Wordsworth adhered to the great principles here enunciated his life and work declare, but it will also be apparent that his theory of poetic expression hopelessly broke down after a short trial. It may be said, indeed, that occasionally even his theory of poetry itself breaks down. In the attempt to be simple he becomes |