Life of Lord Byron, With His Letters And Journals, Vol. 5 | Page 6

century and a half
between them of time, and of thousands in point of general readers.
"It may be asked, why, having this opinion of the present state of
poetry in England, and having had it long, as my friends and others
well know--possessing, or having possessed too, as a writer, the ear of
the public for the time being--I have not adopted a different plan in my
own compositions, and endeavoured to correct rather than encourage
the taste of the day. To this I would answer, that it is easier to perceive
the wrong than to pursue the right, and that I have never contemplated
the prospect 'of filling (with Peter Bell, see its Preface,) permanently a
station in the literature of the country.' Those who know me best, know
this, and that I have been considerably astonished at the temporary
success of my works, having flattered no person and no party, and
expressed opinions which are not those of the general reader. Could I
have anticipated the degree of attention which has been accorded,
assuredly I would have studied more to deserve it. But I have lived in
far countries abroad, or in the agitating world at home, which was not
favourable to study or reflection; so that almost all I have written has
been mere passion,--passion, it is true, of different kinds, but always
passion: for in me (if it be not an Irishism to say so) my indifference
was a kind of passion, the result of experience, and not the philosophy
of nature. Writing grows a habit, like a woman's gallantry: there are
women who have had no intrigue, but few who have had but one only;
so there are millions of men who have never written a book, but few
who have written only one. And thus, having written once, I wrote on;

encouraged no doubt by the success of the moment, yet by no means
anticipating its duration, and I will venture to say, scarcely even
wishing it. But then I did other things besides write, which by no means
contributed either to improve my writings or my prosperity.
"I have thus expressed publicly upon the poetry of the day the opinion I
have long entertained and expressed of it to all who have asked it, and
to some who would rather not have heard it; as I told Moore not very
long ago, 'we are all wrong except Rogers, Crabbe, and Campbell.'[4]
Without being old in years, I am in days, and do not feel the adequate
spirit within me to attempt a work which should show what I think
right in poetry, and must content myself with having denounced what is
wrong. There are, I trust, younger spirits rising up in England, who,
escaping the contagion which has swept away poetry from our
literature, will recall it to their country, such as it once was and may
still be.
"In the mean time, the best sign of amendment will be repentance, and
new and frequent editions of Pope and Dryden.
"There will be found as comfortable metaphysics and ten times more
poetry in the 'Essay on Man,' than in the 'Excursion.' If you search for
passion, where is it to be found stronger than in the epistle from Eloisa
to Abelard, or in Palamon and Arcite? Do you wish for invention,
imagination, sublimity, character? seek them in the Rape of the Lock,
the Fables of Dryden, the Ode on Saint Cecilia's Day, and Absalom and
Achitophel: you will discover in these two poets only, all for which
you must ransack innumerable metres, and God only knows how many
writers of the day, without finding a tittle of the same qualities,--with
the addition, too, of wit, of which the latter have none. I have not,
however, forgotten Thomas Brown the Younger, nor the Fudge Family,
nor Whistlecraft; but that is not wit--it is humour. I will say nothing of
the harmony of Pope and Dryden in comparison, for there is not a
living poet (except Rogers, Gifford, Campbell, and Crabbe) who can
write an heroic couplet. The fact is, that the exquisite beauty of their
versification has withdrawn the public attention from their other
excellences, as the vulgar eye will rest more upon the splendour of the

uniform than the quality of the troops. It is this very harmony,
particularly in Pope, which has raised the vulgar and atrocious cant
against him:--because his versification is perfect, it is assumed that it is
his only perfection; because his truths are so clear, it is asserted that he
has no invention; and because he is always intelligible, it is taken for
granted that he has no genius. We are sneeringly told that he is the 'Poet
of Reason,' as if this was a reason for his being