As the ample Moon,

In the deep stillness of a summer even
Rising behind a thick and lofty Grove,
Burns like an unconsuming fire of light
In the green trees; and kindling on all sides
Their leafy umbrage, turns the dusky veil
Into a substance glorious as her own,
Yea, with her own incorporated, by power
Capacious and serene: Like power abides
In Man's celestial Spirit; Virtue thus
Sets forth and magnifies herself; thus feeds
A calm, a beautiful and silent fire,

From the incumbrances of mortal life,

From error, disappointment, . . nay from guilt;
And sometimes, so relenting Justice wills,

From palpable oppressions of Despair.

WORDSWORTH.

P R E F A СЕ.

THIS poem was commenced at Keswick, Dec. 2. 1809, and finished there July 14. 1814.

A French translation, by M. B. de S., in three volumes 12mo., was published in 1820, and another by M. le Chevalier *** in one volume 8vo., 1821. Both are in prose.

When the latest of these versions was nearly ready for publication, the publisher, who was also the printer, insisted upon having a life of the author prefixed. The French public, he said, knew nothing of M. Southey, and in order to make the book sell, it must be managed to interest them for the writer. The Chevalier represented as a conclusive reason for not attempting any thing of the kind, that he was not acquainted with M. Southey's

private history. "Would you believe it?" says a friend of the translator's, from whose letter I transscribe what follows; "this was his answer verbatim: N'importe, écrivez toujours; brodez, brodezla un peu ; que ce soit vrai ou non ce ne fait rien ; qui prendra la peine de s'informer ?"" Accordingly a Notice sur M. Southey was composed, not exactly in conformity with the publisher's notions of biography, but from such materials as could be collected from magazines and other equally unauthentic sources.

In one of these versions a notable mistake occurs, occasioned by the French pronunciation of an English word. The whole passage indeed, in both versions, may be regarded as curiously exemplifying the difference between French and English poetry.

"The lamps and tapers now grew pale,
And through the eastern windows slanting fell
The roseate ray of morn. Within those walls
Returning day restored no cheerful sounds
Or joyous motions of awakening life;

But in the stream of light the speckled motes
As if in mimicry of insect play,

Floated with mazy movement. Sloping down

Over the altar pass'd the pillar'd beam,
And rested on the sinful woman's grave

As if it enter'd there, a light from Heaven.
So be it! cried Pelayo, even so!

As in a momentary interval,

When thought expelling thought, had left his mind
Open and passive to the influxes

Of outward sense, his vacant eye was there, . .
So be it, Heavenly Father, even so!
Thus may thy vivifying goodness shed
Forgiveness there; for let not thou the groans
Of dying penitence, nor my bitter prayers
Before thy mercy-seat, be heard in vain!

And thou, poor soul, who from the dolorous house
Of weeping and of pain, dost look to me

To shorten and assuage thy penal term,

Pardon me that these hours in other thoughts
And other duties than this garb, this night
Enjoin, should thus have past! Our mother-land
Exacted of my
heart the sacrifice;

And many a vigil must thy son perform
Henceforth in woods and mountain fastnesses,
And tented fields, outwatching for her sake
The starry host, and ready for the work
Of day, before the sun begins his course.'

* See pages 77, 78. antè.