measured by the space which they occupy upon paper.  For the Reader cannot be too often reminded that Poetry is passion:  it is the history or science of feelings:  now every man must know that an attempt is rarely made to communicate impassioned feelings without something of an accompanying consciousness of the inadequateness of our own powers, or the deficiencies of language.  During such efforts there will be a craving in the mind, and as long as it is unsatisfied the Speaker will cling to the same words, or words of the same character.  There are also various other reasons why repetition and apparent tautology are frequently beauties of the highest kind.  Among the chief of these reasons is the interest which the mind attaches to words, not only as symbols of the passion, but as ‘things’, active and efficient, which are of themselves part of the passion.  And further, from a spirit of fondness, exultation, and gratitude, the mind luxuriates in the repetition of words which appear successfully to communicate its feelings.  The truth of these remarks might be shown by innumerable passages from the Bible and from the impassioned poetry of every nation.

    Awake, awake, Deborah! awake, awake, utter a song:  Arise Barak, and
    lead captivity captive, thou Son of Abinoam.

    At her feet he bowed, he fell, he lay down:  at her feet he bowed, he
    fell:  where he bowed there he fell down dead.

    Why is his Chariot so long in coming? why tarry the Wheels of his
    Chariot?

    (Judges, chap. v. verses 12th, 27th, and part of 28th.)

  See also the whole of that tumultuous and wonderful Poem.”

“The poem of ‘The Thorn’, as the reader will soon discover, is not supposed to be spoken in the author’s own person:  the character of the loquacious narrator will sufficiently shew itself in the course of the story.”

W. W. Advertisement to “Lyrical Ballads,” 1798.

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[Alfoxden, 1798.  Arose out of my observing, on the ridge of Quantock Hill, on a stormy day, a thorn, which I had often past in calm and bright weather, without noticing it.  I said to myself, “Cannot I by some invention do as much to make this Thorn permanently as an impressive object as the storm has made it to my eyes at this moment?” I began the poem accordingly, and composed it with great rapidity.  Sir George Beaumont painted a picture from it, which Wilkie thought his best.  He gave it me:  though when he saw it several times at Rydal Mount afterwards, he said, ’I could make a better, and would like to paint the same subject over again.’  The sky in this picture is nobly done, but it reminds one too much of Wilson.  The only fault, however, of any consequence is the female figure, which is too old and decrepit for one likely to frequent an eminence on such a call.—­I.  F.]

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