To this habit of intellectual introversion we are very much inclined to attribute Mr. Coleridge’s never having seriously undertaken a great heroic poem.  The “Paradise Lost” may be thought to stand in the way of our laying down any general rule on the subject; yet that poem is as peculiar as Milton himself, and does not materially affect our opinion, that the pure epic can hardly be achieved by the poet in whose mind the reflecting turn greatly predominates.  The extent of the action in such a poem requires a free and fluent stream of narrative verse; description, purely objective, must fill a large space in it, and its permanent success depends on a rapidity, or at least a liveliness, of movement which is scarcely compatible with much of what Bacon calls inwardness of meaning.  The reader’s attention could not be preserved; his journey being long, he expects his road to be smooth and unembarrassed.  The condensed passion of the ode is out of place in heroic song.  Few persons will dispute that the two great Homeric poems are the most delightful of epics; they may not have the sublimity of the “Paradise Lost,” nor the picturesqueness of the “Divine Comedy,” nor the etherial brilliancy of the “Orlando”; but, dead as they are in language, metre, accent,—­obsolete in religion, manners, costume, and country,—­ they nevertheless even now please all those who can read them beyond all other narrative poems.  There is a salt in them which keeps them sweet and incorruptible throughout every change.  They are the most popular of all the remains of ancient genius, and translations of them for the twentieth time are amongst the very latest productions of our contemporary literature.  From beginning to end, these marvellous poems are exclusively objective; everything is in them, except the poet himself.  It is not to Vico or Wolfe that we refer, when we say that Homer is vox et praeterea nihil; as musical as the nightingale, and as invisible....

The “Remorse” and “Zapolya” strikingly illustrate the predominance of the meditative, pausing habit of Mr. Coleridge’s mind.  The first of these beautiful dramas was acted with success, although worse acting was never seen.  Indeed, Kelly’s sweet music was the only part of the theatrical apparatus in any respect worthy of the play.  The late Mr. Kean made some progress in the study of Ordonio, with a view of reproducing the piece; and we think that Mr. Macready, either as Ordonio or Alvar, might, with some attention to music, costume, and scenery, make the representation attractive even in the present day.  But in truth, taken absolutely and in itself, the “Remorse” is more fitted for the study than the stage; its character is romantic and pastoral in a high degree, and there is a profusion of poetry in the minor parts, the effect of which could never be preserved in the common routine of representation.  What this play wants is dramatic movement; there is energetic dialogue and a crisis