The three Books that describe the poet’s residence in France have a special and a striking value of their own.  Their presentation of the phases of good men’s minds as the successive scenes of the Revolution unfolded themselves has real historic interest.  More than this, it is an abiding lesson to brave men how to bear themselves in hours of public stress.  It portrays exactly that mixture of persevering faith and hope with firm and reasoned judgment, with which I like to think that Turgot, if he had lived, would have confronted the workings of the Revolutionary power.  Great masters in many kinds have been inspired by the French Revolution.  Human genius might seem to have exhausted itself in the burning political passion of Burke, in the glowing melodrama of fire and tears of Carlyle, Michelet, Hugo; but the ninth, tenth, and eleventh Books of the Prelude, by their strenuous simplicity, their deep truthfulness, their slowfooted and inexorable transition from ardent hope to dark imaginations, sense of woes to come, sorrow for human kind, and pain of heart, breathe the very spirit of the great catastrophe.  There is none of the ephemeral glow of the political exhortation, none of the tiresome falsity of the dithyramb in history.  Wordsworth might well wish that some dramatic tale, endued with livelier shapes and flinging out less guarded words, might set forth the lessons of his experience.  The material was fitting.  The story of these three Books has something of the severity, the self-control, the inexorable necessity of classic tragedy, and like classic tragedy it has a noble end.  The dregs and sour sediment that reaction from exaggerated hope is so apt to stir in poor natures had no place here.  The French Revolution made the one crisis in Wordsworth’s mental history, the one heavy assault on his continence of soul, and when he emerged from it all his greatness remained to him.  After a long spell of depression, bewilderment, mortification, and sore disappointment, the old faith in new shapes was given back.

                  “Nature’s self,
  By all varieties of human love
  Assisted, led me back through opening day
  To those sweet counsels between head and heart
  Whence grew that genuine knowledge, fraught with peace,
  Which, through the later sinkings of this cause,
  Hath still upheld me and upholds me now.”

It was six years after his return from France before Wordsworth finally settled down in the scenes with which his name and the power of his genius were to be for ever associated.  During this interval it was that two great sources of personal influence were opened to him.  He entered upon that close and beloved companionship with his sister, which remained unbroken to the end of their days; and he first made the acquaintance of Coleridge.  The character of Dorothy Wordsworth has long taken its place in the gallery of admirable and devoted women who have inspired the work and the thoughts of great men.  “She