what he writes valuable is not to be found in nature. Read Michael Angelo's Sonnet, vol. ii. page 179' (of this edition).
'No mortal object did these eyes behold
When first they met the placid light of thine,
And my Soul felt her destiny divine,
And hope of endless peace in me grew bold:
Heaven-born, the Soul a heavenward course must hold;
Beyond the visible world she soars to seek
(For what delights the sense is false and weak)
Ideal Form, the universal mould.
The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest
In that which perishes: nor will he lend
His heart to aught which doth on time depend.
'Tis sense, unbridled will, and not true love.
That kills the soul: love betters what is best,
Even here below, but more in heaven above.'
In the margin of the Essay Supplementary to the Preface, against the words, 'By this time I trust the judicious reader,' Blake audaciously writes, 'I do not know who wrote these Prefaces: they are very mischievous, and direct contrary to Wordsworth's own practice.' At p. 341: 'This is not the defence of his own style in opposition to what is called poetic diction, but a sort of historic vindication of the unpopular poets.' Blake's disparaging view of the Prefaces is not shared by myself; but no less a critic than Shelley, one of Wordsworth's warmest contemporary admirers—though outraged by the poet's political and other delinquencies—in his wicked, random skit of Peter Bell the Third (1819), also disrespectfully describes Wordsworth, as in these Prefaces,—
'Writing some sad stuff in prose:
It is a dangerous invasion
When poets criticise; their station
Is to delight, not pose.'
At the end of the Supplementary Essay Blake again breaks out: 'It appears to me as if the last paragraph, beginning with "Is it the result of the whole that, in the opinion of the
