Pray let me either see or hear from you as soon as possible; for, indeed and indeed, it is no inconsiderable accession to the pleasure I anticipate from disembarrassment, that _you_ would have to contemplate in a more gracious form, and in a more ebullient play of the inward fountain, the mind and manners of,
My dear friend, Your obliged and very affectionate friend, S. T. COLERIDGE. T. Allsop, Esq.[117]
Coleridge's animadversions on Scott's work are not justifiable. Although Sir Walter's poetry is not to be compared for literary technique to that of Coleridge, it has a merit not unlike some parts of Coleridge's own. Sir Walter may be designated the Poet of Romantic Association; much of his poetry is founded on the associations of localities celebrated in history. The _Second Part of Christabel_ and the _Knight's Tomb_ are clearly of this genre of poetry. A touch of jealousy of the success of Scott seems to enter into Coleridge's estimate of his brother poet. His criticism of the novels is of less importance; for Coleridge was always hostile to the novel as enticing men away from serious study and reading.]
[107] [Lockhart's _Life of Scott_, ch. xix, also Memoir of Hartley Coleridge, xxxv, prefixed to Hartley Coleridge's _Poems_, 1851.]
[108] [The date of this or Letter 179, given by Allsop, must be wrong, perhaps for 8th read 18th April.]
"a deeper import Lurks in the legend told my infant years Than lies upon that truth we live to learn," etc. _The Piccolomini_, Act II, Scene 3.]
[111] Here follows a detail of charges brought against one very near, and deservedly dear, to the writer, originating with, or adopted by the present Bishop of Llandaff. These charges were afterwards, I believe, withdrawn; at all events compensation was tendered to the party implicated [Allsop]. [This refers to Hartley.]
[113] [See Coleridge's _Miscellaneous Works_, edited by T. Ashe: Bohn Library.]
[114] Turn to Milton's _Lycidas_, sixth stanza--
Alas! what boots it with incessant care To tend the homely slighted shepherd's trade, And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? Were it not better done as others use, To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair? Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights and live laborious days; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, And slits the thin-spun life. But not the praise, Phœbus replied, and touched my trembling ears; Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, Nor on the glistering foil Set off to the world, nor in broad Rumour lies, But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes, And perfect witness of all-judging Jove; As he pronounces lastly in each deed, Of so much fame in heav'n expect thy meed.
