|  
 |  
 
Gentleman's Magazine 1851 part 2 p.108 
  
disturbing forces in order that he might fully embody the  
statuesque pomp of the Hellenic legend, than Wordsworth  
abstracted himself from the rougher contacts of society in  
order that he might plenarily discharge his functions as the 
interpreter and priest of external nature. 
  
The principal documents employed in these memoirs are the  
poet's own autobiographical dictations to an intimate female 
friend; brief sketches of dates and facts for Dr.  
Wordsworth's instruction; a few of his uncle's letters -  
strangely few indeed they would seem for a veteran in  
literature, did we not learn from more than one of them that 
Wordsworth regarded his pen and desk as scarcely preferable  
to an oar and bench in the galleys; letters and memoranda  
contributed by his family and friends, among which those of  
Mr. Justice Coleridge are particularly graphic; and,  
finally, extracts from Miss Wordsworth's Journal, which for  
grace, expression, and veracity, are the prominent gem, as  
well as the principal nucleus, of these volumes. The poet's  
sister was indeed, in all respects, a most gifted and  
admirable lady - worthy of the affectionate mention of her  
in her brother's letters and conversation, worthy of the  
more permanent tribute of his verse, and worthy of being  
held by all to whom his verse is precious in reverent and  
grateful memory - a "clarum et venerabile nomen," wherever  
the English language ministers to the instruction, the  
consolation, or the imagination of mankind. She was the  
sister of his intellect, whose native fervour and occasional 
ruggedness were tempered and refined by her superior  
sensibility; she catered for his eye and ear at all seasons  
of travel or seclusion; she was a consellor well fitted to  
advise in either fortune; she was assured of his coming  
renown when the name of Wordsworth was almost bandied about  
by the public as a bye-word; and her earnest faith was at  
length rewarded by the increasing homage of his admirers and 
by the certainty of his present and posthumous triumph. 
  
We have so recently, in our notice of the "Prelude,"  
surveyed the earlier portions of Wordsworth's life, that, on 
this occasion, we shall merely refer briefly to the  
favourable character of his education among mountains and a  
people of simple yet picturesque manners, to the slight  
restraints of his school-days, to his own active and hardy  
habits in boyhood, to the unfavourable aspect which  
Cambridge presented to him, to his residence in France, and  
to the absorbing interest he felt in the first French  
Revolution. All these circumstances, indeed, are so fully  
and graphically delineated in the "Prelude," that the  
reader, with that aurobiographical poem and the Memoirs  
before him, would scarcely thank us for anticipating or  
abridging so interesting a narrative of the life poetic. For 
emphatically "poetic," as regards its plan and  
details, Wordsworth's life deserves to be called. We doubt,  
if the ends and aims which he set before himself be kept in  
view, whether a more consistent life was ever led, or a  
happier or more honourable lot ever assigned to man.  
Chequered it doubtless was by the ordinary accidents of  
mortality, by narrow means, by hope deferreed, and by the  
visitations of death. But "against the ills which the flesh  
is heir to," Wordsworth opposed a sterne heroism of content  
which enabled him to mate and master poverty,  
disapppointment and bereavement. And in his devotion to  
poetry as his vocation, there was nothing emasculate; no  
merely selfish exaltation; no petty claims for exemption  
from ordinary duties and courtesies. Even a propensity to  
speak of himself and his writings was not in Wordsworth an  
appetite for praise or a habit of self-complacency, so much  
as an unconscious betrayal of his efforts to realise his  
superb ideal of the life-poetic. 
  
From the moment when his poetic vocation became clear to  
himself, Wordsworth's days were as uniform in their features 
as it is possible for periods of time to be when environed  
by the accidents of mortality. His naturally robust  
constitution was invigorated by rigid temperance: "strength  
from wine," he says in one of his letters, "is good, but  
strength from water is better." He lived much in the open  
air; and his daily feats as a pedestrian would probably  
surpass the endurance of most men in these days, when wheels 
would seem to have nearly supplanted the exercise of legs.  
For a complete 
  
 |