be a genius. Its advantages and its evils are so intermixed, that it is a fearful gift, for which I should not have the boldness to pray. But I cannot withhold my worship from it, wherever it inhabits. If I am asked, why, with so keen a sense of discrimination of the heavenly flame, I have in the CENSURA LITERARIA endeavoured to revive so many old volumes, which never possessed a spark of it, I answer, that it is for other subordinate claims to notice, which the course of time has given them beyond their original value, that I bring them forward; and that I call attention to them, as illustrations of the progress of language and manners. It would be easy to specify numerous works of obsolete rhymers, possessed of a considerable portion of minor ingenuity, which secured them a transient fame, and renders them still curious to the philologer and the antiquary, yet so deficient in a true poetical spirit, that not a single passage of that high class can be found in them. Some one of leading powers sets the fashion of the day; and a hundred imitators start up with productions similar to the original in shape and make, and every thing but the soul that animates it! Dull readers at first are deceived by the outward likeness; but time, the surest touchstone, proves which is buoyant, and which is doomed only to sink. A book of genius is a mirror which reflects back the rich scenery of an higher intellect, adorned with all the imagery of a visionary world. It affords one of the most acute, and surely one of the purest pleasures, of which our nature, when refined and improved by education, is capable. But alas! it is almost as rare, as it is delightful. Nov. 23, 1808, N° L. Original Poems by Mr. Capel Lofft. For the principal contents of the present paper I am indebted to the kindness of Mr. Capel Lofft, whose name is too well known in the literary world to require any eulogy from me. Whoever knows how to appreciate duly the qualities of the human mind, will admire that constant activity and energy of its powers, which enables this learned and ingenious author to employ them so unweariedly in composition. As the business, the cares, and evils of life come upon us, we are too apt to suffer our thoughts to become weakened and distracted; and are too much inclined to prefer the ease of languid idleness to fame, which must be purchased by unprofitable toils. That noble fire from heaven which prompts us "To scorn delights, and live laborious days," too frequently sinks with our youth, and almost expires before the termination of our middle age. It has been lamented how common it is to see genius consume itself by its own blaze." The high degree of sensibility, which is at once its glory and its disease, renders its operations so perpetually liable to derangement, that it can seldom act with the steady pace of a more calm and sluggish temperament. It shrinks from every rude touch like the sensitive plant; and the most trifling incident, an unkind word, or disagreeable letter, like the spell of the evil necromancer, can, in an instant, turn Elysian gardens and golden visions into barren and frowning deserts. However I may differ from a large portion of our professional censors, I shall never cease to think that the highest products of the mind are formed from the mingled ingredients of the head and the heart. Whoever therefore can properly regulate without destroying or damping those finer feelings, which give the most beautiful and attractive colours to the effusions of the poet or the moralist, possesses a rare and enviable degree of self-command, capable of the most meritorious efforts! The desire of recording and communicating the refined, the virtuous, or exalted sentiments, which swell the bosom, is an impulse very generally experienced, and implanted in our natures for the most benevolent purposes. But between the wish and the fulfilment of this impulse, how many difficulties intervene! To what numbers may we apply the enchanting words of Thomson in his inimitable Castle of Indolence. Tho' "oft the heavenly fire, that lay conceal'd Oft as he travers'd the cerulean field, And mark'd the clouds that drove before the wind, Ten thousand glorious systems would he build, Ten thousand great ideas fill'd his mind;" Yet with the clouds they fled, and left no trace behind!" To form splendid day-dreams, and to delineate as well as form them, require very different degrees of exertion, and indeed of power! These airy phantasies too often elude the grasp, and vanish in the very act of embracing them, even when we strive to retain them; an effort which is made by very few; and which is too frequently interrupted and dropped, even when, if pursued, it would have terminated in success! If there are many who scribble without the proper talents, how many gems are there buried in the ocean; and how many flowers whose sweetness has been wasted in the desert air! They who recollect the various productions of Mr. Lofft for the last thirty years will know how to value those which follow. |