springs generally from some evil source, implies the existence of some evil principle. Familiar as this habit, this instance of "giddiness of heart and brain," is to most of us, I am not aware that it has ever been expressed in poetry, or even in prose, by any other writer; if so, this passage is a rarity, similar to those four stanzas in Gray's Elegy, beginning, "Yet e'en these bones," &c., of which Dr. Johnson says, "they are to me original; I have never seen the notions in any other place; yet he that reads them here persuades himself that he has always felt them."
The author then endeavours to offer some explanation of this phenomenon, and carries out the germ of ill to its full extent, as exemplified in Sir Leoline:
"Perhaps 'tis pretty to force together
Thoughts so all unlike each other;
To mutter and mock a broken charm,
To dally with wrong that does no harm;
Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty,
At each wild word to feel within
A sweet recoil of love and pity."
It appears to me that the third line in this passage, from its being introduced too early (if I may venture to say so), on this account unnecessarily increases the difficulty; it occurs before the idea has been sufficiently developed; while it belongs rather to the result of this evil leaven than to the explanation of it, with which the poet is here engaged. The "charm" to which he alludes is, of course, the tie that binds us to the object of affection, and which forbids us to speak any but words of love and tenderness.