Theodore and Honoria.
‘And made th’ insult, which in his grief appears,
The means to mourn thee with my pious tears.’
Sigismonda and Guiscardo.
These trifling instances of the wavering and unsettled state of the language give double effect to the firm and stately march of the verse, and make me dwell with a sort of tender interest on the difficulties and doubts of an earlier period of literature. They pronounced words then in a manner which we should laugh at now; and they wrote verse in a manner which we can do anything but laugh at. The pride of a new acquisition seems to give fresh confidence to it; to impel the rolling syllables through the moulds provided for them, and to overflow the envious bounds of rhyme into time-honoured triplets. I am much pleased with Leigh Hunt’s mention of Moore’s involuntary admiration of Dryden’s free, unshackled verse, and of his repeating con amore, and with an Irish spirit and accent, the fine lines—
‘Let honour and preferment go for gold,
But glorious beauty isn’t to be sold.’
What sometimes surprises me in looking back to the past, is, with the exception already stated, to find myself so little changed in the time. The same images and trains of thought stick by me: I have the same tastes, likings, sentiments, and wishes that I had then. One great ground of confidence and support has, indeed, been struck from under my feet; but I have made it up to myself by proportionable pertinacity of opinion. The success of the great cause, to which I had vowed myself, was to me more than all the world: I had a strength in its strength, a resource which I knew not of, till it failed me for the second time.
‘Fall’n was Glenartny’s stately tree!
Oh! ne’er to see Lord Ronald more!’