"Whoever else is, it is pretty clear that the author of Caleb Williams is not the author of Waverley. Nothing can be more distinct or excellent in their several ways than these two writers. If the one owes almost everything to external observations and traditional character, the other owes everything to internal conception and contemplation of the possible workings of the human Mind. There is little knowledge of the world, little variety, neither an eye for the picturesque nor a talent for the humorous in Caleb Williams, for instance, but you cannot doubt for a moment of the originality of the work and the force of the conception. The impression made upon the reader is the exact measure of the strength of the author's genius. For the effect both in Caleb Williams and St. Leon is entirely made out, not by facts nor dates, by blackletter, or magazine learning, by transcript nor record, but by intense and patient study of the human heart, and by an imagination projecting itself into certain situations, and capable of working up its imaginary feelings to the height of reality." This appears to me quite correct--Now I will copy the other Poem--it is on the double immortality of Poets-- Bards of Passion and of Mirth Ye have left your souls on earth-- Have ye souls in heaven too, Double liv'd in regions new? Yes--and those of heaven commune With the spheres of Sun and Moon; With the noise of fountains wondrous And the parle of voices thund'rous; With the Whisper of heaven's trees, And one another, in soft ease Seated on elysian Lawns Browsed by none but Dian's fawns; Underneath large bluebells tented, Where the daisies are rose scented, And the rose herself has got Perfume that on Earth is not. Where the nightingale doth sing Not a senseless, tranced thing; But melodious truth divine, Philosophic numbers fine; Tales and golden histories Of Heaven and its Mysteries. Thus ye live on Earth, and then On the Earth ye live again; And the souls ye left behind you Teach us here the way to find you, Where your other souls are joying Never slumber'd, never cloying. Here your earth born souls still speak To mortals of the little week They must sojourn with their cares; Of their sorrows and delights Of their Passions and their spites; Of their glory and their shame-- What doth strengthen and what maim. Thus ye teach us every day Wisdom though fled far away. Bards of Passion and of Mirth, Ye have left your Souls on Earth! Ye have souls in heaven too, Double liv'd in Regions new!