“There is in them,” says Coleridge, in his “Biographia,” a harshness and acerbity combined with words and images all aglow, which might recal those products of the vegetable world, where gorgeous blossoms rise out of a hard and thorny rind or shell, within which the rich fruit is elaborating. The language is not only peculiar and strong, but at times knotty and contorted, as by its own impatient strength; while the novelty and struggling crowd of images, acting in conjunction with the difficulties of the style, demand always a greater attention than poetry,--at all events, than descriptive poetry has a right to claim.” Here is a specimen of this “gorgeous blossomy” style: “Here half a village shines in gold arrayed, Bright as the moon; half hides itself in shade; While from amid the darkened roof, the spire, Restlessly flashing, seems to mount like fire: There all unshaded, blazing forests throw Rich golden verdure on the lake below. Slow glides the sail along the illumined shore, And steals into the shade the lazy oar; Soft bosoms breathe around contagious sighs, And amorous music on the water dies.” MORE TOURS, AND FRANCE. In 1791 Wordsworth graduated, and left the University for London, where he spent four months; and in May of the same year he visited his friend Jones, in Wales, and made a tour through the northern parts of the Principality. A moonlight night on Snowdon is thus finely described in the “Prelude:-- “It was a close, warm, breezeless summer night, Wan, dull, and glaring with a dripping fog, Low hung, and thick, that covered all the sky; But undiscouraged, we began to climb The mountain side. The mist soon girt us round, And after ordinary traveller’s talk With our conductor, presently we sank Each into commerce with his private thoughts: Thus did we breast the ascent, and by myself Was nothing either seen or heard that checked Those musings, or diverted, save that once The shepherd’s lurcher, who, among the grass, Had to his joy unearthed a hedge-hog, teased His coiled-up prey, with barkings turbulent. This small adventure, for even such it seemed In that wild place, and at the dead of night, Being over and forgotten, on we wound In silence as before. With forehead bent Earthward, as if in opposition set Against an enemy, I panted up With eager pace, and no less eager thoughts. Thus might we wear a midnight hour away, Ascending at loose distance each from each, And I, as chance, the foremost of the band. When at my feet the ground appeared to brighten, And with a step or two, seemed brighter still; Nor was time given to ask or learn the cause, For instantly a light upon the turf Fell like a flash, and lo! as I looked up, The moon hung naked in a firmament Of azure without cloud, and at my feet Rested a silent sea of hoary mist.