"He was quite right. I, too, was so overdosed with Horace as a boy, that I don't do him justice now I am old. I suppose Horace was the most popular poet that ever lived?" * * * * * Rough dissonant words in great poets were a trial to him; he declared that those horrid words, _Eingeweide_ and _Beschützer_, are the ruin of Goethe's otherwise perfect lyrics. _T._ "At Weimar the Grand Duchess sent an apology for not receiving me in person. After visiting Goethe's study, bedroom and sitting-room, I was shocked by the meanness of the streets, and the horrid smells in the town itself. I felt as tetchy and vexed as Macbeth with his 'out, out, brief candle,' a passage so utterly misunderstood by Macready, who dropped his voice and gave the words a pathos that I _am quite sure_ was never intended." * * * * * _T._ "_The Tempest_ has been dreadfully damaged by scenes intercalated by some common stage-adapter. At one time of my life I thought the Sonnets greater than the Plays. Some of the noblest things are in _Troilus and Cressida_." Perseverance, dear my Lord, keeps honour bright, etc. * * * * * _T._ "Have you observed a solecism in Milton's _Penseroso_? But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloisters pale, And _love_ the high embowed roof With antique pillars massy proof, etc." _T._ "I do not remember getting from your cousin Hartley Coleridge the Sonnet you speak of, still less can I account for its being in the Library in the South Kensington Museum." This Sonnet is headed SONNET TO ALFRED TENNYSON _After meeting him for the first time_ Long have I known thee as thou art in song, And long enjoyed the perfume that exhales From thy pure soul, and odour sweet entails, And permanence on thoughts that float along The stream of life to join the passive throng Of shades and echoes that are memory's being, Hearing we hear not, and we see not seeing If Passion, Fancy, Faith, move not among The never frequent moments of reflection. Long have I view'd thee in the chrystal sphere Of verse, that like the Beryl makes appear Visions of hope, begot of recollection. Knowing thee now, a real earth-treading man Not less I love thee, and no more I can. HARTLEY COLERIDGE.