--There live who yet remember to have seen Their courtly Figures,--seated on a stump Of an old Yew, their favourite resting-place. But, as the Remnant of the long-lived Tree Was disappearing by a swift decay, They, with joint care, determined to erect, Upon its site, a Dial, which should stand For public use; and also might survive As their own private monument; for this Was the particular spot, in which they wished (And Heaven was pleased to accomplish their desire) That, undivided their Remains should lie. So, where the mouldered Tree had stood, was raised Yon Structure, framing, with the ascent of steps That to the decorated Pillar lead, A work of art, more sumptuous, as might seem, Than suits this Place; yet built in no proud scorn Of rustic homeliness; they only aimed To ensure for it respectful guardianship. Around the margin of the Plate, whereon The Shadow falls, to note the stealthy hours, Winds an inscriptive Legend,----At these words Thither we turned; and gathered, as we read, The appropriate sense, in Latin numbers couched. "Time flies; it is his melancholy task To bring, and bear away, delusive hopes, And re-produce the troubles he destroys. But, while his blindness thus is occupied. Discerning Mortal! do thou serve the will Of Time's eternal Master, and that peace, Which the World wants, shall be for Thee confirmed."--pp. 270-3. The causes which have prevented the poetry of Mr. Wordsworth from attaining its full share of popularity are to be found in the boldness and originality of his genius. The times are past when a poet could securely follow the direction of his own mind into whatever tracts it might lead. A writer, who would be popular, must timidly coast the shore of prescribed sentiment and sympathy. He must have just as much more of the imaginative faculty than his readers, as will serve to keep their apprehensions from stagnating, but not so much as to alarm their jealousy. He must not think or feel too deeply. If he has had the fortune to be bred in the midst of the most magnificent objects of creation, he must not have given away his heart to them; or if he have, he must conceal his love, or not carry his expressions of it beyond that point of rapture, which the occasional tourist thinks it not overstepping decorum to betray, or the limit which that gentlemanly spy upon Nature, the picturesque traveller, has vouchsafed to countenance. He must do this, or be content to be thought an enthusiast.