[5] “Samuel Taylor Coleridge and the English Romantic School,” by Alois Brandl.  Lady Eastlake’s translation, London, 1887, pp. 219-23.

[6] See vol. i., pp. 160-61.

[7] “Fourteen Sonnets, written chiefly on Picturesque Spots.”  Bath, 1789.

[8] “Samuel Taylor Coleridge,” p. 37. Cf. Wordsworth’s Sonnets “Upon Westminster Bridge” (1802) and “Scorn Not the Sonnet.”

[9] Cf. vol. i., p. 182.

[10] See Sonnet xvii., “On Revisiting Oxford.”

See also Sonnet xi., “At Ostend:” 

  “The mournful magic of their mingled chimes
  First waked my wondrous childhood into tears.”

And Cf. Francis Mahony’s “The Bells of Shandon”—­

  “Whose sounds so wild would, in the days of childhood,
  Fling round my cradle their magic spells.”

And Moore’s “Those Evening Bells.”  The twang of the wind-harp also resounds through Bowles’ Sonnets.  See for the Aeolus’ harp, vol. i., p. 165. and Cf. Coleridge’s poem, “The Eolian Harp.”

[11] “Dejection:  An Ode” (1802).

[12] SONNET XX.

    November, 1792.

    “There is strange music in the stirring wind
      When lowers the autumnal eve, and all alone
      To the dark wood’s cold covert thou art gone
    Whose ancient trees, on the rough slope reclined,
    Rock, and at times scatter their tresses sear. 
      If in such shades, beneath their murmuring,
      Thou late hast passed the happier hours of spring,
    With sadness thou wilt mark the fading year;
      Chiefly if one with whom such sweets at morn
        Or eve thou’st shared, to distant scenes shall stray. 
        O Spring, return! return, auspicious May! 
      But sad will be thy coming, and forlorn,
        If she return not with thy cheering ray,
        Who from these shades is gone, gone far away.”

[13] Cf. Scott’s “Harp of the North, that mouldering long hast hung,” etc.  “Lady of the Lake,” Canto I.

[14] “Shall gentle Coleridge pass unnoticed here,
     To turgid ode and tumid stanza dear?”
             —­“English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.”

[15] No. xxix., August, 1819, “Remarks on Don Juan.”

[16] “Time was, ere yet in these degenerate days
    Ignoble themes obtained mistaken praise. 
    When sense and wit with poesy allied,
    No fabled graces, nourished side by side. . . . 
    Then, in this happy isle, a Pope’s pure strain
    Sought the rapt soul to charm, nor sought in vain;
    A polished nation’s praise aspired to claim,
    And raised the people’s, as the poet’s fame. . . .
    [But] Milton, Dryden, Pope, alike forgot,
    Resign their hallowed bays to Walter Scott.” 
          —­“English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.”