754. W. W. to ALEXANDER DYCE

• Address: The Rev^d Alex. Dyce, 9 Grey's Inn Sq^re, London.
• Postmark: 23 Apr. [? 1833].
• Stamp: Kendal Penny Post.
• MS. Victoria and Albert Museum.
• Mem. Grosart. K.
• LY ii. 651.

[c. 22 Apr. 1833]

My dear Sir,

The dedication¹ which you propose I shall esteem as an honor; nor do I conceive upon what ground, but an over-scrupulous modesty, I could object to it.

Be assured that Mr Southey will not have the slightest unwillingness to your making any use you think proper of his Memoir of Bampfylde:² I shall not fail to mention the subject to him upon the first opportunity.

You propose to give specimens of the best Sonnet-writers in our language. May I ask if by this be meant a Selection of the best Sonnets, best both as to kind and degree? A Sonnet may be excellent in its kind, but that kind of very inferior interest to one of a higher order, though not perhaps in every minute particular quite so well executed, and from the pen of a writer of inferior Genius. It should seem that the best rule to follow, would be, first to pitch upon the Sonnets which are best both in kind and perfectness of execution, and, next, those which, although of a humbler quality, are admirable for the finish and happiness of the execution, taking care to exclude all those which have not one or other of these recommendations, however striking they might be as characteristic of the age pg 604in which the author lived, or some peculiarity of his manner. The tenth sonnet of Donne, beginning 'Death, be not proud', is so eminently characteristic of his manner, and at the same time so weighty in thought, and vigorous in the expression, that I would entreat you to insert it,¹ though to modem taste it may be repulsive, quaint, and laboured.

There are two sonnets of Russell,² which, in all probability, you may have noticed, 'Could, then, the Babes', and the one upon Philoctetes, the last six lines of which are first-rate. Southey's Sonnet to Winter³ pleases me much; but, above all, among modem writers, that of Sir Egerton Brydges, upon Echo and Silence.⁴ Miss Williams's Sonnet upon Twilight is pleasing; that upon Hope of great merit.⁵

Do you mean to have a short preface upon the Construction of the Sonnet? Though I have written so many, I have scarcely made up my own mind upon the subject. It should seem that the Sonnet, like every other legitimate composition, ought to have a beginning, a middle, and an end—in other words, to consist of three parts, like the three propositions of a syllogism, if such an illustration may be used. But the frame of metre adopted by the Italians does not accord with this view, and, as adhered to by them, it seems to be, if not arbitrary, best fitted to a division of the sense into two parts, of eight and six lines each. Milton, however, has not submitted to this. In the better half of his sonnets the sense does not close with the rhyme at the eighth line, but overflows into the second portion of the metre. Now it has struck me, that this is not done merely to gratify the ear by variety and freedom of sound, but also to aid in giving that pervading sense of intense Unity in which the excellence of the Sonnet has always seemed to me mainly to pg 605consist. Instead of looking at this composition as a piece of architecture, making a whole out of three parts, I have been much in the habit of preferring the image of an orbicular body,—a sphere—or a dew-drop. All this will appear to you a little fanciful; and I am well aware that a Sonnet will often be found excellent, where the beginning, the middle, and the end are distinctly marked, and also where it is distinctly separated into two parts, to which, as I before observed, the strict Italian model, as they write it, is favorable. Of this last construction of Sonnet, Russell's upon Philoctetes is a fine specimen; the first eight lines give the hardship of the case, the six last the consolation, or the per-contra.¹ Ever faithfully,

• Your much obliged Friend and Ser^nt,    
• W. Wordsworth  

Do not pay the postage of your letter to me.

In the case of the Cumberland poet,² I overlooked a most pathetic circumstance. While he was lying under the tree, and his friends were saving what they could from the flames, he desired them to bring out the box that contained his papers if possible. A person went back for it, but the bottom dropped out and the papers fell into the flames and were consumed. Immediately upon hearing this the poor old Man expired.