being formed in the very poetry of nature. His wild and
enthusiastic imagination was chastened by the sensibility of his heart. His
soul overflowed with ardent affections, and his friendship was of that
devoted and wondrous nature that the worldly-minded teach us to look for only
in the imagination. But even human sympathies were not sufficient to
satisfy his eager mind. The scenery of external nature, which others regard
only with admiration, he loved with ardour:
The sounding cataract
Haunted him like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to him
An appetite; a feeling, and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, or any interest
Unborrow d from the eye.
[Wordsworth s Tintern Abbey .]
And where does he now exist? Is this gentle and lovely being lost
for ever? Has this mind, so replete with ideas, imaginations fanciful
and magnificent, which formed a world, whose existence depended on the
life of its creator; has this mind perished? Does it now only exist
in my memory? No, it is not thus; your form so divinely wrought, and
beaming with beauty, has decayed, but your spirit still visits and
consoles your unhappy friend.
Pardon this gush of sorrow; these ineffectual words are but a slight
tribute to the unexampled worth of Henry, but they soothe my heart,
overflowing with the anguish which his remembrance creates. I will
proceed with my tale.
Beyond Cologne we descended to the plains of Holland; and we resolved to
post the remainder of our way, for the wind was contrary and the stream of
the river was too gentle to aid us.
Our journey here lost the interest arising from beautiful scenery, but we
arrived in a few days at Rotterdam, whence we proceeded by sea to England.
It was on a clear morning, in the latter days of December, that I first saw
the white cliffs of Britain. The banks of the Thames presented a new scene;
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