TWENTY YEARS AGO. 275 



into being, and dropt a garland on his forehead; sounds etherial 

 swelled, and trembled, and revelled in the air, and forms of light 

 played in and out of sight, and all around seemed like a living 

 world of breathing poetry. Wordsworth bent with reverence over 

 the vase and declared that the waters he had obtained should be the 

 refreshment of his soul ; he then raised his countenance, which had 

 become illumined from the wave over which he had bowed, and 

 retired with a calm dignity. 



The sounds of stirring wings now ceased, the air became less 

 bright, and the flowers died away upon the banks. No other 

 Poet remained to obtain water from the Castalian stream, but still 

 it sparkled and played along, with a soul-like and melodious souncl- 

 On a sudden I heard a confusion of tongues behind me; on 

 turning round, I found that it arose from a mistaken set of gentle- 

 men who were chattering and bustling and dipping at a little 

 brook, which they deemed was the true Castalian ; their splashing 

 and vociferation, and bustle, can only be imagined by those who 

 have seen a flock of geese wash themselves in a pond with gabbling 

 importance. There was Spencer, with a goblet, lent to him by 

 a lady of quality, and Halley simpering, and bowing, and 

 reaching with a tea-cup at the water, and Wilson with a child's 

 pap-spoon, an1?l Bowles laboriously engaged in filling fourteen 

 nut-shells, and Lewis slowly and mysteriously plunging an old 

 skull into the brook : while poor Cottle fumed and angered, but 

 scarcely reached the stream at last. There were no encouraging 

 signs in the elements, no delightful sounds of attendant spirits, 

 — no springing up of flowers to cheer these worthies in their pur- 

 suits : — they seemed perfectly satisfied with their own greatness, 

 and were flattered into industry by their ovvn vanity and loudness. 

 After some time, the perpetual activity of tongues fatigued my 

 ear, and I turned myself from the noisy crowd, towards the si- 

 lent Heavens : — There, to my astonished and delighted eyes, 

 appeared Siiakspeare, surrounded with excessive light, with 

 Spenser on one hand, and Milton on the other, — and with the 

 best of our early Bards thronging about him. One glance of his 

 eye scared the silly multitude from the brook; — then, amidst 

 unearthly music, he calmly ascended, and was lost in the splen- 

 dours of the sky. — At this moment I awoke. The evening was 

 getting chili around me ; — the breeze was coldly whispering 

 through, the foilage, and the deer were couching to rest on the 

 spangled grass. I arose, — and musing on the wonders of my 

 dream, — slowly bent my way homewards. 



