As I read, a new world, hitherto unimagined, opened itself out, stretching far away into serene infinitudes.

The region was one to me unknown, but the harmony of the picture attested its reality.

Above and around were indeed [273] _A Song of Faith, Devout Exercises, and Sonnets_ (Pickering).

The Dedication closed thus: 'I may at least hope to be named hereafter among the friends of Wordsworth.' 'An ampler ether, a diviner air, And fields invested with purpureal gleams;' and when I reached the line, 'Calm pleasures there abide--majestic pains,' I felt that no tenants less stately could walk in so lordly a precinct.
I had been translated into another planet of song--one with larger movements and a longer year.

A wider conception of poetry had become mine, and the Byronian enthusiasm fell from me like a bond that is broken by being outgrown.