I much regret that I did not receive these verses while you were here, that I might have given you, _viva voce_, a comment upon them, which would be tedious by letter, and after all very imperfect.

If I have the pleasure of seeing you again, I will beg permission to dissect these verses, or any other you may be inclined to show me; but I am certain that without conference with me, or any benefit drawn from my practice in metrical composition, your own high powers of mind will lead you to the main conclusions.
You will be brought to acknowledge that the logical faculty has infinitely more to do with poetry than the young and the inexperienced, whether writer or critic, ever dreams of.

Indeed, as the materials upon which that faculty is exorcised in poetry are so subtle, so plastic, so complex, the application of it requires an adroitness which can proceed from nothing but practice, a discernment which emotion is so far from bestowing that at first it is ever in the way of it.

Here I must stop: only let me advert to two lines: 'But shall despondence therefore _blench_ my _brow_, Or pining sorrow sickly ardor o'er.' These are two of the worst lines in mere expression.

'Blench' is perhaps miswritten for 'blanch;' if not, I don't understand the word.