From every hedge a flower she pluck'd,
And moss from every stone,
To make a garland for her Love,
Yet left it still undone.
Still, as she rambled, was she wont
To trill a plaintive song,
'Twas wild, and full of fancies vain,
Yet suited well her wrong.
Oft too a smile, but not of joy,
Play'd on her brow o'ercast;
It was the faint cold smile of Spring,
Ere Winter yet is past.
Not a Lake poet with views on the language of poetry, but a young Fellow of an Oxford college, who spent his short life between Oxford and Winchester. The spirit and the note of Byron are to be found best, not in the satirists of whom he was a professed disciple, but in a poet whom he appears not to have knownthe author of the Duke of Benevento. Sometimes we are reminded of more recent verse. Much of the satire and many of the descriptions might have been written to-day. But anticipations and movements are, it is hoped, only an incidental matter of interest in a volume which of design takes the poets individually and tries to see them in their best work. The greater men are masters in the final art of selfexpression, and give us what we cannot find elsewhere.
The editor has made this book at the invitation of the officials of the Clarendon Press, and he now offers his thanks to them-who habitually remain nameless-for many valuable suggestions, especially when the book was printing. At an early stage he had the support of Mr. H. V. Elwin's company through several volumes of Chalmers's English Poets, and at the last stage he had the skilled and unremitting assistance of Mr. F. Page and Mr. C. Williams. D. N. S.
F Heav'n the Grateful Liberty wou'd give,
And all those Hours, propitious Fate should lend,
In blissful Ease, and Satisfaction spend:
Near some fair Town, I'd have a private Seat,
Built Uniform, not Little, nor too Great:
Better, if on a Rising Ground it stood;
Fields on this side, on that a Neighbouring Wood.
It shou'd within no other Things contain,
But what were Useful, Necessary, Plain :
Methinks 'tis Nauseous, and I'd ne'er endure
The needless Pomp of Gaudy Furniture.
A little Garden, Grateful to the Eye,
And a Cool Rivulet run murm'ring by:
On whose delicious Banks a stately Row
Of Shady Limes, or Sycamores, shou'd grow:
At th' End of which a silent Study plac'd,
Shou'd be with all the Noblest Authors Grac'd:
Horace, and Virgil, in whose Mighty Lines
Immortal Wit, and Solid Learning shines;
Sharp Juvenal, and Am'rous Ovid too,
Who all the Turns of Love's soft Passion knew;
He that with Judgment reads his charming Lines,
In which strong Art, with stronger Nature joyns,
Must grant his Fancy does the best Excel,
His Thoughts so tender, and Exprest so well;
With all those Moderns, Men of steady Sense,
Esteem'd for Learning, and for Eloquence.
In some of these, as Fancy shou'd Advise,
I'd always take my Morning Exercise :
For sure no Minutes bring us more Content,
Than those in Pleasing, Useful Studies spent.
I'd have a Clear, and Competent Estate,
That I might Live Gentilely, but not Great:
As much as I cou'd moderately spend,
A little more, sometimes t' Oblige a Friend.
Nor shou'd the Sons of Poverty Repine
Too much at Fortune, they shou'd Taste of mine;
And all, that Objects of true Pitty were,
Shou'd be Reliev'd with what Wants cou'd spare
For what, our Maker has too largely giv'n,
Shou'd be return'd, in Gratitude, to Heav'n.
A frugal Plenty shou'd my Table spread ;
With Healthy, not Luxurious Dishes Fed:
Enough to Satisfy, and something more
To Feed the Stranger, and the Neighb'ring Poor.
Strong Meat Indulges Vice, and pampering Food
Creates Diseases, and Inflames the Blood.
But what's sufficient to make Nature strong,
And the bright Lamp of Life continue long,
I'd freely take, and as I did Possess,
The Bounteous Author of my Plenty Bless.
I'd have a little Vault, but always stor'd
With the Best Wines, each Vintage cou'd afford.
Wine whets the Wit, improves its Native force,
And gives a pleasant Flavour to Discourse;
By making all our Spirits Debonair,
Throws off the Lees, the Sediment of Care.
But as the greatest Blessing, Heaven lends,
May be Debauch'd, and serve Ignoble Ends:
So, but too oft, the Grape's refreshing Juice
Does many Mischievous Effects produce.
My House shou'd no such rude Disorders know,
As from high Drinking consequently flow.
Nor wou'd I use, what was so kindly giv❜n,
To the Dishonour of Indulgent Heav'n.
If any Neighbour came, he shou'd be Free,
Us'd with Respect, and not uneasy be,
In my Retreat, or to himself, or me.
What Freedom, Prudence, and right Reason give,
All Men may with Impunity receive:
But the least swerving from their Rule's too much : For, what's forbidden us, 'tis Death to touch.
That Life might be more Comfortable yet, And all my Joys Refin'd, Sincere, and Great; I'd Chuse two Friends, whose Company wou'd be A great Advance to my Felicity:
Well Born, of Humours suited to my own,
Discreet, and Men, as well as Books, have known;
Brave, Gen'rous, Witty, and exactly Free
From loose Behaviour, or Formality;
Airy, and Prudent, Merry, but not Light,
Quick in Discerning, and in Judging right.
Secret they shou'd be, Faithful to their Trust;
In Reas'ning Cool, Strong, Temperate, and Just;
Obliging, Open, without Huffing Brave,
Brisk in Gay Talking, and in Sober, Grave;
Close in Dispute, but not Tenacious, try'd
By Solid Reason, and let that Decide;
Not prone to Lust, Revenge, or Envious Hate,
Nor busy Medlers with Intreagues of State;
Strangers to Slander, and sworn Foes to Spight,
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