"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?" I fondly ask: But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need Either man's work, or his own gifts; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest: They also serve, who only stand and wait." More recently _Wordsworth_, who died in 1850, aged 80, has followed Milton in his application of this form of poetry to higher subjects than that to which it was applied by Petrarch. A very great fault however is his abolishing Milton's method of designating the stanzas and thus showing the places of the rhymes, the pleasures of which are gone if their places are not easily found. He wrote 282 sonnets: he wrote too many; and they are often diffuse and languid. The following is one of his sonnets: it is on the Pastoral Character. "A genial hearth, a hospitable board, And a refined rusticity belong To the neat mansion, where, his Flock among, The learned Pastor dwells, their watchful Lord. Though meek and patient as a sheathed sword, Though pride's least lurking thought appear a wrong To human kind; though peace be on his tongue, Gentleness in his heart; can earth afford Such genuine state, pre-eminence so free, As when, array'd in Christ's authority, He from the pulpit lifts his awful hand; Conjures, implores, and labors all he can For re-subjecting to divine command The stubborn spirit of rebellious man?" The readers of poetry ought to feel much indebted to Mr. Wordsworth for his remarks in regard to the language of poetry, and in regard to the value of enkindled emotions. In his judgment, there ought not to be a distinct poetic diction, separate from the language of good prose; the poet should aim at good sense and intelligible diction, using the language of men, abandoning "a large portion of phrases and figures of speech, which from father to son have long been regarded as the common inheritance of poets," and even abstaining from many good expressions, which bad poets have so foolishly and perpetually repeated, as to render them disgusting. As illustrating his meaning, he quotes from a sonnet of _Gray_;―― "In vain to me the smiling mornings shine, And reddening Phœbus lifts his golden fire: The birds in vain their amorous descants join, Or cheerful fields resume their green attire: These ears, alas! for other notes repine." Here this false diction destroys the value of every line. The other remark of Mr. Wordsworth is this;――"all good poetry is the spontaneous overflow of good feelings." Perhaps it might be also said, that in addition to sensibility and impassioned expression there should be chosen, for the highest poetry, subjects of moral dignity and religious interest, having a close bearing on human welfare not only for a moment but for perpetuity. NOTES.