The aim was excellent, and, if Góngora finally failed, he failed partly because his disciples burlesqued his theories, and partly because he strove to make words serve instead of ideas. That his endeavour was praiseworthy in itself is as certain as that he came at last to regard his principles as almost sacred. He doubtless found some pleasure in astounding and annoying the burgess; but he aimed at something beyond making readers marvel. And though he failed to impose his doctrines permanently, it is by no means certain that he laboured in vain. If any later Spaniard has worked in the conscious spirit of the artist, seeking to avoid the commonplace, to express high thoughts in terms of beauty—though he knows it not, he owes a debt to Góngora, whose hatred of the commonplace made Castilian richer. The _Soledades_ and the _Polifemo_ have passed away, but many of the words and phrases for which Góngora was censured are now in constant use; and, _culteranismo_ apart, Góngora ranks among the best lyrists of his land. Cascales, who was at once his friend and his opponent, said that there were two Góngoras—one an angel of light, the other an angel of darkness; and the saying was true in so far as it implied that in all circumstances his air of distinction never quits him. Still the earlier Góngora is the better, and before we leave him we should quote, as an example of that first happy manner, inimitable in its grace and humour, Churton's not too unsuccessful version of _The Country Bachelor's Complaint_:— "_Time was, ere Love play'd tricks with me, I lived at ease, a simple squire, And sang my praise-song, fancy free, At matins in the village quire...._ _I rambled by the mountain side, Down sylvan glades where streamlets pass Unnumber'd, glancing as they glide Like crystal serpents through the grass...._ _And there the state I ruled from far, And bade the winds to blow for me, In succour to our ships of war, That plough'd the Briton's rebel sea;_ _Oft boasting how the might of Spain The world's old columns far outran, And Hercules must come again, And plant his barriers in Japan...._ _'Twas on St. Luke's soft, quiet day, A vision to my sight was borne, Fair as the blooming almond spray, Blue-eyed, with tresses like the morn...._ _Ah! then I saw what love could do, The power that bids us fall or rise, That wounds the firm heart through and through, And strikes, like Cæsar, at men's eyes._ _I saw how dupes, that fain would run, Are caught, their breath and courage spent, Chased by a foe they cannot shun, Swift as Inquisitor on scent...._ _Yet I've a trick to cheat Love's search, And refuge find too long delay'd; I'll take the vows of Holy Church, And seek some reverend cloister's shade._"