I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine— it is mainly a Greek note which is struck. Then, again in his:— . . . look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold! we are at the very point of transition from the Greek note to the Celtic; there is the Greek clearness and brightness, with the Celtic aërialness and magic coming in. Then we have the sheer, inimitable Celtic note in passages like this:— Met we on hill, in dale, forest or mead, By paved fountain or by rushy brook, Or in the beached margent of the sea— or this, the last I will quote:— The moon shines bright. In such a night as this, When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, And they did make no noise, in such a night Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls— . . . in such a night Did Thisbe fearfully o’ertrip the dew— . . . in such a night _Stood Dido_, _with a willow in her hand_, _Upon the wild sea-banks_, _and waved her love_ _To come again to Carthage_. And those last lines of all are so drenched and intoxicated with the fairy-dew of that natural magic which is our theme, that I cannot do better then end with them. And now, with the pieces of evidence in our hand, let us go to those who say it is vain to look for Celtic elements in any Englishman, and let us ask them, first, if they seize what we mean by the power of natural magic in Celtic poetry; secondly, if English poetry does not eminently exhibit this power; and, thirdly, where they suppose English poetry got it from? * * * * *