Askest thou if in my youth I have mounted, as others have mounted, Galloping Hexameter, Pentameter cantering after, English by dam and by sire; bit, bridle, and saddlery, English; English the girths and the shoes; all English from snaffle to crupper; Everything English around, excepting the tune of the jockey? Latin and Greek, it is true, I have often attach'd to my phaeton Early in life, and sometimes have I ordered them out in its evening, Dusting the linings, and pleas'd to have found them unworn and untarnisht. Idle! but Idleness looks never better than close upon sunset. Seldom my goosequill, of goose from Germany, fatted in England, (Frolicksome though I have been) have I tried on Hexameter, knowing Latin and Greek are alone its languages. We have a measure Fashion'd by Milton's own hand, a fuller, a deeper, a louder. Germans may flounder at will over consonant, vowel, and liquid, Liquid and vowel but one to a dozen of consonants, ending Each with a verb at the tail, tail heavy as African ram's tail, Spenser and Shakspeare had each his own harmony; each an enchanter Wanting no aid from without. _Chevy Chase_ had delighted their fathers, Though of a different strain from the song on the _Wrath of Achilles_. Southey was fain to pour forth his exuberant stream over regions Near and remote: his command was absolute; every subject, Little or great, he controll'd; in language, variety, fancy, Richer than all his compeers and wanton but once in dominion; 'Twas when he left the full well that for ages had run by his homestead, Pushing the brambles aside which encumber'd another up higher, Letting his bucket go down, and hearing it bump in descending, Grating against the loose stones 'til it came but half-full from the bottom. Others abstain'd from the task. Scott wander'd at large over Scotland; Reckless of Roman and Greek, he chanted the _Lay of the Minstrel_ Better than ever before any minstrel in chamber had chanted. Never on mountain or wild hath echo so cheerfully sounded, Never did monarch bestow such glorious meeds upon knighthood, Never had monarch the power, liberality, justice, discretion. Byron liked new-papered rooms, and pull'd down old wainscot of cedar; Bright-color'd prints he preferr'd to the graver cartoons of a Raphael, Sailor and Turk (with a sack,) to Eginate and Parthenon marbles, Splendid the palace he rais'd--the gin-palace in Poesy's purlieus; Soft the divan on the sides, with spittoons for the qualmish and queesy. Wordsworth, well pleas'd with himself, cared little for modern or ancient. His was the moor and the tarn, the recess in the mountain, the woodland Scatter'd with trees far and wide, trees never too solemn or lofty, Never entangled with plants overrunning the villager's foot-path. Equable was he and plain, but wandering a little in wisdom, Sometimes flying from blood and sometimes pouring it freely.