'Such the sun, the moon, Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep; and such are daffodils, With the green world they live in; and clear rills That for themselves a cooling covert make 'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms; And such too is the grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead,' &c. Here it is clear that the word, and not the idea, _moon_, produces the simple sheep and their shady _boon_, and that 'the _dooms_ of the mighty dead' would never have intruded themselves but for the 'fair musk-rose _blooms_.' "Again-- 'For 'twas the morn. Apollo's upward fire Made every eastern cloud a silvery pyre Of brightness so unsullied that therein A melancholy spirit well might win Oblivion, and melt out his essence fine Into the winds. Rain-scented eglantine Gave temperate sweets to that well-wooing sun; The lark was lost in him; cold springs had run To warm their chilliest bubbles in the grass; Man's voice was on the mountains: and the mass Of Nature's lives and wonders pulsed tenfold To feel this sunrise and its glories old.' Here Apollo's _fire_ produces a _pyre_--a silvery pyre--of clouds, _wherein_ a spirit might _win_ oblivion, and melt his essence _fine_; and scented _eglantine_ gives sweets to the _sun_, and cold springs had _run_ into the _grass_; and then the pulse of the _mass_ pulsed _tenfold_ to feel the glories _old_ of the new-born day, &c. "One example more-- 'Be still the unimaginable lodge For solitary thinkings, such as dodge Conception to the very bourne of heaven, Then leave the naked brain; be still the leaven That, spreading in this dull and clodded earth, Gives it a touch ethereal--a new birth.' _Lodge_, _dodge_--_heaven_, _leaven_--_earth_, _birth_--such, in six words, is the sum and substance of six lines. "We come now to the author's taste in versification. He cannot indeed write a sentence, but perhaps he may be able to spin a line. Let us see. The following are specimens of his prosodial notions of our English heroic metre: 'Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon, The passion poesy, glories infinite. 'So plenteously all weed-hidden roots. 'Of some strange history, potent to send. 'Before the deep intoxication. 'Her scarf into a fluttering pavilion. 'The stubborn canvas for my voyage prepared. 'Endymion, the cave is secreter Than the isle of Delos. Echo hence shall stir No sighs but sigh-warm kisses, or light noise Of thy combing hand, the while it travelling cloys And trembles through my labyrinthine hair.'