He was now only twenty-three years old and the problem of choosing a vocation was complicated by his marriage in 1867. He spent five years in the study and practice of law, during which time he wrote comparatively little verse. But the law could not hold him; he felt premonitions of death and realized he must devote his talents to art before it was too late. He was fortunate enough to obtain a position as flautist with the Peabody Symphony Orchestra in 1873 in Baltimore, where he had free access to the music and literature he craved. Here he wrote all of his best poetry. In 1879, he was made lecturer on English in Johns Hopkins University, and it was for his courses there that he wrote his chief prose work, a brilliant if not conclusive study, _The Science of English Verse_. Besides his poetry, he wrote several books for boys, the two most popular being _The Boy’s Froissart_ (1878) and _The Boy’s King Arthur_ (1880). Lanier’s poetry, charming though most of it is, suffers from his all too frequent theorizing, his too conscious effort to bring verse over into the province of pure music. He thought almost entirely, even in his most intellectual conceptions, in terms of musical form. His main theory that English verse has for its essential basis not _accent_ but a strict musical _quantity_ is a wholly erroneous conclusion, possible only to one who could write “whatever turn I have for art is purely musical—poetry being with me a mere tangent into which I shoot.” Lanier is at his best in his ballads, although a few of his lyrics have a similar spontaneity. In spite of the fact that he had rather novel schemes of rhythm and stanza-structure, much of his work is marred by strained effects, elaborate conceits and a kind of verse that approaches mere pattern-making. But such a vigorous ballad as “The Song of the Chattahoochee,” lyrics like “Night and Day” and “The Stirrup Cup,” and parts of the symphonic “Hymns of the Marshes” are sure of a place in American literature. Never a great figure, he was one of the most interesting and spiritual of our minor poets. Lanier died, a victim of his disease, in the mountains of North Carolina, September 7, 1881. SONG OF THE CHATTAHOOCHEE[4] Out of the hills of Habersham, Down the valleys of Hall, I hurry amain to reach the plain, Run the rapid and leap the fall, Split at the rock and together again, Accept my bed, or narrow or wide, And flee from folly on every side With a lover’s pain to attain the plain Far from the hills of Habersham, Far from the valleys of Hall.