"We touched the hem Of the dark mountain's robe, that falls in folds Of emerald sward around his feet, and there Upon its tufted velvet we sat down," was inspired by perusal of Dr. Holmes's ode to "Evening--by a Tailor":-- "Day hath put on his jacket, and around His burning bosom buttoned it with stars Here will I lay me on the velvet grass, That is like padding to earth's meagre ribs." But Mr. Holland's fancy is of a quality which transcends all feigning in others. Whatever it touches it figures in gross material substance, preferably wood or some sort of upholstery. When, however, his hero first stood in Broadway, he seems to have found no fabric of the looms, no variety of plumage, no sort of precious wood or dye-stuff equal to the allegory, and he wreaks himself in the following tremendous hydraulic image;-- "I saw the waves of life roll up the steps Of great cathedrals and retire; and break In charioted grandeur at the feet Of marble palaces, and toss their spray Of feathered beauty through the open doors, To pile the restless foam within; and burst On crowded caravansaries, to fall In quick return; and in dark currents glide Through sinuous alleys, and the grimy loops Of reeking cellars, and with softest plash Assail the gilded shrines of opulence, And slide in musical relapse away."