His were, perchance, the noblest steeds of all, And from their nostrils blew a fierier dawn Above the world.... Before his hand Had learned to quell them, he was dashed to earth. Minor writers are most impartial in clearing the names of any and all historical artists by such reasoning as this. By negligible American versifiers one too often finds Burns lauded as one whom "such purity inspires," [Footnote: A. S. G., _Burns_.] and, more astonishingly, Byron conceived of as a misjudged innocent. If one is surprised to hear, in verse on Byron's death, His cherub soul has passed to its eclipse, [Footnote: T. H. Chivers, _On the Death of Byron_.] this fades into insignificance beside the consolation offered Byron by another writer for his trials in this world, Peace awaits thee with caressings, Sitting at the feet of Jesus. Better known poets are likely to admit a streak of imperfection in a few of their number, while maintaining their essential goodness. It is refreshing, after witnessing too much whitewashing of Burns, to find James Russell Lowell bringing Burns down to a level where the attacks of philistines, though unwarranted, are not sacrilegious. Lowell imagines Holy Willie trying to shut Burns out of heaven. He accuses Burns first of irreligion, but St. Paul protests against his exclusion on that ground. At the charges of drunkenness, and of yearning "o'er-warmly toward the lasses," Noah and David come severally to his defense. In the end, Burns' great charity is felt to offset all his failings, and Lowell adds, of poets in general, These larger hearts must feel the rolls Of stormier-waved temptation; These star-wide souls beneath their poles Bear zones of tropic passion. [Footnote: _At the Burns Centennial_.] Browning is willing to allow even fictitious artists to be driven into imperfect conduct by the failure of those about them to live up to their standards. For example, Fra Lippo Lippi, disgusted with the barren virtue of the monks, confesses, I do these wild things in sheer despite And play the fooleries you catch me at In sheer rage. But invariably, whatever a poet hero's failings maybe, the author assures the philistine public that it is entirely to blame. If the poet is unable to find common ground with the plain man on which he can make his morality sympathetically understood, his quarrel with the puritan is foredoomed to unsuccessful issue, for whereas the plain man will wink at a certain type of indulgence, the puritan will be satisfied with nothing but iron restraint on the poet's part, and systematic thwarting of the impulses which are the breath of life to him.