Yet in these beautiful lines there is a slight error, which writers of the greatest genius very frequently fall into.--It will be needless to observe to the accurate reader, that in the fifth and sixth verses there is a verbal pleonasm where the poet speaks of the _green_ delights of _verdant_ vales. There is an oversight of the same kind in the Manners, an Ode, where the poet says, "----Seine's blue nymphs deplore In watchet weeds----." This fault is indeed a common one, but to a reader of taste it is nevertheless disgustful; and it is mentioned here, as the error of a man of genius and judgment, that men of genius and judgment may guard against it. Mr. Collins speaks like a true poet, as well in sentiment as expression, when, with regard to the thirst of wealth, he says, "Why heed we not, while mad we haste along, The gentle voice of Peace, or Pleasure's song? Or wherefore think the flowery mountain's side, The fountain's murmurs, and the valley's pride, Why think we these less pleasing to behold, Than dreary deserts, if they lead to gold?" But however just these sentiments may appear to those who have not revolted from nature and simplicity, had the author proclaimed them in Lombard Street, or Cheapside, he would not have been complimented with the understanding of the bellman.--A striking proof, that our own particular ideas of happiness regulate our opinions concerning the sense and wisdom of others! It is impossible to take leave of this most beautiful eclogue, without paying the tribute of admiration so justly due to the following nervous lines: "What if the lion in his rage I meet!---- Oft in the dust I view his printed feet: And, fearful! oft, when day's declining light Yields her pale empire to the mourner night, By hunger roused, he scours the groaning plain, Gaunt wolves and sullen tigers in his train: Before them death with shrieks directs their way, Fills the wild yell, and leads them to their prey." This, amongst many other passages to be met with in the writings of Collins, shows that his genius was perfectly capable of the grand and magnificent in description, notwithstanding what a learned writer has advanced to the contrary. Nothing, certainly, could be more greatly conceived, or more adequately expressed, than the image in the last couplet. The deception, sometimes used in rhetoric and poetry, which presents us with an object or sentiment contrary to what we expected, is here introduced to the greatest advantage: "Farewell the youth, whom sighs could not detain, Whom Zara's breaking heart implored in vain! Yet, as thou go'st, may every blast arise---- Weak and unfelt as these rejected sighs!" But this, perhaps, is rather an artificial prettiness, than a real or natural beauty. ECLOGUE III.