seems, from its gothic structure and original, to bear some relation to the subject and spirit of the Poem. It admits both simplicity and magnificence of sound and of language beyond any other stanza that I am acquainted with. It allows the sententiousness of the couplet, as well as the more complex modulation of blank verse. What some critics have remarked, of its uniformity growing at last tiresome w the ear, be found to hold true only when the poetry faulty in other respects.

will

is

THE MINSTREL; OR, THE PROGRESS

OF GENIUS.

BOOK L

I.

Аn! who can tell how hard it is to climb
The steep where Fame's proud temple shines

afar!

Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime
Has felt the influence of malignant star,
And waged with Fortune an eternal war;
Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown,
And Poverty's unconquerable bar,

In life's low vale remote has pined alone,
Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown!

II.

And yet the languor of inglorious days,
Not equally oppressive is to all:

Him who ne'er listen'd to the voice of praise,
The silence of neglect can ne'er appall.
There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's call,

Would shrink to hear the obstreperous trump

of Fame;

Supremely blest, if to their portion fall

Health, competence, and peace.

aim

Nor higher

Had he, whose simple tale these artless lines pro

claim.

III.

The rolls of fame I will not now explore; Nor need I here describe, in learned lay, How forth the Minstrel far'd in days of yore, Right glad of heart, though homely in array; His waving locks and beard all hoary gray; While from his bending shoulder decent hung His harp, the sole companion of his way, Which to the whistling wind responsive rung: And ever as he went some merry lay he sung.

IV.

Fret not thyself, thou glittering child of pride, That a poor villager inspires my strain; With thee let Pageantry and Power abide: The gentle Muses haunt the sylvan reign; Where thro' wild groves at eve the lonely swain Enraptur'd roams, to gaze on Nature's charms; They hate the sensual, and scorn the vain, The parasite their influence never warms, Nor him whose sordid soul the love of gold alarms.