'--p. 8.
Here Apollo's _fire_ produces a _pyre_, a silvery pyre of clouds,
_wherein_ a spirit may _win_ oblivion and melt his essence _fine_, and
scented _eglantine_ gives sweets to the _sun_, and cold springs had
_run_ into the _grass_, and then the pulse of the _mass_ pulsed
_tenfold_ to feel the glories _old_ of the new-born day, &c.
One example more.
'Be still the unimaginable lodge
For solitary thinkings; such as dodge
Conception to the very bourne of heaven,
Then leave the naked brain: be still the leaven,
That spreading in this dull and clodded earth
Gives it a touch ethereal--a new birth.'--p. 17.
_Lodge, dodge_--_heaven, leaven_--_earth, birth_; such, in six words, is
the sum and substance of six lines.
We come now to the author's taste in versification. He cannot indeed
write a sentence, but perhaps he may be able to spin a line. Let us see.
The following are specimens of his prosodial notions of our English
heroic metre.
'Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite.
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