them, as in the
conversation of two persons on scenery, the one originally an
enthusiast in his love of the works of nature, the other driven, by
disappointment or weariness, to solace himself with them as he might.
It is a contrast which every one must have observed, when such topics
come under discussion in society; and those who think it worth while,
may find abundant illustration of it in the writings of this
unfortunate but illustrious pair. The one all overflowing with the
love of nature, and indicating, at every turn, that whatever his lot
in life, he could not have been happy without her. The other visibly
and wisely soothing himself, but not without effort, by attending to
rural objects, in default of some more congenial happiness, of which
he had almost come to despair. The latter, in consequence, laboriously
sketching every object that came in his way: the other, in one or two
rapid lines, which operate, as it were, like a magician's spell,
presenting to the fancy just that picture, which was wanted to put the
reader's mind in unison with the writer's. We would quote, as an
instance, the description of Evening in the Fourth Book of the _Task_:

Come Ev'ning, once again, season of peace;
Return, sweet Ev'ning, and continue long!
Methinks I see thee in the streaking west
With matron-step slow-moving, while the night
Treads on thy sweeping train; one hand employ'd
In letting fall the curtain of repose
On bird and beast, the other charg'd for man
With sweet oblivion of the cares of day:
Not sumptuously adorn'd, nor needing aid,
Like homely-featur'd night, of clust'ring gems;
A star or two, just twinkling on thy brow,
Suffices thee; save that the moon is thine
No less than her's, not worn indeed on high
With ostentatious pageantry, but set
With modest grandeur in thy purple zone,
Resplendent less, but of an ampler round.
Come then, and thou shalt find thy vot'ry calm,
Or make me so. Composure is thy gift.

And we would set over against it that purely pastoral chant:

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers
To deck her gay, green spreading bowers;
And now comes in my happy hours,
To wander wi' my Davie.
Meet me on the warlock knowe,
Dainty Davie, dainty Davie,
There I'll spend the day wi' you,
My ain dear dainty Davie.

The crystal waters round us fa',
The merry birds are love