t
constitute human interest."--Vol. iii. p. 323.

Qualified by some such expression as--_too often--generally--in almost
every instance_,--the last clause might have passed,--standing as it does,
it appears to me to give anything but a fair idea of the poetry of the
_Pastorals_. My two favourites are the "Description of Night"--

"Now great Hyperion left his golden throne," &c.,

(consisting of twenty-six lines)--book ii. song 1. (Clarke, p. 186.) and
the "Lament of the Little Shepherd for his friend Philocel"--

"With that the little shepherd left his task," &c.,

(forty-four lines)--book ii. song 4. (Clarke, p. 278.)

If you will allow me to quote a short extract from each passage, it may
enable the reader to see how far I am justified in protesting against
Campbell's criticism; and I will then try to support the pretensions of the
last, by showing that much of the very same imagery that it contains is to
be found in other writings of acknowledged merit:--

I. FROM THE "DESCRIPTION OF NIGHT."

"And as Night's chariot through the air was driven,
Clamour grew dumb, unheard was shepherd's song,
And silence girt the woods: no warbling tongue
Talk'd to the echo; satyrs broke their dance,
And all the upper world lay in a trance.
Only the curled streams soft chidings kept,
And little gales that from the green leaf swept
Dry summer's dust, in fearful whisp'rings stirr'd,
As loath to waken any singing bird."

II. FROM THE "LAMENT OF THE LITTLE SHEPHERD."

"See! yonder hill where he was wont to sit,
A cloud doth keep the golden sun from it,
And for his seat, (as teaching us) hath made
A mourning covering with a scowling shade.
The dew in every flower, this morn, hath lain,
Longer than it was wont, this side the plain,
Belike they mean, since my best friend must die,
To shed their silver drops as he goes by.
Not all this day here, nor in coming hither,
Heard I the sweet birds tune their songs together,
Except one nightingale in yonder dell
Sigh'd a sad elegy for Philocel.
Near whom a wood-dove kept no small ado,
To bid me, in her language, '_Do so too_'--
The wether's bell, that leads our flock around,
Yields, as methinks, this day a deader sound.
{275}
The little sparrows which in hedges creep,
Ere I was up did seem to bid me weep.
If these do so, can I have feeling less,
That am more apt to take and to express?
No--let my own t