t is a kind of ode "to the Daisy,--" very flat, feeble, and
affected; and in diction as artificial, and as much encumbered with
heavy expletives as the theme of an unpractised schoolboy....

The scope of the piece is to say, that the flower is found everywhere;
and that it has suggested many pleasant thoughts to the author--some
chime of fancy, "_wrong or right_"--some feeling of devotion _more or
less_--and other elegancies of the same stamp....

The next is called "Louisa," and begins in this dashing and affected
manner.

I met Louisa in the shade;
And, having seen that lovely maid,
_Why should I fear to say_
That she is ruddy, fleet and strong;
_And down the rocks can leap along_,
Like rivulets in May? I. 7.

Does Mr. Wordsworth really imagine that this is more natural or engaging
than the ditties of our common song-writers?...

By and by, we have a piece of namby-pamby "to the Small Celandine,"
which we should almost have taken for a professed imitation of one of
Mr. Phillips's prettyisms....

Further on, we find an "Ode to Duty," in which the lofty vein is very
unsuccessfully attempted. This is the concluding stanza.

Stern lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face;
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds;
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens through thee are fresh and strong. I. 73.

The two last lines seem to be utterly without meaning; at least we have
no sort of conception in what sense _Duty_ can be said to keep the old
skies _fresh_, and the stars from wrong.

The next piece, entitled "The Beggars," may be taken, in fancy, as a
touchstone of Mr. Wordsworth's merit. There is something about it that
convinces us it is a favourite of the author's; though to us, we will
confess, it appears to be a very paragon of silliness and
affectation.... "Alice Fell" is a performance of the same order.... If
the printing of such trash as this be not felt as an insult on the
public taste, we are afraid it cannot be insulted.

After this follows the longest and most elaborate poem in the volume,
under the title of "Resolution and Independence." The poet roving about
on a common one fine morning, falls into pensive musings on the fate of
the sons of song, which he sums up in this fine distich.

We poets in our y