second edition of his 'Seasons,' and find that even _that_ does not
contain the most striking passages which Warton points out for
admiration; these, with other improvements, throughout the whole work,
must have been added at a later period.

When Thomson died, Collins breathed forth his regrets in an Elegiac
Poem, in which he pronounces a poetical curse upon _him_ who should
regard with insensibility the place where the Poet's remains were
deposited. The Poems of the mourner himself have now passed through
innumerable editions, and are universally known; but if, when Collins
died, the same kind of imprecation had been pronounced by a surviving
admirer, small is the number whom it would not have comprehended. The
notice which his poems attained during his life-time was so small, and
of course the sale so insignificant, that not long before his death he
deemed it right to repay to the bookseller the sum which he had advanced
for them, and threw the edition into the fire.

Next in importance to the 'Seasons' of Thomson, though at considerable
distance from that work in order of time, come the _Reliques of Ancient
English Poetry_; collected, new-modelled, and in many instances (if such
a contradiction in terms may be used) composed by the Editor, Dr. Percy.
This work did not steal silently into the world, as is evident from the
number of legendary tales, that appeared not long after its publication;
and had been modelled, as the authors persuaded themselves, after the
old Ballad. The Compilation was however ill suited to the then existing
taste of city society; and Dr. Johnson, 'mid the little senate to which
he gave laws, was not sparing in his exertions to make it an object of
contempt. The critic triumphed, the legendary imitators were deservedly
disregarded, and, as undeservedly, their ill-imitated models sank, in
this country, into temporary neglect; while Buerger, and other able
writers of Germany, were translating, or imitating these _Reliques_, and
composing, with the aid of inspiration thence derived, poems which are
the delight of the German nation. Dr. Percy was so abashed by the
ridicule flung upon his labours from the ignorance and insensibility of
the persons with whom he lived, that, though while he was writing under
a mask he had not wanted resolution to follow his genius into the
regions of true simplicity and genuine pathos (as is evinced by the
exquisite ballad of 'Sir Cauline' and by many other pieces),