row_.
I_n sure content each day is spent_,
U_nheeding what may come to-morrow_.

VITAS HINNULEO

DONE BY MR. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

I _met a little Roman maid_;
S_he was just sixteen (she said)_,
A_nd O! but she was sore afraid_,
A_nd hung her modest head_.

A _little fawn, you would have vowed_,
T_hat sought her mother's side_,
A_nd wandered lonely as a cloud_
U_pon the mountain wide_.

W_hene'er the little lizards stirred_
S_he started in her fear_;
I_n every rustling bush she heard_
S_ome awful monster near_.

"I_'m not a lion; fear not so_;
S_eek not your timid dam_."--
B_ut Chloe was afraid, and O!_
S_he knows not what I am_:

A creature quite too bright and good
To be so much misunderstood.

Again, in Austin Dobson's exquisite _Triolet_, whether the inspiration
of the poem itself is in Horace, or the inspiration, so far as Horace is
concerned, lies in the choice of title after the verses were written, we
must in either case confess a debt of great delight to the author of the
_Ars Poetica_:

URCEUS EXIT

I_ intended an Ode_,
A_nd it turned to a Sonnet_.
I_t began_ a la mode,
I_ intended an Ode_;
B_ut Rose crossed the road_
I_n her latest new bonnet_;
I_ intended an Ode_,
A_nd it turned to a Sonnet_.

The same observation applies equally to the same author's _Iocosa Lyra_:

IOCOSA LYRA

I_n our hearts is the great one of Avon_
E_ngraven_,
A_nd we climb the cold summits once built on_
B_y Milton_;

B_ut at times not the air that is rarest_
I_s fairest_,
A_nd we long in the valley to follow_
A_pollo_.

T_hen we drop from the heights atmospheric_
T_o Herrick_,
O_r we pour the Greek honey, grown blander_,
O_f Landor_,

O_r our cosiest nook in the shade is_
W_here Praed is_,
O_r we toss the light bells of the mocker_
W_ith Locker_.

O_ the song where not one of the Graces_
T_ightlaces_,--
W_here we woo the sweet Muses not starchly_,
B_ut archly_,--

W_here the verse, like a piper a-Maying_
C_omes playing_,--
A_nd the rhyme is