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 at all more natural or
engaging than the ditties of our common song writers?

A little farther on we have another original piece, entitled, 'The
Redbreast and the Butterfly,' of which our readers will probably be
contented with the first stanza.

'Art thou the bird whom man loves best,
The pious bird with the scarlet breast,
Our little English Robin;
The bird that comes about our doors
When autumn winds are sobbing?
Art thou the Peter of Norway Boors?
Their Thomas in Finland,
And Russia far inland?
The bird, whom _by some name or other_
All men who know thee call their brother,
The darling of children and men?
Could Father Adam open his eyes,
And see this sight beneath the skies,
He'd wish to close them again.' I. 16.

This, it must be confessed, is 'Silly Sooth' in good earnest. The three
last [_sic_] lines seem to be downright raving.

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
Philip's prettyisms. Here is a page of it.

'Comfort have thou of thy merit,
Kindly, unassuming spirit!
Careless of thy neighbourhood,
Thou dost show thy pleasant face
On the moor, and in the wood,
In the lane;--there's not a place,
Howsoever mean it be,
But 'tis good enough for thee.
Ill befal the yellow flowers,
Children of the flaring hours!
Buttercups, that will be seen,
Whether we will see or no;
Others, too, of lofty mien;
They have done as worldlings do,
Taken praise that should be thine,
Little, humble, Celandine!' I. 25.

After talking of its 'bright coronet,' the ditty is wound up with this
piece of babyish absurdity.

'Thou art not beyond the moon,
But a thing "beneath our shoon;"
Let, as old Magellan did,
Others roam about the sea;
Build who will a pyramid;
Praise it is enough for me,
If there be but three or four
Who will love my little flower.' I. 30.

After this come some more manly lines on 'The Character of the Happy
Warrior,' and a chivalrous lege