tever Prior obtains above
mediocrity seems the effort of struggle and of toil. He has many
vigorous but few happy lines; he has every thing by purchase, and
nothing by gift; he had no "nightly visitations" of the muse, no
infusions of sentiment or felicities of fancy.

His diction, however, is more his own than that of any among the
successors of Dryden; he borrows no lucky turns, or commodious modes of
language, from his predecessors. His phrases are original, but they are
sometimes harsh; as he inherited no elegancies, none has he bequeathed.
His expression has every mark of laborious study; the line seldom seems
to have been formed at once; the words did not come till they were
called, and were then put by constraint into their places, where they do
their duty, but do it sullenly. In his greater compositions there may be
found more rigid stateliness than graceful dignity.

Of versification he was not negligent: what he received from Dryden he
did not lose; neither did he increase the difficulty of writing by
unnecessary severity, but uses triplets and alexandrines without
scruple. In his preface to Solomon he proposes some improvements, by
extending the sense from one couplet to another, with variety of pauses.
This he has attempted, but without success; his interrupted lines are
unpleasing, and his sense, as less distinct is less striking.

He has altered the stanza of Spenser, as a house is altered by building
another in its place of a different form. With how little resemblance he
has formed his new stanza to that of his master, these specimens will
show:

SPENSER.

She flying fast from heaven's hated face,
And from the world that her discover'd wide,
Fled to the wasteful wilderness apace,
From living eyes her open shame to hide,
And lurk'd in rocks and caves long unespy'd.
But that fair crew of knights, and Una fair,
Did in that castle afterwards abide,
To rest themselves, and weary powers repair,
Where store they found of all, that dainty was and rare.

PRIOR.

To the close rock the frighted raven flies,
Soon as the rising eagle cuts the air:
The shaggy wolf unseen and trembling lies,
When the hoarse roar proclaims the lion near.
Ill-starr'd did we our forts and lines forsake,
To dare our British foes to open fight:
Our conquest we by stratagem should make;
Our triumph