As an essayist, Gosse is one of the most accomplished and agreeable of
modern English writers; he has comprehensive culture and catholic
sympathy, and commands a picturesque style, graceful and rich without
being florid. His 'Studies in the Literature of Northern Europe' (1879)
introduced Ibsen and other little-known foreign writers to British
readers.

Gosse has been a thorough student of English literature prior to the
nineteenth century, and has made a specialty of the literary history of
the eighteenth century, his series of books in this field
including--'Seventeenth-Century Studies' (1883), 'From Shakespeare to
Pope' (1885), 'The Literature of the Eighteenth Century' (1889), 'The
Jacobean Poets' (1894), to which may be added the volume of
contemporaneous studies 'Critical Kit-Kats' (1896). Some of these books
are based on the lectures delivered by Gosse as Clark Lecturer at
Trinity College, Cambridge. He has also written biographies of Sir
Walter Raleigh and Congreve, and his 'Life of Thomas Gray' (1882) and
'Works of Thomas Gray' (1884) comprise the best edition and
setting-forth of that poet. In such labors as that of the editing of
Heinemann's 'International Library,' his influence has been salutary in
the popularization of the best literature of the world. His interest in
Ibsen led him to translate, in collaboration with William Archer, the
dramatic critic of London, the Norwegian's play 'The Master Builder.'

Edmund Gosse, as editor, translator, critic, and poet, has done varied
and excellent work. Sensitive to many literatures, and to good
literature everywhere, he has remained stanchly English in spirit, and
has combined scholarship with popular qualities of presentation. He has
thus contributed not a little to the furtherance of literature in
England.

[The poems are all taken from 'On Viol and Flute,' published
by Henry Holt & Co., New York.]

FEBRUARY IN ROME

When Roman fields are red with cyclamen,
And in the palace gardens you may find,
Under great leaves and sheltering briony-bind,
Clusters of cream-white violets, oh then
The ruined city of immortal men
Must smile, a little to her fate resigned,
And through her corridors the slow warm wind
Gush harmonies beyond a mortal ken.
Such soft favonian airs upon a flute,
Such shadowy censers burning live perfume,
Shall lead the mystic city to her tomb;
Nor flowerless springs, nor autumns without fr