the epic; while as for Herrick--the _Night-Piece_, the lovely
and immortal verses _To Meadows_, the fresh yet sumptuous and noble _To
Corinna Going a-Maying_, these and a hundred more are there to answer for
_him_. Here Walton is with Herrick and Milton and many 'dear sons of
Memory' besides; and that is why he not only loved the country but was
moved to make art of it as well.

HERRICK

His Muse.

In Herrick the air is fragrant with new-mown hay; there is a morning
light upon all things; long shadows streak the grass, and on the
eglantine swinging in the hedge the dew lies white and brilliant. Out of
the happy distance comes a shrill and silvery sound of whetting scythes;
and from the near brook-side rings the laughter of merry maids in circle
to make cowslipballs and babble of their bachelors. As you walk you are
conscious of 'the grace that morning meadows wear,' and mayhap you meet
Amaryllis going home to the farm with an apronful of flowers. Rounded is
she and buxom, cool-cheeked and vigorous and trim, smelling of rosemary
and thyme, with an appetite for curds and cream and a tongue of 'cleanly
wantonness.' For her singer has an eye in his head, and exquisite as are
his fancies he dwells in no land of shadows. The more clearly he sees a
thing the better he sings it; and provided that he do see it nothing is
beneath the caress of his muse. The bays and rosemary that wreath the
hall at Yule, the log itself, the Candlemas box, the hock-cart and the
maypole, nay,

'See'st thou that cloud as silver clear,
Plump, soft, and swelling everywhere?
Tis Julia's bed!'--

And not only does he listen to the 'clecking' of his hen and know what it
means: he knows too that the egg she has laid is long and white; so that
ere he enclose it in his verse, you can see him take it in his hand, and
look at it with a sort of boyish wonder and delight. This freshness of
spirit, this charming and innocent curiosity, he carries into all he
does. He can turn a sugared compliment with the best, but when Amaryllis
passes him by he is yet so eager and unsophisticate that he can note that
'winning wave in the tempestuous petticoat' which has rippled to such
good purpose through so many graceful speeches since. So that though
Julia and Dianeme and Anthea have passed away, though Corinna herself is
merely 'a fable, song, a fleeting shade,' he has saved enough of them
from the ravin of Time for us to love and be