won the praise of Robert Louis Stevenson, and which, if not the
high mark of Yeats's achievement, is still a flawless thing in its
way:

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnets' wings.

In this place, and for convenience sake, it may be permitted to speak
of aspects of Yeats's work other than that by virtue of which he is
to be classed with the group we have just considered. In his
narrative poem, "The Wanderings of Usheen", as well as in his plays
and lyrics, he is of the best of those--among them we may mention by
the way Dr. John Todhunter, Nora Hopper (Mrs. W.H. Chesson), and
William Larminie--who have revealed to our day the strange beauty of
the ancient creations of the Gaelic imagination. In prose he has
written short stories, a novelette, _John Sherman and Dhoya_, and
essays that reveal a subtle critical insight, and a style of
beautiful finish and grace, suggestive of the style of Shelley's
_Defence of Poetry_. Yeats's plays constitute a considerable and an
important part of his work, but these must be reserved for treatment
elsewhere in this book. In prefaces to anthologies of prose and verse
of his editing, in the pages of reviews, and elsewhere, he appears as
the chief apologist of the aims of the Literary Revival, and in
particular of the methods of the dramatists of the Revival. Whatever
he has touched he has lifted into the realm of poetry, and this is in
large measure true of his prose, which proceeds from the poet's point
of view and breathes the poetic spirit. A man of rare versatility, a
finished artist with a scrupulous artistic conscience, he has done
work of high and sustained quality, and is certain to exert a good
and lasting influence upon the literature of his country.

In a literary movement in the "Isle of Saints", we look naturally for
religious poetry, and we do not look in vain. This poetry, chiefly
Catholic, has a quality of its own as distinctive as that of the
writers of the group we have just left. Now it voices a naive,
devoted simplicity of Ch