of his genius but this and writer whose verse in its deeper even pope s in melody fancied himself a a society singer and in his false ambition the of and prior but while he was vainly attempting to subdue for himself a province in land there lay a romantic island of which was his by and it was pope who opened his eyes to this fact we know little of s life but we may be sure from internal evidence that his last three poems were composed during the five years between the publication of forest and his own death yet though pope awakened his genius within him was not the of pope within the narrow range of what he did well there was no writer of his time who showed a greater originality the english poets the may be considered as forming the and of poetry in england it is more exactly in the french taste than any work that preceded it and after it english poetry swiftly passed into the of s poem is the model of a moral the movement is dignified and rapid the action and reflection are balanced with exquisite skill the surprise is admirably prepared and the treatment never flags from beginning to end the french complaint of the lack of style in our minor poetry might have been triumphantly confronted by the and of the infancy of our criticism by a reference to which if we are ready to grant that polish elegance and are the main elements of poetry could scarcely be surpassed in any language but more of real inspiration attended the composition of his two remarkable the night piece and the hymn to contentment in these he originated two distinct streams of poetical influence for the former was no less certainly the of the curious school of young and than the latter was of exquisite strain of writing in both he shows himself the of milton and the ringing measure as no one had done since was published the lines with which we open our selection from the hymn to contentment reach a higher range of melody and strike a more subtle of fancy than perhaps any other verses of that age yet has been neglected from his own generation to ours and it is doubtful whether his moral can ever hope to regain the popular ear w thomas par from a night piece on death by the blue s trembling light no more i waste the night intent with endless view to pore the and the o er their books from wisdom widely stray or point at best the longest way ill seek a path and go where wisdom s surely taught below how deep yon the sky where of gold d lie while through their ranks in silver pride the seems to glide i the breeze forgets to breathe the lake is smooth and clear beneath where once again the show to meet our eyes below the grounds which on the right in from the view retire the left presents a place of graves whose wall the silent water that guides thy doubtful sight among the livid of night there pass with melancholy state by all the solemn heaps of fate and think as softly sad you tread above the venerable dead time was like thee they life and time shall be that thou shalt rest those graves with bending bound that nameless heave the ground quick to the glancing thought disclose where toil and poverty repose the english poets the smooth stones that bear a name the s slender help to fame which ere our set of friends decay their frequent steps may wear away a middle race of mortals own men half ambitious all unknown the marble that rise on high whose dead in arches lie whose pillars swell with stones arms angels and bones these all the poor remains of state adorn the rich or praise the great who while on earth in fame they live are senseless of the fame they give ha while i gaze pale the bursting earth the shades all slow and wan and d with they rise in visionary crowds and all with sober accent cry think mortal what it is to die from a hymn to contentment the silent heart which grief soft and o er the sees open rivers run and seeks as i have vainly done amusing thought but to know that solitude s the nurse of woe no real happiness is found in trailing purple o er the ground or in a soul exalted high to range the circuit of the sky converse with stars above and know all nature in its forms below thomas par the rest it seeks in seeking dies and doubts at last for knowledge rise lovely lasting peace appear this world itself if thou art here is once again with and man contains it in his breast twas thus as under shade i stood i sung my wishes to the wood and lost in thought no more perceived the branches whisper as they d it seem d as all the quiet place confessed the presence of the grace when thus she spoke � go rule thy will bid thy wild passions all be still know god � and bring thy heart to know the joys which from religion flow then every grace shall prove its guest and i ll be there to crown the rest oh by yonder seat in my hours of sweet retreat might i thus my soul employ with sense of gratitude and joy i raised as ancient were in heavenly vision praise and prayer pleasing all men none pleased and blessed with god alone then while the gardens take my sight with all the colours of delight while silver waters glide along to please my ear and court my song i ll lift my voice and tune my string and thee great source of nature sing 