of a century ago, (Mr. Beddoes was then, we believe, a student
at Pembroke College, Oxford, and a minor,) the _Edinburgh Review_
ventured upon a prediction of future fame and achievement for the
writer, which an ill-chosen and ill-directed subsequent career
unhappily intercepted and baffled. But in proof of the noble natural
gifts which suggested such anticipation, the production before us
remains: and we may judge to what extent a more steady course and
regular cultivation would have fertilized a soil, which, neglected
and uncared for, has thrown out such a glorious growth of foliage and
fruit as this Fool's Tragedy."

The following exquisite lyric is among the passages with which these
judgments are sustained:

"If thou wilt ease thine heart
Of love and all its smart,
Then sleep, dear, sleep;
And not a sorrow
Hang any tear on your eyelashes;
Lie still and deep
Sad soul, until like sea-wave washes
The rim o' the sun to-morrow,
In eastern sky.

But wilt thou cure thine heart
Of love and all its smart,
Then die, dear, die;
'Tis deeper, sweeter,
Than on a rose bank to lie dreaming
With folded eye;