Warrior,' and a chivalrous legend on 'The Horn of Egremont Castle,'
which, without being very good, is very tolerable, and free from most of
the author's habitual defects. Then follow some pretty, but professedly
childish verses, on a kitten playing with the falling leaves. There is
rather too much of Mr Ambrose Philips here and there in this piece also;
but it is amiable and lively.

Further on, we find an 'Ode to Duty,' in which the lofty vein is very
unsuccessfully attempted. This is the concluding stanza.

'Stern lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face;
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds;
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens through thee are fresh and strong.' I. 73.

The two last [_sic_] lines seem to be utterly without meaning; at least
we have no sort of conception in what sense _Duty_ can be said to keep
the old skies _fresh_, and the stars from wrong.

The next piece, entitled 'The Beggars,' may be taken, we fancy, as a
touchstone of Mr Wordsworth's merit. There is something about it that
convinces us it is a favourite of the author's; though to us, we will
confess, it appears to be a very paragon of silliness and affectation.
Our readers shall have the greater part of it. It begins thus.

'She had a tall man's height, or more;