this is a point on which it is difficult to pronounce decidedly, and with hardly another detail of the book can any fault be found. The opening stanzas, the speech of Indolence, the striking passage where 'the shepherd of the Hebrid Isles' appears, and that describing the fancies that visit the inmates during their sleep, could not be better. How far the occasional touches of burlesque injure the claims of the piece to high poetical rank, is a very intricate question of poetical criticism upon which there is no need to enter here. It is sufficient to say that of the peculiar faculty which we have claimed for Thomson, the faculty of exhibiting specially poetical quality in a form capable of being enjoyed by everybody, there are few better examples in our language than The Castle of Indolence. GEORGE SAINTSBURY. A SNOW SCENE. [From Winter.] The keener tempests come: and fuming dun And the sky saddens with the gathered storm. At first thin wavering; till at last the flakes Fall broad, and wide, and fast, dimming the day Put on their winter-robe of purest white. 'Tis brightness all; save where the new snow melts Bow their hoar head; and, ere the languid sun And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is Till, more familiar grown, the table-crumbs THE SHEEP-WASHING. [From Summer.]. Or rushing thence, in one diffusive band, Fast, fast, they plunge amid the flashing wave, Heavy and dripping, to the breezy brow Slow move the harmless race; where, as they spread Head above head; and ranged in lusty rows The shepherds sit, and whet the sounding shears. The housewife waits to roll her fleecy stores, With all her gay-drest maids attending round. One, chief, in gracious dignity enthroned, Shines o'er the rest, the pastoral queen, and rays Her smiles, sweet-beaming, on her shepherd-king; While the glad circle round them yield their souls To festive mirth, and wit that knows no gall. Meantime, their joyous task goes on apace: Some mingling stir the melted tar, and some, Deep on the new-shorn vagrant's heaving side, To stamp his master's cypher ready stand; Others the unwilling wether drag along; And, glorying in his might, the sturdy boy Holds by the twisted horns the indignant ram. Behold where bound, and of its robe bereft, By needy man, that all-depending lord, How meek, how patient, the mild creature lies! What softness in its melancholy face, What dumb complaining innocence appears! Fear not, ye gentle tribes, 'tis not the knife Of horrid slaughter that is o'er you waved; No, 'tis the tender swain's well-guided shears, Who having now, to pay his annual care, Borrowed your fleece, to you a cumbrous load, Will send you bounding to your hills again. At first a THE COMING OF THE RAIN. [From Spring.] dusky wreath they seem to rise, Scarce staining ether; but by fast degrees, heaps on heaps, the doubling vapour sails In Along the loaded sky, and mingling deep, Sits on the horizon round a settled gloom: The wish of Nature. Gradual sinks the breeze Is heard to quiver through the closing woods, Drop the dry sprig, and, mute-imploring, eye The clouds consign their treasures to the fields; STORM IN HARVEST. [From Autumn.] Defeating oft the labours of the year, The sultry south collects a potent blast. At first, the groves are scarcely seen to stir Their trembling tops, and a still murmur runs Along the soft-inclining fields of corn; But as the aërial tempest fuller swells, And in one mighty stream, invisible, Immense, the whole excited atmosphere Impetuous rushes o'er the sounding world, Strained to the root, the stooping forest pours A rustling shower of yet untimely leaves. High-beat, the circling mountains eddy in, From the bare wild, the dissipated storm, |