He lookt earnestlie at me, on this and muttered "Prettie."
Then _Dick_ askt of him News from _London_, and he spoke, methought,
reservedlie; ever and anon turning his bright, thoughtfulle Eyes on me.
At length, we parted at the Turn of the Lane.
I askt _Dick_ who he was, and he told me he was one Mr. _John Milton_.
A SONNET
[Sidenote: _J.K. Stephen_]
Two voices are there: one is of the deep;
It learns the storm-cloud's thunderous melody,
Now roars, now murmurs with the changing sea,
Now bird-like pipes, now closes soft in sleep:
And one is of an old half-witted sheep
Which bleats articulate monotony,
And indicates that two and one are three,
That grass is green, lakes damp, and mountains steep:
And, Wordsworth, both are thine: at certain times
Forth from the heart of thy melodious rhymes,
The form and pressure of high thoughts will burst:
At other times--good Lord! I'd rather be
Quite unacquainted with the A.B.C.
Than write such hopeless rubbish as thy worst.
EPIGRAMS
[Sidenote: _Matthew Prior_]
To John I ow'd great obligation;
But John, unhappily, thought fit
To publish it to all the nation:
Sure John and I are more than quit.
Yes, every poet is a fool:
By demonstration Ned can show it:
Happy, could Ned's inverted rule
Prove every fool to be a poet.
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