’One example more:—­

“Be still the unimaginable lodge
For solitary thinkings, such as dodge
Conception to the very bourne of heaven,
Then leave the naked brain; be still the leaven
That spreading in this dull and clodded earth,
Gives it a touch ethereal—­a new birth.”

Lodge, dodge—­heaven, leaven—­earth, birth—­such, in six words, is the sum and substance of six lines.

’We come now to the author’s taste in versification.  He cannot indeed write a sentence, but perhaps he may be able to spin a line.  Let us see.  The following are specimens of his prosodial notions of our English heroic metre:—­

“Dear as the temple’s self, so does the moon, The passion poesy, glories infinite.

“So plenteously all weed-hidden roots.

“Of some strange history, potent to send.

“Before the deep intoxication.

“Her scarf into a fluttering pavilion.

“The stubborn canvas for my voyage prepared.

“Endymion, the cave is secreter
Than the isle of Delos.  Echo hence shall stir
No sighs but sigh-warm kisses, or light noise
Of thy combing hand, the while it travelling cloys
And trembles through my labyrinthine hair.”

’By this time our readers must be pretty well satisfied as to the meaning of his sentences and the structure of his lines.  We now present them with some of the new words with which, in imitation of Mr. Leigh Hunt, he adorns our language.

’We are told that turtles passion their voices; that an arbour was nested, and a lady’s locks gordianed up; and, to supply the place of the nouns thus verbalized, Mr. Keats, with great fecundity, spawns new ones, such as men-slugs and human serpentry, the honey-feel of bliss, wives prepare needments, and so forth.

’Then he has formed new verbs by the process of cutting off their natural tails, the adverbs, and affixing them to their foreheads.  Thus the wine out-sparkled, the multitude up-followed, and night up-took:  the wind up-blows, and the hours are down-sunken.  But, if he sinks some adverbs in the verbs, he compensates the language with adverbs and adjectives which he separates from the parent stock.  Thus a lady whispers pantingly and close, makes hushing signs, and steers her skiff into a ripply cove, a shower falls refreshfully, and a vulture has a spreaded tail.

’But enough of Mr. Leigh Hunt and his simple neophyte.  If any one should be bold enough to purchase this Poetic Romance, and so much more patient than ourselves as to get beyond the first book, and so much more fortunate as to find a meaning, we entreat him to make us acquainted with his success.  We shall then return to the task which we now abandon in despair, and endeavour to make all due amends to Mr. Keats and to our readers.’