the man.  It is slipshod, easy, and pleasing.  If the distinguishing quality of poetry be to give pleasure, then Parnell is a poet.  You never thrill under his power, but you read him with a quiet, constant, subdued gratification.  If never eminently original, he has the art of enunciating common-places with felicity and grace.  The stories he relates are almost all old, but his manner of telling them is new.  His thoughts and images are mostly selected from his common-place book; but he utters them with such a natural ease of manner, that you are tempted to think them his own.  He knows the compass of his poetical powers, and never attempts anything very lofty or arduous.  His “Allegory on Man,”—­pronounced by Johnson his best,—­seems rather a laborious than a fortunate effusion.  His “Hymn to Contentment” is animated, as the subject required, by a kind of sober rapture.  His “Faery Tale” is a good imitation of that old style of composition.  His “Hesiod” catches the classical tone and spirit with considerable success.  His “Flies,” and “Elegy to the Old Beauty,” are ingenious trifles.  His “Nightpiece on Death” has fine touches, but is slight for such a theme, and must not be named beside Blair’s “Grave,” and Gray’s “Elegy written in a Country Churchyard.”  His translations we have, in accordance with the plan of this edition, omitted—­and, indeed, they are little loss.  His “Bookworm,” &c., are adaptations from Beza and other foreign authors.  By far his most popular poem is the “Hermit.”  In it he tells a tale that had been told in Arabic, French, and English, for the tenth time; and in that tenth edition tells it so well, that the public have thanked him for it as for an original work.  Of course, the story not being Parnell’s, it is not his fault that it casts no light upon the dread problems of Providence it professed to explain.  But the incidents are recorded with ease and liveliness; the characters are rapidly depicted, and strikingly contrasted; and many touches of true poetry occur.  How vivid this couplet, for instance—­

  “Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care,
  And half he welcomes in the shivering pair!”

How picturesque the following—­

  “A fresher green the smiling leaves display,
  And, glittering as they tremble, cheer the day!”

The description of the unveiled angel approaches the sublime—­

  “Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair;
  Celestial odours breathe through purpled air;
  And wings, whose colours glitter’d on the day,
  Wide at his back, their gradual plumes display. 
  The form ethereal bursts upon his sight,
  And moves in all the majesty of light.”

A passage of similar brilliance occurs in “Piety, or the Vision”—­

“A sudden splendour seem’d to kindle day; A breeze came breathing in; a sweet perfume, Blown from eternal gardens, fill’d the room, And in a void of blue, that clouds invest, Appear’d a daughter of the realms of rest.”

Such passages themselves are enough to prove Parnell a true poet.