ing out any unjustly neglected poem, jumps with the original intention of this Series; and I may truly say with old Izaac Walton, that these smooth verses please me better than many of the strong lines now in fashion. This little Erotic romance is so short that, if the eyes were not dazzled by thick-bubbling tears, the whole might be perused in ten minutes; however the reader needs not be alarmed, for my intention is only by glimpses of its beauties to provoke him to the purchase of the book[1].—Hunt with his
- ↑ "Hero and Leander, and Bacchus and Ariadne," two original poems, by Leigh Hunt, 12mo. 1819. The lay of the Panther, at the end, (taken from Philostratus's Life of Apollonius of Tyana) is worth the total cost. The essence of youth flames and dances in its elastic lines.—The old legend of Ariadne, too, is very originally embodied,—the opening is "wet with roarie may-dews,"—it is drowned in the cool gray air of dawn.
"The moist and quiet morn was scarcely breaking,
When Ariadne in her bower was waking;
Her eyelids still were closing, and she heard
But indistinctly yet a little bird,
That in the leaves o'erhead, waiting the sun,
Seemed answering another distant one.
