To The Author Of _The Excursion_

Though feebly in my harassed mind the light Of fancy burn, yet thy inspiring strain WORDSWORTH! has power to lull the sense of pain, And bring long lost illusions to my sight. Methinks the autumnal fields,--the mist-wreaths white,-- The woods,--the distant waters of the main Their wonted hues of wild enchantment gain, And, for a space, my cares are put to flight. Then, how much more shall this immortal Lay For the "free Soul" celestial sweets disclose!-- But, thine it is, oh Bard! with magic sway To charm each meaner passion to repose;-- To guide the faltering pilgrim on his way, And energise the weak, and soothe the mourner's woes.

R. P. GILLIES.

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