14 JANUARY 1871, Page 13

POETRY.

SONNET TOTHOMAS CARLYLE.

(SUGGESTED BY AN ARTICLE IN THE LAST "SPECTATOR.") OH graphic writer of the rugged pen,

Who scornest the true bard's enraptur'd rhyme, By which into the solitudes we climb Of the deep hills, or laughing mountain glen, To find the peace lost 'mid the sons of men, To fly from this world's want and strife and crime,

And only catch afar the soften'd chime

That rings in happy cities, now and then :- I would be rather he, whose simple lay Makes the heart glad like the wild skylark's song, Or cuckoo's in the woods the summer long, ' The idle singer of an empty day,' Than one who only rests from sore complaint, Groaning, heroic work in flame to paint !