MR. WYATT-EDGELL'S POEMS.
[TO THE EDITOR OF THE "SPECTATOR."]
SIR,—A notice of my poems appeared in your impression of last Saturday, and you honoured me by quoting at length one of the stanzas in " Amadeus."
You will allow me to say that the misprints in the quotation have made the passage read almost like nonsense. For " then" my text has " there," and for " silver pine" " sylvan quire," and the last verses of the stanza run thus :—
" 'Tis there the listless, greenly-purpled sea, Doth smooth his ripples, breathless to admire The crowns ye form for overhanging hills: Descend, descend, to join the sylvan quire ;
Already, though untimely, thrills The dirge for Amadeus dead and gone: The music immaturely fills The pining rallies and the forests wan, Whose melancholy echoes waft the cadence on."
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