Mr. Moxon has published in a single volume, matching the
edition of the Poems; the Sonnets. of William Words- worth; to which the poet has added a few additions, only one of them approaching excellence, and several sinking below medio- crity. That on the Ballot is sheer absurdity. Its companion, relegated to the appendix, contains a feeble but malignant attack on AIL GROTE, which affectation of scrupulous delicacy only renders ridiculous : since every public man is open to satire, —and as bitter as you please, as untruth recoils upon the ut- terer,—the hypocrisy of drawing the dis,tinction which Mr. WORDS. WORTHsets up between the body and the notes of a book, is an artifice as shallow as contemptible. The following sonnet, a sequel to one on Sergeant TALFOURIA defunct Copyright Bill, is tender and touching.
A POET TO IIIS GRANDCHILD.
" Son of my buried son, while thus thy hand Is clasping mine, it saddens me to think How Want may press thee down, and with thee sink Thv children left unfit, through vain demand Of culture, even to feel or understand My simplest lay that to their memory May cling : hard fate ! which haply need not be Did Justice mould the statutes of dm land.
A book time-cherished and an honoured name Are high rewards ; but bound they nature's claim Or reasons? No ! hopes, spun in timid line From out the bosom of a modest home, Extend through unambitious years to come, My careless little one, for thee and thine ! "
It may be questioned, however, whether posterity will take the poet at his own valuation : and, since the subject is forced upon us, it may be remarked, that Mr. WORDSWORTH'S literary merits, years ago psi:cured him, we believe, an easy and not unluerative public office, or one, at all events, which yields him a much higher income than the most distinguished of his poetical pre- decessors enjoyed.
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