THE COURSE OF TIME.

Robert Pollok, A.M.! this work of yours

Is meant, I do not doubt, extremely well,

And the design I deem most laudable,

But since I find the book laid on my table,

I shall presume (with the fair owner's leave)

To note a single slight deficiency:

I mean, in short (since it is called a poem),

That in the course of ten successive books

If something in the shape of poetry

Were to be met with, we should like it better;

But nothing of the kind is to be found,

Nothing, alas! but words of the olden time,

Quaint and uncouth, contorted phrase and queer,

With the familiar language that befits

Tea-drinking parties most unmeetly matched.