Is sometimes rough, and something of a sting
Dwells in the music that we hear thee sing."
and
"Take back thy taunt, I say; and with the same
Accept our pardon; or if this offend,
Why, then, no pardon, e'en in England's name.
We have our country still, and thou thy fame!"
At the same time no one in all England does more justice and honor to Swinburne's genius than Eric Mackay.
His own strength as a poet suggests to the reader the idea of a spirited horse reined in tightly and persistently,—a horse which prances wildly at times and frets and foams at the bit, and might, on the least provocation, run wild in a furious and headlong career, sweeping all conventionalities out of its road by a sheer, straight-ahead gallop. Mr. Mackay is, however, a careful, even precise rider, and he keeps a firm hand on his restless Pegasus—so firm that, as his taste always leads him to depict the most fanciful and fine emotions, his steady resoluteness of restraint commands not only our admiration but our respect. While passionate to an extreme in the "Love-Letters," he is never indelicate; the coarse, almost brutal, allusions made by some writers to certain phases of so-called love, which are best left unsuggested, never defile the pen of our present author, who may almost be called fastidious in such matters. How beautiful and all-sufficing to the mind is the line expressing the utter satisfaction of a victorious lover:—