Austin Dobson.—Andrew Lang.
Ah me! how many Fate makes mourn
Unhonoured in our midst to dwell,
Tho’ Epics write they, and—in scorn,
Shun Rondeau, Ballade, Villanelle;
Blank verse they scan—at times, as well,
In jolts and jingles harsh rhymes clang,
But fail to reach the pinnacle
Of Austin Dobson—Andrew Lang,
Dear brothers these, whose names adorn