And if, despite our struggles, we are accused, as we shall be, and justly, of having told some more than twice-told tales, of quoting already hackneyed quotations charity will urge in our behalf (and, let us trust, not vainly), Burns’ pathetic plea, reminding the critics, that while
“What’s done they” easily “compute.
They know not what’s resisted.”
“SOUND AND” UNSOUND, “SIGNIFYING NOTHING.”
A young gentleman of Rochester, suspecting that the poetical enthusiasm of certain of his young lady acquaintances was not genuine; that they appreciated the musical jingle of verses, without in the least regarding the sentiment, laid a wager with one of his friends, that he could write a set of stanzas, which should not contain one grain of sense, and yet would be just as warmly applauded by those young ladies as the most eloquent poetry.
He won the wager. (But this occurred many years ago. There are no such young ladies in Rochester now).
See! the fragrant twilight whispers
O’er the orient western sky,
While Aurora’s verdant vespers