Than him that said, 'Rejoice! rejoice!'"
So much for the poetry, but still where is the poet? It may be supposed by what has already been said, that he is not very readily to be found. Next to nothing has yet been known of him or his haunts. It has been said that his poetry showed from internal evidence that he came somewhere out of the fens. In three fourths of his verses there is something about "glooming flats," "the clustered marish-mosses," a poplar, a water-loving tree, that
"Shook alway,
All silver green with gnarled bark;
For leagues no other tree did mark
The level waste, the rounding gray."
Or a whole Lincolnshire landscape of—
"A sand-built ridge
Of heaped hills that mound the sea,
Overblown with murmurs harsh,