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I RISE from a careful perusal of Campbell's poetry with a feeling of mingled surprise and indignation that he is at present so much neglected, and with the conviction that a later generation will do more honour to his memory than we have done. It is not enough to say that he had his fame in his lifetime, that he was well pensioned for what he did, and that he lived to disappoint the hopes which he excited at the beginning of his career. One might reply that the services he rendered his country by his patriotic songs have not ceased, or been superseded by any later master of the lyre ; and, though he is by no means equal, and his inequalities are far from microscopic, yet the author little deserves neglect who has written such fine, bold, and varied poems as Ye Mariners of England, The Last Man, Lines on Leaving a Scene in Bavaria, Hohenlinden, To the Rainbow, Napoleon and the British Sailor, Lord Ullin's Daughter, Ode to Winter, The Soldier's Dream, Lochiel's Warning, The Downfall of Poland, Ode to the Evening Star, The Battle of the Baltic : it would be easy to prolong, and even to amend, the list. These and other such pieces will never be forgotten so long as the national heart responds to manly sentiment, or the imagination is capable of feeling the charm and magic influence of genuine poetry.
Campbell came before the public, at the age of twenty-one, with a metrical essay on The Pleasures of Hope. It was the last notable utterance of the eigh