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Oft had he lit with thirsty lip Some flower-cup's nectar'd sweets to sip, When on smooth petals he would slip, Or over tangled stamens trip, And headlong in the pollen roll'd, Crawl out quite dusted o'er with gold; Or else his heavy feet would stumble Against some bud, and down he'd tumble Amongst the grass; there lie and grumble In low, soft bass poor maudlin bumble!
Wheelwright has paid much attention to this sublime and beautiful study, which so enraptured the immortal Milton: "'How charming is divine Philosophy! Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, But musical as Apollo's lute, And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets, Where no rude surfeit reigns. "It is to such a feast that the young ladies of this village will soon be invited.
In Milton we meet with many prosaic lines, either because the subject does not require raising or because they are necessary to connect the story, or serve as a relief to other passages there is not such a thing to be found in all Mr. Moore's writings. His volumes present us with "a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets" but we cannot add, "where no crude surfeit reigns."
He had a fanciful mode of illustrating abstract subjects, peculiarly to my taste; clothing them with the language of poetry, and throwing round them almost the magic hues of fiction. "How charming," thought I, "is divine philosophy;" not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, "But a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets, Where no crude surfeit reigns."
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