His prose is superior to his verse. No successful appeal can be made from Dr. Southey's sever judgment upon the Song of the Soul. His ears were first tuned to poetry by the music of the Fairy Queen, which his father often read aloud on the winter evenings: the harp of Spenser was never touched by a ruder hand. But to he few who were willing to accept the grandeur of the conception for the poverty of the execution, the poems of More will not be destitute of interest. He did not wander along the Great Sea of Beauty without beholding the forms that rose from its waters; and from the intricacies of his harsh and gnarled phraseology, thoughts of grace and tenderness often come out to meet us. Mr. Campbell has compared his poetry to some strange grotto, whose gloomy labyrinths we might be curious to explore for the strange associations they excite.