ing up of wind!)
And when you find out these, believe true Fame is there,
Far above all reward, yet to which all is due;
And this, ye great unknown! is only known in you.'

It is remarkable that at the very time Swift was perpetrating these
lyrical atrocities, he was at work on the _Tale of a Tub_, which is
generally regarded as the most masterly effort of his genius. A critic
has said that Swift's poetry 'lacks one quality only--imagination,' but
verse without imagination is like a body without a soul, like a house
without windows, like a landscape-painting without atmosphere, and no
license of language will allow us to call Swift a poet. Enough that he
became a master of rhyme, and used it with extraordinary facility. Dr.
Johnson's estimate of Swift's powers in this respect is a just one:

'In the poetical works of Dr. Swift there is not much upon which the
critic can exercise his powers. They are often humorous, almost always
light, and have the qualities which recommend such compositions, ease
and gaiety. They are, for the most part, what their author intended. The
diction is correct, the numbers are smooth, and the rhymes exact. There
seldom occurs a hard-laboured expression, or a redundant epithet; all
his verses exemplify his own definition of a good style; they consist of
proper words in proper places.'

The merits with which Swift's verse is credited are, therefore, not
poetical merits, unless we accept what Schlegel calls the miserable
doctrine of Boileau, that the essence of poetry consists in diction and
versification.

The great bulk of Swift's verse is suggested by the incidents of the
hour. No subject is too trivial for his pen; but the poems which are
addressed to Stella, and others which, like _Cadenus and Vanessa_, and
_On the Death of Dr. Swift_, have a personal interest, are by far the
most attractive. We see the best side of Swift when he addresses Stella,
whether in verse or prose. The birthday rhymes he delighted to write in
her praise have the mark of sincerity, and there is true feeling in the
lines which describe her as a ministering angel in his sickness:

'When on my sickly couch I lay,
Impatient both of night and day,
Lamenting in unmanly strains,
Called every power to ease my pains;
Then Stella ran to my relief
With cheerful face and inward grief;
And though by Heaven's severe decree
She suffers hourly more than me,
No cruel maste