ling in regard to Oscar himself rather than to any understanding of
the greatness of his work. The best public felt that he had been
dreadfully over-punished, and made a scapegoat for worse offenders and
was glad to have the opportunity of repairing its own fault by
over-emphasising Oscar's repentance and over-praising, as it imagined,
the first fruits of the converted sinner.

"The Ballad of Reading Gaol" is far and away the best poem Oscar Wilde
ever wrote; we should try to appreciate it as the future will appreciate
it. We need not be afraid to trace it to its source and note what is
borrowed in it and what is original. After all necessary qualifications
are made, it will stand as a great and splendid achievement.

Shortly before "The Ballad" was written, a little book of poetry called
"A Shropshire Lad" was published by A.E. Housman, now I believe
professor of Latin at Cambridge. There are only a hundred odd pages in
the booklet; but it is full of high poetry--sincere and passionate
feeling set to varied music. His friend, Reginald Turner, sent Oscar a
copy of the book and one poem in particular made a deep impression on
him. It is said that "his actual model for 'The Ballad of Reading Gaol'
was 'The Dream of Eugene Aram' with 'The Ancient Mariner' thrown in on
technical grounds"; but I believe that Wilde owed most of his
inspiration to "A Shropshire Lad."

Here are some verses from Housman's poem and some verses from "The
Ballad":

On moonlit heath and lonesome bank
The sheep beside me graze;
And yon the gallows used to clank
Fast by the four cross ways.

A careless shepherd once would keep
The flocks by moonlight there,[21]
And high amongst the glimmering sheep
The dead men stood on air.

They hang us now in Shrewsbury jail:
The whistles blow forlorn,
And trains all night groan on the rail
To men that die at morn.

There sleeps in Shrewsbury jail to-night,
Or wakes, as may betide,
A better lad, if things went right,
Than most that sleep outside.

And naked to the hangman's noose
The morning clocks will ring
A neck God made for other use
Than strangling in a string.

And sharp the link of life will snap,
And dead on air will stand
Heels that held up as straight a chap
As treads upon the land.

So here I'll watch the night and wait
To see the morning shine
When h