"Where’er you find ‘the cooling western breeze,’ In the next line, it ‘whispers thro’ the trees;’ If crystal streams ‘with pleasing murmurs creep,’ The reader’s threaten’d (not in vain) with ‘sleep;’ Then, at the last and only couplet, fraught With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along."