The welcome relics of the plenteous board *.
The scanty pittance of the parish pay

Was then unknown. The soul-disheart'ning badge
Of vile dependence never yet had mark'd
The poor man's back, to tell the flaunting world
He fed his wasting lamp with borrow'd oil.

"But not to ENGLAND'S isle alone confin'd
The batter'd dome, the convent's vacant walls.
Lo! frantic zeal, in GALLIA'S proud domains,
Levels to the dust the sanctity of cells.-
The vestal, who had pledg'd her faith to God,
Thrust from her cloister'd home, undaunted braves
The perils of th' inexorable deep,

To 'scape the dangers from more cruel man,
"The exil'd priests forsake their native land;

From their homes driv'n, their kindred, and their flocks,
They crave protection 'inid a host of foes.

Our generous-hearted countrymen forget,
Their hostile land and superstitious rites,
And with Samaritan benevolence

Assuage the pain, and staunch the bleeding wounds."

Here are no marks of bigotry, but a spirit of true Christian benevolence, justly distinguishing between the use and abuse of an institution, which had much in it that was praiseworthy, and which was particularly useful in the early periods of civilised society, when the intercourse between the different parts of a country was difficult, and before rates were established for the relief of the poor, Certain it is, that monks were always the best masters and the best landlords; and, with all the abuses which had, unfortunately, crept into monastic establishments, there is every reason to lament their abolition in France and the adjacent countries. But we must finish our quotation, which ends with a sentiment in perfect unison with our own feelings and opinions.

"Although the Muse rejoices in the day,

When the Church burst the bands of papal Rome,
And Reformation made Religion free;

Yet when she views the ruin'd piles around,

Whose vaulted roofs once echoed with God's praise;

Or when she sees the sacred exiles roam

Without a country, and apart from friends,

She cannot check th' involuntary sigh,

She will not blush to drop some pitying tears."

*An almoner, who was styled Eleemosynarius,' distributed the alms and broken victuals every day, at the conventgate, to the poor."-- Fosbrooke's Economy of a Monastic Life.

In describing the rural sports of the country, Mr. Skurray, very naturally, refers to that which give to them, at once, their zest and security-that equal liberty, and those equal laws, which bless this happy isle, and this alone.

"Where is the heart, that every blessing shares
Which law, and liberty, and rest can give,

But throbs with pity for their harder lot,
Who, led by curiosity to view

The pillag'd honours of Italian states,

Or who, perhaps, had roam'd in quest of health
To GALLIA'S balmy clime and mineral springs,
(For surely none e'er crossed the waves to bow
At Usurpation's footstool *) now are held
Unwilling captives in a hostile land,

By the harsh mandates of a tyrant's will.

Upon the branches of the willows grey,
Which o'er the MEUSE's silver current nod,

Their harps suspended hang. From their mute tongues
No sounds are heard of gratulating joy.

For how shall they attune their harps to mirth?
How from their lips shall joyous accents flow,
Lost to their king, their country, and their friends?
"What though the vintage, with its purple pride,
Twine round the elm, or glitter on the rock;
Yet who would not our northern clime prefer,
Where scarce a grape ere ripens in the sun,
(But where true liberty has rear'd her throne,)
To Gallia's sunny hills, and fruitful vales,
Where tyrants scowl, and lawless men bear'sway?
Unhappy hostages on VERDUN's plain!
May ye revisit soon your native hills;
Safe at a distance from Ambition's frown,
Pursue our gambols, and partake our joy!"

The lighter pieces embrace a variety of subjects, chiefly rural, and display a correct taste and a chastened judgThe following stanzas of an Ode to the Isis have something better than poetic beauty to recommend them.

ment.

"With partial fondness we retain

A sense of pleasures past,

Mingled, however, with some pain,
To think how short they last.

'Tis vain, we know, for man to mourn

Pastimes that never can return,

* With the bard's permission, we must except the late Mr. Fox, Mrs. Armstead-we beg pardon, Mrs. Fox we mean-and Mr. (now the Right Honourable Lord) Erskine.-Rev.

Yet all mankind past pleasures prize;
The mother placing all her joy
Upon her dead and darling boy,

Would pluck him from the skies.

"But ah! my friend, why should we mourn
That pleasures fly so fast?
Why sigh for days that can't return,
Or sorrow for the past?

Youth's dangerous stage of life is run,
In which so many are undone;

We should rejoice that in our youth
We never wantonly did stray
Far from the paths of wisdom's way,
Nor from the line of truth.

"If airy projects now be fled,
Which once inflamed our breast

If ardent impulses be dead,

Or calm'd to holy rest;
The high pursuits of solid truth
Transcend the short-liv'd joys of youth,
And thus we spend our day:
To us the heavenly task is given
To point the sacred road to heaven,
And tread ourselves the way.".

Where example and precept unite, the lesson can scarcely fail to produce the desired effect. We shall extract one more piece, and then consign our poet to the judgment of our readers, without the smallest fear of having our own sentence reversed by them..

<< THE CRIMINAL.

"Near the side of the road, on the bleak wild heath,
To show us how wickedness ends,

A gibbet is seen (sad memorial of death)

Where a poor hapless criminal yielded his breath,
Amidst the distress of his friends.

"The neighbours still say he was greatly carest;
In high estimation he stood;

He sung very sweetly, genteelly he drest,
Till a mad wish for riches sprung up in his breast,
Though purchas'd with rapine and blood.

"When the barbarous deed in which he had join❜d··
Was heard in the villages near,
Compunction arose in his agonis'd mind,
To think that his eye could to pity be blind,
And deaf to compassion his ear.

"The brightness soon low'r'd in his dart-piercing eyes;
The colour soon flew from his cheeks;
In his feverish dreams the traveller dies;
Stretch'd out to his fancy his mangled corse lies;
He bleeds once again, and he shrieks!

"The villagers mark'd his much-alter'd mien,
And tales were soon whispered about;
They observ'd how he hied to the thicket at e'en,
How he wish'd to escape unknown and unseen;
The murder at length is found out!

Away to the justice they hastily run,

He's question'd 'bout blood that was spilt;
Then, stung with remorse for the deed he had done,
And blushing to show his face under the sun,
He freely acknowledg'd his guilt.

"Within the dark dungeon he's quickly confin'd,
His limbs are all loaded with chains,

The gloom of his cell suits the state of his mind;
To his probable fate his soul is resign'd;

He longs for release from his pains.

"The trumpets they sound, and the judges are come, To enforce the laws of the land;

To court he is brought (his face clouded with gloom), With speechless emotion he hears his sad doom Pronounced by the jury's command!

"The throng which had gather'd the trial to hear,
Rejoic'd at the verdict of truth;

But seeing his mother distracted with fear,
And start from the judge's stern eyelid a tear,
They all of them pitied his youth.

"The day is now come when the criminal dies;
On the common a gallows they rear;

The thunder loud pealing convulses the skies,
While through all the country th' intelligence flies,
That the hour of vengeance is near.

"The victim is drawn in a cart through the crowd,
The multitude hastily run;-

He joins with the priest in petitions aloud;
Confesses his punishment just, and he vow'd
Repentance for what he had done.

"The bells from the neighbouring parishes toll
In mournful regret for his loss;

His crime is forgot; with his fate we condole,
Commending to HIS gracious mercy his soul,
Who pardon'd the thief on the cross.

"Still on the high gibbet suspended he swings,
Who once was illustrious and brave;

Upon his bare breast ravens flutter their wings,
While the sweet social bird from the gallows-tree sings
An elegy over his grave.

"At night, when the moon the mid firmament gains,
And all in the village asleep;

Then SUSAN, despising the pelting of rains,

The thunder loud rumbling, the clanking of chains,
Comes near his dead body to weep.

"If by chance the lone traveller, mov'd by her sighs,
In pity is drawn to the spot,

Then away to the thicket disorder'd she flies,
She sits within sight of the gallows, and cries,
To think of her lover's hard lot.

6

When the rosy morn dawns, and the labourers rise,
To go to their work in the wood;

To the cave's dark recess she unwillingly hies;
Her face and her hands with green walnuts she dyes,
And wild berries serve her for food.

"At length, frantie maiden! thy sorrows forget!
Such anguish thy bosom will melt:-

Forget! when the sun of my true love is set?'-
Her grief is past comfort-we can but regret
That innocence suffers for guilt.

"Whoe'er shall read over this pitiful tale,
Of a life cut short of its date;

Ah! ne'er at misfortune let vanity rail,
Let charity cover his crime with her veil,
And weep at the criminal's fate."

These poems are inscribed in a very neat and modest dedication to The Marchioness of Bath. The plates which embellish the volume are illustrative of some of the principal scenes which the poet describes, and are beautifully executed. One of them exhibits a good view of Longleat, one of the few remaining seats of old English hospitality, manners, and virtue.

The Family Picture, or Domestic Education; a Poetic Epistle from a Country Gentleman, to his College Friend, the Bishop of ******* 12mo. pp. 72. 3s. 6d. Cradock

and Joy. 1808.

IT is the fashion of the present age, in which show is so much more regarded than substance, whenever a poet