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Lorenzo, 9 Reuben,l spare : far be the thought
Of interest, far from them. Unbribed, unbought,

They pour " from their big breast's prolific zone
A proud, poetic fervour, only known

" Soothing those fond dreams of pleasure, age,” who, from her flippant nonsense, appears to be Pictured in the gloring breast,

Mrs. Piozzi, were it not for the sake of rernarking, that, Lavish of her sweetest treasure,

whatever be the merit of " drawing out the fine powers Anxious fear is charm'd to rest.

of Arno," (which, it seems, this ungrateful country has "Fearless o'er the whiten'd billows,

not yet rewarded with a statue,) she must be content to Proudly rise, sweet bird of night,

share it with Julia. Hear her invocation--but first hear Safely through the bending willoros,

Mr. Bell. "A most elegant compliment, which for geneGently wing thy aery flight."--Cesario. rous esteem has been seldom equalled, any more than Though I flatter myself that I have good sense and taste

the muse which inspired it." enough to see and admire the peculiar beauties of this

" JULIA TO ARNO. ode, yet a regard for truth obliges me to declare that they "Arno! where sleals thy dulcet lay, are not original. They are taken (with improvements,

Soft as the evening's minstrel note, I confess) from a most beautiful “ Song by a person of Say, does it deck the rising day, quality," in Pope's Miscellanies. This, though it de

Or on the noontide breezes float ?" tracts a little from Cesario's inventive powers, still leaves him the praise (no mean one) of having gone Julia) has been guilty of a trifling larceny here; having

Mrs. Robinson (for we may as well drop the name of beyond that great poet, in what he probably considered as the ne plus ultra of ingenuity.

taken from the Baviad, without any acknowledgment, Venimus ad summum fortunæ ! Mr. Greathead equals have been seen out of that poem; but so it is, that, like

a delicious couplet, which I flattered myself would never Shakspeare, Mrs. Robinson surpasses Milion, and Cesario outdoes Pope in that very performance which he

Pope, vainly imagined so complete as to take away all desire

"—Write whate'er I will, of imitating, all possibility of excelling it!

Some rising genius sins up to it still." “O favour'd clime ! O happy age !"

This has nettled me a little, and possibly injured the + Carlos.-I have nothing of this gentleman (a most

great poetess in my opinion; for I have been robbed so pertinacious scribbler in the Oracle) but the following

often of late, that I begin to think with the old economist "Bonnet;" luckily, however, it is so ineffably stupid, that

Ούτος αοιδων λωστος ος εξ εμευ οισεται ουδεν. . It will more than satisfy any readers but Mr. Bell's. For the rest, this “elegant invocation" called forth a "ON A LADY'S PORTRAIT.

specimen of Arno's fine powers in the following dulcet

lays. "On hath the poet hail'd the breath of morn,

That wakens nature with the voice of spring,
And ost, when purple summer feeds the lawn,

"Sure some dire star inimical to man, Hath fancy touch'd him with her procreant wing;

Guides to his heart the desolating fire, Full frequent has he bless'd the golden beam

Fills with contention only his brief span, Which yellow autumn glowing spreads around,

And rouses him to murderous desire. And though pale winter press'd a paly gleam,

“ There are who sagely scan the tortured world, Fresh in his breast was young description found."

And tell us war is but necessity, I can copy no more-Job himself would lose all patience

That millions by the Great Dispenser hurid, bere. Instead, therefore, of the remainder of this incom

Must suffer by the scourge, and cease to be." prehensible trash, I will give the reader a string of judi

Euge, Poeta! cious observations by Mr. T. Vaughan: "Bruyere says, $ Lorenzo he will allow that good writers are scarce enough, but Και πως εγω Σθενελου φαγοιμαν ρημα τι, adds, and justly, that good critics are equally so : which

Εις οξος εμβαπτομενον, η λευκους αλαςreminds our correspondent also of what the Abbé Trublet Says a hungry wight in an old comedy. But I know of writes, speaking of professed critics, where he says, if

no seasoning whatever, capable of making the insipid they were obliged to examine authors impartially

garbage of this modern Sthenelus palatable; I shall there would be fewer writers in this way. Was this to be the liberal practice adopted by our modern critics, therefore spare myself the disgust of producing it. we should not see a Baviarl-falling upon men and things | cit being this gentleman's fate, like Hercules of old, to

|| Reuben, whom I take to be Mr. Greathead in disguise, that are much above his capacity, and seemingly for no other reason than because they are so."

assume the merit of all unappropriated prodigies,) intro. A Daniel come to judgment, yea, a Daniel! This is in duced himself to the World by the following truth the reason; and when Mr. Vaughan and his coad.

“ ADDRESS TO ANNA MATILDA. jutors condescend to humble themselves to my under. " To thee a stranger dares address his theme, standing, I will endeavour to profit by their eloquent To thee, proud mistress of Apollo's lyre, strictures

One ray emitted from thy golden gleam, | Adelaide. And who is Adelaide ! O seri studiorum! Prompted by love, would set the world on fire! “ Not to know her, argues yourselves unknown.” Hear " Adorn then love in fancy-linctured vest, Mr. Bell, the Longinus of newspaper writers.

Chameleon like, anon of various hue,

By Penseroso and Allegro dress'd, ADELAIDE. “He who is here addressed by the first lyric writer in

Such genius claim'd when she Idalia drew.”_ the kingdom, must himself endeavour to repay a debt so Anna Maulda, what could she less! found highly honourable, if it can be done by verse! This lady

This resuscitating praise shall have the praise which ought to be given by the

Breathe life upon her dying lays," country, that of first discovering and drawing out the like "the daisy which spreads her bloom to the moist fine powers of Arno and Della Crusca.”

evening!"and accordingly produced a matchless "adorn “O thou, whom late I watch'd, while o'er thee hung ment of love,” to the great contentment of the gentle The orb whose glories I so oft have sung,

Reuben. Beheld thee while a shower of beam

"But, bard polite, how hard the task Made night a lovelier morning seem," &c

Which with such elegance you ask !" We might here dismiss this "first lyric writer of the Who would have imagined that these lines, the simple & See note g, next col. 11 See note II, ib.

See note 1, 1st col. p. 179.


To souls like theirs ;” as Anna's youth inspires, And chased the oppressive doubts which round me As Laura's graces kindle fierce desires,

clung, As Henriet-For heaven's sake, not so fast. And fired my breast, and loosen'd all my tongue. I too, my masters, ere my teeth were cast, E’en then (admire, John Bell! my simple ways) Had learn'd, by rote, to rave of Delia's charms, No heaven and hell danced madly through my lays, To die of transports found

Chloe's arms,

No oaths, no execrations ; all was plain : Coy Daphne with obstreperous plaints to woo, Yet, trust me, while thy“ ever-jingling train" And curse the cruelty of—God knows who. Chime their sonorous woes with frigid art, When Phæbus, (not the power that bade thee write, And shock the reason, and revolt the heart, For he, dear Dapper! was a lying sprite,)

My hopes and fears, in nature's language dress'd, (me morn, when dreams are true, approach'd my side, Awaken'd love in many a gentle breast. And, frowning on my tuneful lumber, cried,

How oft, O Dart! what time the faithful pair - Lo! every corner with soft sonnets crammid, Walk'd forth, the fragrant hour of eve to share, And high-born odes, 'works damnd, or to be on thy romantic banks have my wild strains,* damn'd!'

Not yet forgot amid my native plains, And is thy active folly adding more To this most worthless, most superfluous store? * Mr. Parsons is extremely angry at my "ostentatious O impotence of toil! thou mightst as well

intrusion" of the “ Otium Divos" into the notes on this poem.

What could I do? I ever disliked publishing my Give sense to Este, or modesty to Bell.

little modicums on loose pages-but I shall grow wiser by Forbear, forbear:—What though thou canst not his example ! and, indeed, am even now composing “ one claim

riddle, two rebusses, and one acrostic to a babe at The sacred honours of a Poet's name,

nurse,'', which will be set forth with all convenient Due to the few alone, whom I inspire

speed. Meanwhile I am tempted to offend once more, With lofty rapture, with ethereal fire !

and subjoin the only three of my "wild strains" that now

live in my recollection. I can assure Mr. Parsons that Yet mayst thou arrogate the humble praise

they were written on the occasions they profess to beof reason's bard, if, in thy future lays,

and the last of them at a time when I had no idea of Plain sense and truth, and surely these are thine, surviving to provoke his indignation : Correct thy wanderings, and thy flights confine.”

-Sed Cynaræ breves Here ceased the god and vanishid. Forth I sprang,

Annos fata dederunt, me

Servatura diu. While in my ear the voice divine yet rang,

TO A TUT OF EARLY VIOLETS. Seized every rag and scrap, approach'd the fire,

Sweet flowers! that, from your humble beds, And saw whole Albums in the blazc expire.

Thus prematurely dare to rise, Then shame ensued, and vain regret, t' have spent

And trust your unprotected heads So many hours (hours which I yet lament)

To cold Aquarius' watery skies; In thriftless industry ; and year on year

Retire, retire! These repid airs Inglorious roll’d, while diihdence anıl fear

Are not the genial broud of May; Repress’d my voice-unheard till Anna came,

That sun with light malignant glares,
What! throbb'st thou yet, my bosom, at the name?

And flatlers only to betray.
Stern winter's reign is not yet pasi

Lo! while your buds prepare to blow, tribule of gratitude to genius, should nearly occasion “a

On icy pinions comes the blast, perdition of souls ?" Yet so it was. They unfortunately

And nips your root, and lays you low. roused the jealousy of Della Crusca "on the sportive banks of the Rhine.' One luckless evening

Alas, for such ungentle doom!

But I will shield you; and supply "When twilight on the western edge

A kindlier soil on which to bloom, Had twined his hoary hair with sabling sedge,”

nobler bed on which to die. as he was "weeping" (for, like Master Stephen, these

Come then-ere yet the morning ray good creatures think it necessary to be always melan- Has drunk the dew that gems your crest, holy) at the tomb of Laura, he started, as well he might,

And drawn your balmiest sweets away; at the accursed name of Reuben.

O come, and grace my Anna's breast.
* Hark! (quoth he,)

Ye droop, fond flowers! but, did ye know
What cruel gounds are these

What worth, what goodness there reside,
Which float upon the languid breeze,

Your cups with liveliest lints would glow,
Which fill my soul with jealous fear ?

And spread their leaves with conscious pride.
Ha! Reuben is the name I hear.

For there has liberal nature join'd
For him my faithless Anna,” &c.

Her riches to the stores of art,
It pains me to add, that the cold blooded Bell has de.

And added in the vigorous mind stroyed this beautiful fancy-scene with one stroke of his

The soft, the sympathizing heart. clownish pen. In a note on the above verses, Album,

Come then-cre yet the morning ray p. 131, he officiously informs us that Della Crusca knew

Has drunk the dew that gems your crest, * nothing of his rival, till he read-detested word !_"his

And drawn your balmiest sweets away; sonnel in the Oracle." O Bell! Bell! is it thus thou humblest the strains of the sublime ? Surely we may say

O come, and grace my Anna's breast. of thee, what was not ill said of one of thy sisters,

0! I should think,-thal fragrant bed Sed tu insulsa male et molesta vives,

Might I but hope with you to share,–

Years of anxiety repaid,
Per quam non licet esse negligentem.

By one short hour of transport there.
1 They pour, &c.
- I love so well

I See" one epigram, two sonnets, and one ode to a boy at school, by W.

Parsons, Esq." The "one ode" was expresely written to show the folly and Thy soul's deep tone, thy thought's high swell,

absurdity of Gray's ode to Eton College, which the “boy at school was Thy proud, poetic fervour, known

very properly called to attest. What the "one epigram" and the two top But in thy breast's prolific zone."-Della Crusca. Dets" were written for nobody knows.

While Thou hast sweetly gurgled down the vale,
Fill'd up the pause of love's delightful tale!
While, ever as she read, the conscious maid,
By faltering voice and downcast looks betray'd,
Would blushing on her lover's neck recline,
And with her finger-point the tenderest line.
But these are past: and, mark me, Laura ! time,
Which made what then was venial, now a crime,
To more befitting carcs my thoughts confined,
And drove, with youth, its follies from my mind,

Since this, while Merry and his nurslings die,
Thrill'd by the liquid peril of an eye ;*
Gasp at a recollection, and drop down
At the long streamy lightning of a frown ;
I soothe, as humour prompts, my idle vein,
In frolic verse, that cannot hope to gain
Admission to the Album, or be seen
In L-'s Review,or Urban's Magazine.

O, for thy spirit, Pope! Yet why, my lays, Which wake no envy, and invite no praise,

More bless'd than me, thus shall ye live

Your little day; and, when ye die, Sweet flowers ! the grateful muse shall give

A verse; the sorrowing maid, a sigh. While I, alas! no distant date,

Mix with the dust from whence I came, Without a friend to weep my fate,

Without a stone to tell my name.

So hours like moments wing'd their flight,

Till now the boatman, on the shore, Impatient of the waning light,

Recall'd us by the dashing oar. Wal, Anna,-many days like this

I cannot, must not hope to share ; For I have found an hour of bliss

Still follow'd by an age of care Yet oft, when memory intervenes

But you, dear maid, be happy still, Nor e’er regret, 'mid fairer scenes,

The day we pass'd on Greenwich Hill


First of May. Though clouds obscured the morning hour,

And keen and eager blew the blast, And drizzling fell the cheerless shower,

As, doubtful, to the skiff we pass'd; All soon, propitious to our prayer,

Gave promise of a brighter day: The clouds dispersed in purer air,

The blast in zephyrs died away. So have we, love, a day enjoy'd,

On which we both,--and yet, who knows ?May dwell with pleasure unalloy'd

And dread no thorn beneath the rose.
How pleasant, from that dome-crown'd hill

To view the varied scene below,
Woods, ships, and spires, and, lovelier still,

The circling Thames' majestic flow!
How sweet, as indolently laid,

We overhung that long-drawn dale, To watch the checker'd light and shade

That glanced upon the shifting sail ! And when the shadow's rapid growth

Proclaim'd the noontide hour expired, And, though unwearied, ' nothing loath,'

We to our simple meal retired; The sportive wile, the blameless jest,

The careless mind's spontaneous flow, Gave to that simple meal a zest

Which richer tables may not know.The babe thal, on the mother's breast,

Has toy'd and wanton'd for a while, And, sinking to unconscious rest,

Looks up to catch a parting smile, Feels less assured than thou, dear maid

When, ere thy ruby lips could part, (As close to mine thy cheek was laid)

Thine eyes had open'd all thy heart. Then, then I mark'd the chasten'd joy

That lightly o'er thy features stole, From vows repaid, (my sweet employ)

From truth, from innocence of soul : While every word dropp'd on my ear,

So goft, (and yet it seems to thrill,) So sweet, that 'twas a heaven to hear,

And e'en thy pause had music still.-
And O! how like a fairy dream,

To gaze in silence on the tide,
While soft and warm the sunny gleam

Slept on the glassy surface wide !
And many a thought of fancy bred,

Wild, soothing, tender, undefined, Play'd lightly round the heart, and shed

Delicious languor o'er the mind.

I wish I was where Anna lies,

For I am sick of lingering here;
And every hour affection cries,

Go, and partake her humble bier.
I wish I could! For when she died,

I lost my all; and life has proved,
Since that sad hour, a dreary void,

A waste unlovely and unloved.-
But who, when I am turn'd to clay,

Shall duly to her grave repair,
And pluck the ragged moss away

And weeds that have no business there '
And who, with pious hand, shall bring

The flowers she cherish'd, snow-drops cold,
And violets that unheeded spring,

To scatter o'er her hallow'd mould ?
And who, while memory loves to dwell

Upon her name for ever dear,
Shall feel his heart with passion swell,

And pour the bitter, bitter tear ?
I did it: and, would fate allow,

Should visit still, should still deplore-
But health and strength have left me now,

And I, alas! can weep no more.
Take then, sweet maid, this simple strain,

The last I offer at thy shrine ;
Thy grave must then undeck'd remain,

And all thy memory fade with mine.
And can thy soft, persuasive look,

Thy voice, that might with music vie,
Thy air, that every gazer took,

Thy matchless eloquence of eye ;
Thy spirits, frolicsome as good,

Thy courage, by no ills dismay'd,
Thy patience, by no wrongs subdued,

Thy gay good-humour-Can they 'fade
Perhaps—but sorrow dims my eye:

Cold turf, which I no more must view,
Dear name, which I no more must sigh,

A long, a last, a sad adieu !
* Thrillid, &c.
“Bid the streamy lightnings fly

In liquid peril from thy eye."-Della Crusca.
“No'er shalt thou know to sigh,

Or on a soft idea die,
Ne'er on a recollection grasp
Thy arms."-Ohe! jam satis est.-Anna Matilda



Half creeping and half flying, yet suffice

(Dear to the feeling heart,) in doubt to win To stagger impudence and ruffle vice.

The vacant wanderer ’mid the unceasing din An hour may come, so I delight to dream,

Of this hoarse rout; I seized at length the wand; When slowly wandering by the sacred stream, Resolved, though small my skill, though weak my Majestic Thames ! I leave the world behind,

hand, And give to fancy all th' enraptured mind : The mischief, in its progress, to arrest, An hour may come, when I shall strike the lyre And exorcise the soil of such a pest. To nobler themes ; then, then the chords inspire HENCE! IN THE NAME—I scarce had spoke, when With thy own harmony, most sweet, most strong, lo! And guide my hand through all the maze of song! Reams of outrageous sonnets,* thick as snow, Till then, enough for me, in such rude strains As mother-wit can give, and those small pains indeed, replied the shepherd; but thy silence alone is the A vacant hour allows, to range the town,

cause of it. And hunt the clamorous brood of folly down ;

* There's comfort yct!” Force every head, in Este's despite, to wear

* Reams of outrageous sonnets.-Of these I have col. The cap and bells by nature planted there ;

lected a very reasonable quantity, which I purpose to

prefix to some future edition of the Mæviad, under the Muffie the rattle, seize the slavering sholes,

classic head of And drive them, scourged and whimpering, to their


Burgoyne,* perhaps, unchill’d by creeping age,
May yet arise and vindicate the stage ;

The reign of nature and of sense restore,
And be—whatever Terence was before.

Meanwhile I shall present the reader with the first two

which occur, as a specimen of the collection. And you, too, whole Menander !+ who combine With his pure language, and his flowing line,

SONNET I. The soul of comedy, may steal an hour

To the anonymous author of the Baviad, occasioned by

his scurrilous and most unmerited attack on Mr. WesFrom the foul chase of still escaping power ;

ton. The poet and the sage again unite,

"Demon of larkness! wheigne'er thou art, And sweetly blend instruction with delight.

That darest assume the brighter angel's form, And yet Elfrida's bard, though time has shed And o'er the peaceful vale impel the storm, The snow of age too deeply round his head,

With many a sigh to rend the honest heart, Feels the kind warmth, the fervour which inspired

Force from th' unconscious eye the tear to start,

And with just pride th' indignant bosom warm; His youthful breast, still glow unchecka, untired:

Avaunt! to where unnumber'd spirits swarm, And yet though, like the bird of eve, his song

Foul and nalignant as thyself, de part. “ Fit audience finds not” in the giddy throng, Genius of Pop, descend, ye servile crew The notes, though artful, wild, though numerous,

Of imitators vile, intrude not!!! I appeal chaste,

To thee, and thee alone, from outrage base ;

Tell me, though fair the forms his fancy drew, Fill with delight the sober ear of taste.

Shouldst thou the secrets of his heart reveal, But these, and more, I could with honour name,

Would fame his memory crown, or cover with dis Too proud to stoop, like me, to vulgar game,

J. M.-Gent. Mag. Aug. 1792. Subjects more worthy of their daring choose, This poor driveller, who is stupid enough to be Weston's And leave at large th' abortions of the muse. admirer, and maliznant enough to be his friend, I take Proud of their privilege, the innumerous spawn,

to be one Morley;t whom I now and then observe, in the From bogs and fens, the mire of Pindus, drawn,

1 I was right. Mr. Morley, who, I understand, is a clergyman, and who, New vigour feel, new confidence assume,

like Mr. Parsons, exults in the idea of having first attacked me, has sinca And swarm, like Pharaoh's frogs, in every room. published a ** Tale," the wit, or rather dulness of which, if I recollect right, Sick of th' eternal croaks, which, ever near,

consists in my being disappointed of a living.

Here follow a few of the introducury lines, which for poetry and pleaBeat like the death-watch on my tortured ear; santry can only be exceede i by those of Mr. Pussons. And sure, too sure, that many a genuine child

"What if a little once I dilshuse the Of truth and nature check'd his wood-notes wild,

Worse than thou hast deserved I could not use thee:
For when I spied thy satyr's closea foot,

'Tis very true I took thee for a brie; Burgoyne.-See note *, 2 col. p. 174.

And, marking more attentisely thy manders, † And you, too, whole Menander, &c.-0 spem fallacem!

since lave wish'd thy tide werc at the tanner's Our Menander has since "stolen an hour" (it would be

But if a man tho a art, as die suppose,

0! how any fingers itch to pull thy loose ! injustice to suppose it more) from public pursuits, and

As pleased a Punch, 11 hold it in my gripe, prostituted it to the reproduction of a German suolerkin.

Till Parkinson tud s'ut'd thee for a snipe!!!" Check'd his wood-noies wild.-Lewangavrwv KOLOIwv, It is rather singular that this still-buru lump of insipidity should be intro asov TAI KUKVOL. But this is better illustrated in a most duced to the bookseller under the auspices of Dr. Part. If that respectable elegant fable of Lessing, to which I despair of doing jus- name was not abused on the occasion, i can only say that politics, lite misery, Lice in a translation.

" bring a man acquainted with strange bedfellows!"

For the rest, I will present Mr. Morley with a couple of lines, which, Du zürnest, Liebling der Musen,” &c. &c.

if he will get them construel, and seriously reflect upon, before be next puts Thou art troubled, darling of the Muses, thou art pen to paper, may be of more service to him than all the instruction, and all troubled at the clamorous swarms of insects which infest the encouragement the Doctor, apparently, ever gave him. Parnassus. O hear from me what once the nightingale

Cur ego laborem rotus esse tam prave, beard from the shepherd.

Cum stare gratis cum silentio possim! Sing then, said he to the silent songstress, one lovely this note (which I have left in its original state) has given him some slight

1 find, from a letter which my publisher has received from Dr. Parr, that evening in the spring, sing then, sweet nightingale! Alas!

degree of uneasiness. said the nightingale, the frogs croak so loud, that I have

It is satisfactory to me to reflect that this uneasiness is founded on a mis ost all desire to sing: dost thou not hear them? I do, I apprehension. When I remarked op the " singularity of Mr. Morley's “Talo

grace ?


Flew round my head ; yet, in my cause secure, Where taste and sense approve, I feel a joy “ Pour on,” I cried, " pour on, I will endure.” Dear to my heart, and mix'd with no alloy.

What! shall I shrink, because the noble train, I write not to the modish herd: my days, Whose judgment I impugn, whose taste arraign, Spent in the tranquil shades of letter'd ease, Alive, and trembling for their favourite's fate, Ask no admiring stare from those I meet, Pursue my verse with unrelenting hate ? No loud " that's He !" to make their passage sweet No: save me from their PRAISE, and I can sit Pleased to steal softly by, unmark'd, unknown, Calm, unconcern'd, the butt of Andrews' wit I leave the world to Holcroft, Pratt,* and Vaughan. And Topham's sense ; perversely gay can smile, Of these enough. Yet may the few I love While Este, the zany, in his motley style, (For who would sing in vain ?) my verse approve; Calls barbarous names; while Bell and Boaden rave, Chief Thou, my friend! who from my earliest years, And Vaughan, a brother blockhead's verse to save, Hast shared my joys, and more than shared my cares. Toils day by day my character to draw,

Sure, if our fates hang on some hidden power, And heaps upon me every thing—but law. And take their colour from the natal hour, But do I then (abjuring every aim)

Then, IRELAND !+ the same planet on us rose, All censure slight, and all applause disclaim ? Such the strong sympathies our lives disclose ! Not so: where judgment holds the rod, I bow My humbled neck, awed by her angry brow; * Pratt. This gentleman lately put in practice a very

notable scheme. Having scribbled himself fairly out of Gent. Mag., ushering his great prototype's doggrel into notice, he found it expedient to retire to the continent for notice, with an importance truly worthy of it.

a few months-to provoke the inquiries of Mr. Lane's

indefatigable readers, SONNET II.

Mark the ingratitude of the creatures! No inquiries To the execrabie Baviad.

were made, and Mr. Pratt was forgotten before he had * Monster of turpitude! who seem'st inclined

crossed the channel. Ibi omnis eífusus labor.-But what! Through me to pierce with thy impregnate dart,

“ The mouse that is content with one poor hole The fine-spun nerve of each full-bosom'd mind,

Can never be a mouse of any soul."
And rock in apathy-the sensive heart,
Tremble ! for lo! my Oracle-so famed

Bassled in this expedient, he had recourse to another, and, Shall ring each morn in thy accursed ear

while we were dreaming of nothing less, came before us A griding pang! So-when the Grecian Marea

in the following paragraph : Enter'd the town, old Pyramus exclaim'd,

"A few days since died, at Basle in Switzerland, the I see! I see !-and hurl'd his lightning spear,

ingenious Mr. Pratt. His loss will be severely feli by the While Capaneus drew back his head-for fear,

literary world, as he joined to the accomplishments of And godlikes Alexander-gazing round,

the gentleman the erudition of the scholar." Unconscious of his victories-to come,

This was inserted in the London papers for severa Approach'd the monarch, and with sobs profound,

days successively. The country papers, too, "yelled out Explain’d th' impending wrath o'er llium's royal like syllables of dolour.” At length, while our eyes wers dome.”

J. Bell.

yet wet for the irreparable loss we had sustained, came

a second paragraph : being introduced under the auspices of Dr. Parr," I merely alluded to a con

“As no event of late has caused a more general sorrow versation which Mr. Morley himself was said to have had with his bookseller; than the supposed death of the ingenious Mr. Praut, we -and I then suspected (what I now find, from the Doctor's letter, to be the are happy to have it in our power to assure his numerous zase) that this respectable name (Dr. Parr's) was abused, i. e. introduced admirers, that he is as well as they can wish, and (what upon the occasion " without his consent, or even knowledge."

they will be delighted to hear) busied in preparing his If my words conveyed the idea (which I now apprehend they may) that Travels for the press.” Dr. Parr himself had recommended the "Tale," it was far from my inten

“Laud we the gods !!! tion, and I am sorry for it. Inaend, I am sorry that his name was mentioned at all in the Mævind. It is totally out of its place; and I can only regret, that † Here, on account of its connexion with the person a juster estimation both of Doctor Parr and of Mr. Morley had not changed mentioned in the text, I shall take the liberty-extremum my suspicion" of the latter into certainty, and induced me to attribute his hunc mihi concede-of inserting the following "imita. recommendatory story to vanity, and something else not altogether so venial.

In conclusion : though Dr. Parr gives up Mr. Morley's poetry, yet he tion," addressed to him several years since. It was never seems to think I have undervalued his other attainments his Latin, Greek, printed, nor, as far as I know, seen by any one but himand Hebrew, and his vigorous and elegant prose. "-of all these I knes self; and I transcribe it for the press with mingled sen. nothing. When there is no occasion for such vanity, I doubt not but Mr. sations of gratitude and delight, at the favourable change Morley will take care to let them appear;"' meanwhile, I must be content to of circumstances which we have both experienced since judge him from what I know-his sonnets and his tale. It is bat

fair to add, it was written. however, that the sound and salutary advice which Dr. Parr gave this poor addle-headed man (to say nothing of the tenderness with which he speaks of him) does no less honour to his friendship, than the reprobation of his poetry

REV. JOHN IRELAND.1 does to his taste. 1 Quere, full-bottomed.-Printer's Devil.

IMITATION OF HORACE. LIB. II. ODE 16. 2 Grecian Mart.- This has been hitherto, inaccurately enough, named the

Otium Divos rogat, &c. Trojan horse ; and, indeed, I myself had nearly fallen into the unscholarlike

When howling winds, and lowering skies, error, when my learned friend Greathead convinced me (from Pope's emerdations of Virgil, under the fantastic name of Scriblerius) that the animal in

The light, untimber'd bark surprise question was a mare-She being there said to be fosta artis, armed with a

Near Orkney's boisterous seas; fælus. Let us bear no more, therefore, of the Trojan horse.

The trembling crew forget to swear, The patronymie Trojan is still more absurd. Homer expressly declares And bend the knees unused to prayer, the mare to have been produced by Pallas-Palladis arte: now Pallas was

To ask a little ease. a Grecian goddess, as is sufficiently manifest from her name, which is derived from radu, vibro.- 1. Bell.

For ease the Turk, ferocious, prays, 3 Godlike; that is coeuns from 0-0, God, and suðms, like. Vide Hom,

For ease the barbarous Russe-for ease, Translators in general (I except a late one) are too inattentive to the com

Which Palk could ne'er obtain; pound epithets of this great poet. But why does Homer call Alexander god. Which Bedford lack'd amid his store, like, when he appears, from Curtius Quintius's tedious gazette in verse, to And liberal Clive, with mines of ore, have had one shoulder higher than the other? My friend Vaughan thinks

Oft bade for-but in vain. it was purely to pay his court to him, in hopes of getting into his will, or rather into his mistress's. It may be so; but "tis strange the absurdity was never noticed before.-J. Bel.

1 No# prebendary of Westminster.

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