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Smith, of the British Museum, a alone we can attribute the circumgentleman universally respected for stance of its not having appeared. his urbanity of manners, and po Mr. Roscoe, both in and out of

parlite attention to all, who have occa liament, never ceased his exertions sion to visit that valuable collection till this great event was happily acof literary and scientific curiosities. complished; and one of his most

Though born of humble parentage, argumentative and spirited works is, Mr. Roscoe has evinced through life a refutation of a pamphlet in defence that unaffected dignity of manner, of the Slave Trade, entitled, “Scripthat delicate sense of honour, and tural researches into the licitness of thatpride of acting up to its most rigid the Slave Trade,Mr. Roscoe entiand jealous dictates, which prove, tled his answer “A Scriptural refithat the principle which constitutes tation of a pamphlet lately published true greatness of mind is not the by the Rev. Raymond Harris.He exclusive birthright of ancestry. He was the first who succeeded in bringis a zealous advocate for the rights ing the literature of the middle age of mankind, and the voice of freedom into repute in this country. His inspired him to sing The Wrongs Life of Lorenzo de Medici, and of of Africa,” and to pourtray them Leo the Tenth, rendered an acquaintwith a spirit and strength of colour ance with the characters, discoveries, ing, that gave a new impetus to and historical occurrences of those the enthusiasm which animated the times an indispensible qualification friends of liberty at the time; and in any person, who would mingle in which eventually restored the de- the literary and fashionable circles. graded African to that equal freedom, We have learned with unfeigned which is the birthright of the human satisfaction, that he is at present race.

engaged in editing Pope's works. He It was this love of liberty, or has lately favoured the public with rather the great and generous emo

an able defence of his life of Lorentions which it awakens in the soul, zo de Medici, which has been atthat inspired him when he breathed tacked by some foreign writers of the following impassioned strains : high literary repute. As the work

however is well known to our readThere Afric's swarthy sons their toils ers, and was reviewed in our last two repeat

numbers, we mention it only as a Beneath the fervors of the noon-tide

circumstance which should not be heat,

omitted in a memoir of his life. To Till broke with fervor, helpless and

his edition of Pope's works we look forlorn, From their weak grasp the lingering controversies which have lately en

forward with great interest ; for the morsel torn, The reed-built hovel's friendly shade gaged the public attention, relative deny'd,

to Pope's poetical character, will, we The jest of folly, and the scorn of pride, doubt not, be investigated in that Drooping beneath meridian suns they distinct and perspicuous manner lie,

which is characteristic of all Mr. Lift the faint head, and bend the im- Roscoe's writings. He, who travels ploring eye,

with him, is certain of not being led Till death, in kindness to the tortur'd through the regions of “Cimmerian breast,

darkness.” He never aims, like Calls the free spirit to the realms of many of our modern writers, to asrest.

tonish his readers, by pretending to Mr. Roscoe intended to publish teach them what he does not underhis Wrongs of Africa in three parts. stand himself. What he perceives The first appeared in 1787, and the clearly, he expresses simply and lusecond the year following; but the minously. The same chaste simplipublic was never gratified with the city and perspicuity of manner were third. The subject, it is true, ceased the distinguis

the distinguishing characteristics of to possess interest after the Slave the great poet in the elucidation of Trade was abolished, and to this whose works he is now engaged.

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A SONG.-BY MRS. OPIE.

Yes-thou art gone! I feel it now!

For hours seem days, days weeks to me! On life I gaze with gloomy brow,

Uncheer'd except by thoughts of thee ! Oh! how I hate to meet with those,

Who speak in mirth's loud heartless tone ! They bid my lips to smile unclose,

Bat can I smile ? No!—Thou art gone! Through tears I now see morning rise,

The sun has lost its cheering power ; Since sun, nor moon to glad mine eyes

Can light thee now to Mary's bower. They bid me sing the favourite lay,

I us'd to breathe to thee alone; But how can I the wish obey,

Or sing at all, since thou art gone? They bid me round my tresses twine

The wreath, all tastes, they say, approve: But why should I desire to shine,

When seen no more by him I love? They ask me why I seem so sad,

So pale my cheek, so chang'd my tone : The question almost drives me mad,

· For they forget that thou art gone! I-join the dance ! to others yield

The hand so lately grasp'd in thine, When that fond grasp alone reveal’d

Thy parting agony and mine!
No!-sacred be my hand as heart

To thee, my love, and thee alone!
The dance might charm me where thou art,

But nothing charms since thou art gone!
As if I hop'd with thee to meet,

Abroad with restless steps I stray, Then home return on weary feet,

To muse the listless hours away.
But, when thy blest return I see,

And welcome thee in faltering tone!
While thou art here, how sweet 'twill be
To paint my pangs when thou wert gone!

Amelia OPIE.

This song is being set to music by Mr. Kiallmark.

RAMBLINGS OF A POET.

u That spirit is never idle that doth waken
The soul to sights, apd contemplations deep;
Even when from out the desert's seeming sleep
A sob is heaved, that but the leaves are shaken."

THERE is no inconsistency in the that the soul, emancipated from Ramblings of a Poet being related earthly thoughts and earthly hopes, in prose: all poetry is not verse, any holds closer sympathy with the scenes more than all verse is poetry-a fact around, and holier visionings fit bewhich no one will be inclined to deny fore the mind; and what spot could who reads one hundreth part of the better harmonize with such thoughts poems, whether blank or in rhyme, than the one I have described ? which issue from the press.

A church-yard, is of all places the But I am not assuming now the one most calculated to call

up

those character of a poet; I am relating feelings which, abstracted from the no high wrought fictions; no im- pleasures, are uncontaminated with passioned scenes: I am not endea- the evils of the world in the evenvouring “to raise the show of things ing too, the charm is stronger-on to the desires of the mind"-I am every side lie “relics of mortality” expressing on paper my own solitary the fantastic or fearful shapes, which musings; in which, though nothing the gloom lends to indistinct objects, new may be found, something old

Like a demon thing, may be at least represented in a new

Or shadow hovering, dress.

Among my stated rambles there give a mysterious awe to this ultiis one which I retread with pleasure, ma thule of human schemes - and unalloyed by repetition-It is a path the doubtful certainty (if the exwhich leads to a church-yard; and pression may be used) of shortly behere I have lingered for hours un- coming a companion of the moulwearied, occupied by the reflections dering dust, and hideous corruption produced by surrounding objects. beneath us, doubtful as to its period The spot of which I speak is situ- but certain as it regards the event, is ated on an eminence which com- fraught with deep, though fearful mands a lovely prospect. I have and appalling interest. Am I wrong been seated on my favourite seat, a in saying that this is the place, the large mossy stone, over which a school--the theatre for a poet? Is spreading heech throws its shade, it not here that the casualties of rank when the close of day was approach and station are destroyed; and is it ing :-there was the stone church, not the work of the poet also to overwith its sombre ivy grown walls and look these accidental distinguislisteeple—the thick leafy, grove, with ments, to develop the rise of simple its music-breathing inhabitants-the and unadorned loveliness, and to see green hill, and the little murmura and properly to estimate the intrining rivulet that wandered at its bot- sic excellence of things and actions? tom, over its pebble-gemmed bed, Death is your only-sure balance dashing its light spray over its violet in which to weigh the real worth or banks-the whitewashed cottage and importance of individuals--the mabarn, with the horse-shoe nailed over gic girdle that fits none but those the door, the lingering relic of whose deeds have been pure-the drooping faith in demonology-the wild steed that none can manage but spreading fields, and clump of trees, those who encounter him undismay. and thinly scattered habitations ed- the infallible touchstone of and farther on, the majestic windings greatness or power-he is like the of the river, beyond which, dim hills gust, which blows away the thistleraised their eternal barrier to close down of splendour and vanity, and all further view and, most beautiful exposes the nakedness which lies beof all, the deep gentle shade of even- neath:-he is the best of friends who ing, sinking and reddening on hill, relieves us from our cares-our greatand plain, and valley :-it is then est enemy who bereaves us of that Eur. Mag. Vol. 82.

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we love best--our life:-in short, he such exercises of devotion, should be is the most paradoxical of things,

addressed to the mind in some sound who is every day present, but never which may awaken suitable thoughts seen--the most unwelcome of visi- -not spoken in the every-day diators, who, whenever he comes, is an lect of business and pleasure.-An unwished-for guest.

English steeple will continue, in my I am fond of a church, particu thinking, to be very preferable to a larly an old one: it is, as it were, the Turkish minaret. home for the soul; the refuge from And what is it that lends this mathe world ; and I am fond of its ve gic to so simple a music? what is it, nerable antique gloom; its painted but that which lends beauty to every windows; its monuments which thing—the fertile power of associaspeak of the dead and their houses, tion. It is the connexion which the grave,' and of its music:-there subsists between it and the inward is an awful solemn beauty in church workings of the soul- the relation music which stills each unhallowed which it bears to the operations of thought; each wish that speaks of life and of death, which renders it earth; and throws its calm of holi thus pleasing ness over the mind—the deep roll of. It is this principle of association, the organ; the thrilling enthusiasm which is the vivifying soul of matcreating sound of human voices ter, which gives interest and beauty trembling to the throne of eternity; to inanimate objects—which engages which when I think of, I reflect with the soul through the medium of the complacency upon the abodes of senses—which is the spirit of poetry monkish superstition,

it is not the mere sentiment conThose deep solitudes and awful cells,

veyed by the words of the poet-it Where heavenly pensive contemplation

is the flood of sweet and gentle redwells,

miniscences, which starts upon the And ever-musing melancholy reigns :

reader, varied as it must of ne

cessity be in different individuals, and could almost wish that I had as their respective views, characters, been an inhabitant of them, blest situations, and mental organizations with peace, and undisturbed by vice differ ; from which is derived the and folly. Pshaw, pshaw, 'I am highest pleasure of poetical compodreaming ; and these are the dreams sitions-I am not young–I am inof a poet doomed to wake-an essay deed approaching to the period when writer.

I shall cease to indite these dotings But there is another ornament to of age, but in these recurrences to a church—the greatest perhaps in the feelings of past days consists my my estimation-its bells; its organs fondest pleasure--these and a few of speech ; with which it calls toge other loved associations linger in my ther fellow-worshippers.

memory, and shall sink with me to I love these eloquent inanimations

my peaceful bed. - these metallic tractors of the soul, It was a saying worthy of Pope, whose vibrations call up into view that he should not care to have ars the past, which is fled, the present, old stump pulled down which he had which dies in its existence, and the known in his childhood. I am future, which will fade away like its deeply imbued, I might say saturapredecessors : that simple stroke of ted, with such feelings--I have a two pieces of metal gives me an infi- piece of an oak, which grew by the nity of ideas—the burst into life, and school where I was educated, and quick sinking into nothing, the re has long since fallen a prey to the iteration of the strokes, one succeed

axe of the spoiler. -I remember, ing another in measured intervals as well as I do any thing, the cutall speak of the mutability of every ting down of the venerable tree; thing earthly, and the rapid succes how we crowded about it; and how sion of beings, which bloom and pe each busy discipulus was cutting off rish and are forgotten.

relics of their old friend.

The I cannot admire the Mahometan branches, which were left by the custom of employing the human workmen as useless, were gathered voice as a substitute for bells-me up, and in the evening made into thinks the invitation, which calls to a bonfire then too we had a feast,

and we sat round the glowing em but his intimates ; to such a being bers with every one his apple, his to love as he loved was an exergingerbread, his nuts, and his glass tion of energies almost alarming. of currant wine. Then tales of He succeeded — the object of his school heroism and school mischief adoration loved him—the day was were recounted; and still the wit fixed for their marriage-before it became brighter as the fire decayed came she died, and R. -s fond ties

the mirth and fun grew fast and were broken-From that hour all furious.'-Ah! those were happy luis time was spent in retracing the days.

walks they had taken together I often visit this scene of my in. There was a rose-tree which she had fant years;-the school is there, with planted, and R— watched over it the stone, the owl with its goggle with incessant care, for“ he was the eyes perched above it; there is the slave of sympathy." I found him play-ground; the dark stone walls near it one day he said to me, with their soft and solemn brown • You see that tree-I shall live as ness--but I will write an essay on long as it—no longer.'-He would the school and my school-days not be persuaded that it was a mere there are many faces too, but they whim of the imagination. Two are strange to me

- those of my

months after this he died- I passed time, alas ! where are they-hey through the garden—the tree was are scattered over the world—those withered. that survive at least - there was I am perfectly sensible not half Zouch, and C with his bright my readers will believe this story. wit and clear judgment, and Phillips To those who do-who will look with his lively sallies of good-hu upon it as an instance of the strong moured mirth, and dozens

whom I power of the imagination over the could mention-One of them I must mental and physical faculties,I reniention, 'tis R-, the most singu late this short notice of a gentle and lar inoffensive mortal I ever met inrocent being, poor R

-; it is an with: R-fell in love-a thing humble stone that covers his remains of common occurrence and slight in yonder church-yard-his name is moment with most men. But it was unknown, save to a few-but by otherwise with him-his constitution those it will long be honoured, lovwas delicate, and his feelings sensi ed, and wept over! tive beyond the conception of any

CINNA.

DIGRESSIONS BY GEOFFREY HARDCASTLE, Gent.

Pha.-Thinke what you will of it, I think 'tis done, and I think 'tis acting by this time; harke, harke, what drumming's yonder; l'll lay my life they are comming to present the shew I spake off. Common Sense:- It may be 50; stay, wee'le sce what 'ris.

LINGUA. I am neither a disciple of Jeremy plays are sprung from the devilCollier, nor of the author of Histrio

ergo, stage plays are evil—which mastrix; both of whom, with more syllogism would, indubitably, be zeal than discretion, have occupied conclusive on the subject, were it themselves in railing against stage

not that it is unfortunately necessary plays, and play-goers. More espe to prove his major, which he attempts cially, the latter author has contrived to do, by the testimony of divers to steal sufficient time from the la. fathers of the Primitive Church, and bours of his profession, to indite a among others, Tertullian, Cyprian, goodly quarto tractate” of some Chrysostom, Ignatus, Lactantius, thousand and odd pages, in which and many other long-named men, he logically proves the immorality of whom few in the present time know, the stage, by well arranged and sub nor if they knew, would care for. tle syllogisms, such as Things de Leaving, therefore, the reverend rived from the devil are evil-stage and learned gentlemen to slumber

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