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And butting all he meets, with awkward pains, Abortive thoughts, that right and wrong contouud,
False glare, incongruous images, combine;
F. Forbear, forbear; And noise and nonsense clatter through the line. And what the great delight in, learn to spare. "Tis done. Her house the generous Piozzi lends,
P. It must not, cannot be ; for I was born And thither summons her blue-stocking friends ; To brand obtrusive ignorance with scorn;
The summons her blue-stocking friends obey, On bloated pedantry to pour my rage,
Lured by the love of poetry—and tea. And hiss preposterous fustian from the stage. The Bardsteps forth, in birth-day splendour drest,
Lo, Della CRUSCA !* In his closet pent, His right hand graceful waving o'er his breast; Ile toils to give the crude conception vent. His left extending, so that all may see
A roll inscribed " THE WREATH OF LIBERTY." * ON MR. GIFFORD'S MOTTO.
So forth he steps, and, with complacent air, ** The following SPIRITED CHASTISEMENT of the vulgar Bows round the circle, and assumes the chair ; ignorance and malignity in question was sent on Thurs. With lemonade he gargles next his throat, day night—but by an accidental error in one of our clerks, Then sweetly preludes to the liquid note : or in the servant delivering the copy at the office, it was unfortunately mislaid !"
And now 'tis silence all. “ GENIUS OR MUSE'*. Why this is as it should be ;--the gods take care of Thus while the flowery subject he pursues, Caw! Who sees not that they interfered, and by con. veying the copy out of the compositor's way, procured the
Recumbent eve rock the reposing tide. author of the Mæviad two comfortable nights! But to
A web-work of despair, a mass of woes. the spirited chastisement.'
And o'er my lids the scalding tumour roll." Nor wool the pig, nor milk the bull produces.'
" Tumour, a morbid swelling."-Johnson. An excelThe profundity of the last observation, by.the-by, proves lent thing to roll over an eye, especially if it happen, as Mr. Parsons to be an accurate observer of nature: and in the present case, to be “scalding." if the three Irishmen who went nine miles to suck a “Summer tints begemm'd the scene, bull, and came back adry, had fortunately had the honour
And silky ocean slept in glossy green." of his acquaintance, we should probably have heard no “ While air's nocturnal ghost, in paly shroud, thing of their far-famed expedition
Glances with grisly glare from cloud to cloud," Nor wool the pig, nor milk the bull produces,
“And gauzy zephyrs, fluttering o'er the plain, Yet each has something for far different uses:
On twilight's bosom drop their filmy rain." For boars, pardie ! have tusks, and bulls have horns.' Unus instar omnium! This couplet slaggered me. I H, Νεμεσις δε κακαν εγραψατο φωναν
should be loath to be found correcting a madman; and For from that hour scarcely a week, or indeed a day, has yet mere folly seems unequal to the production of such elapsed, in which Mr. Parsons has not made himsel: exquisite nonsense. ridiculous by threatening me in the Telegraph, Oracle,
-“ The explosion came World, &c., with those formidable nonentities.
And burst the o'ercharged culverin of shame.” Well and wisely singeth the poet, non unus mentes
Days of old agitat furor : yet while I give an involuntary smile to Their perish’d, proudest pageantry unfold." the oddity of Mr. Parsons' disease, I cannot but lament
-“ Nothing I descry, that his friends, (and a gentleman who is said to belong But the bare hoast of barren heraldry." Lo more clubs than Sir Watkin Lewes must need have
_“ The huntress queen friends.) I cannot, I say, but lament, that on the first ap Showers her shafts of silver o'er the scene. searance of these knobs, these 'excrescences,' as I call
To these add,“ moody monarchs, turgid tyrant, pamper. them, his friends did not have him cut for the simples!
ed popes, radiant rivers, cooling cataracts, lazy Loires, * Lo, DELLA CRUSCA !
(of which, by-the.by, there are none,) gay Garonnes, 'O thou, to whom superior worth's allied,
gloomy glass, mingling murier, dauntless day, lettered Thy country's honour, and the muses' pride lightnings, delicious dilatings, sinking sorrows, blissful So says Laura Maria
blessings, rich reasonings, meliorating mercies, vicious Et solem quis dicere falsum
venalities, sublunary suns, dewy vapours damp, that Audeat?
sweep the silent swamp;" and a world of others, lo be Indeed she says a great deal more; but as I do not found in the compass of half a dozen pages. understand it, I forbear io lengthen my quotation.
" In phosphor blaze of genealogic line." Innumerable odes, sonnets, &c. published from time to N.B. Written to the turning of a brazen candlestick.” time in the daily papers, have justly procured this gen " O better were it ever to be lost tleman the reputation of the first poet of the age : but the In blank negation's sea, than reach the coast." performance which called forth the high-sounding pane. “Should the zeal of Parliament be empty words." gric above-mentioned is a philosophical rhapsody in
“Doom for a breath praise of the French revolution, called the “ Wreath of
A hundred reasoning hecatombs to death.” Liberty."
A hecatomb is a sacrifice of a hundred head of oxen. Of this mem no reader (provided he can read) is at this
Where did this gentleman hear of their reasoning ? tirne ignorant; but as there are various opinions concern. ing it, and as I do not choose, perhaps, to dispute with a
“A while I'll ruminate on time and fate; lady of Mrs. Robinson's critical abilities, I shall select a
And the most probable event of things"few passages from it, and leave the world to judge how EUGE, MAGNE POETA! Well may Laura Maria say, truly its author is said to be
“ That Genius glows in every classic line, - Gifted with the sacred lyre,
And Nature dictates--every thing that's thine." Whose sounds can more than mortal thoughts inspire." ** Genius or Muse, whoe'er thou art, whose thrill This supernatural effort of genius, then, is chiefly distin
Exalts the fancy, and inflames the will, guished by three very prominent features.-Downright
Bids o'er the heart sublime sensation roll, Donsense. Downright frigidity. Downright doggrel.
And wakes ecstatic fervour in the soul." Of each of these as the instances occur.
See the commencement of the Wreath of Liberty, where * Hang o'er his eye the gossamery tear.
our great poet, with a dexterity peculiar to himself, has Wreathe round her airy harp the timorous joy. contrived to fill several quarto pages without a single idea.
A wild delirium round th' assembly flies ;
And are not now the author's ashes blest ? Unusual lustre shoots from Emma's eyes,
Lies not the turf now lightly on his breast ? Luxurious Arno drivels as he stands,
Do not sweet violets now around him bloom! And Anna frisks, and Laura claps her hands. Laurels now burst spontaneous from his tomb?
O wretched man! And dost thou toil to please, F. This is mere mockery: and (in your ear) At this late* hour, such prurient ears as these ?
Reason is ill refuted by a sneer. Is thy poor pride contented to receive
Is praise an evil? Is there to be found Such transitory fame as fools can give ?
One so indifferent to its soothing sound, Fools, who, unconscious of the critics' laws, As not to wish hereafter to be known, Rain in such showers their indistinct applause, And make a long futuriiy his own; That Thou, e'en Thol, who livest upon renown,
Rather thanAnd, with eternal puffz, insuli'st the town,
P. With 'Squire Jerningham descend Art forced, at length, lo check the idiot roar, To pastry cooks and moths. “ and there an end !" And cry, “ For heaven's sweet sake, no more, no O thou, who deign'st this homely scene to share, more!"
Thou know’st, wien chance (though this indeed be But why, (thou say'st,) why am I learn'd, why rare)* fraught
With random gleams of wit has graced my lays, With all the priest and all the sage have taught, Thou know'st too well how I have relish'd If the huge mass within my bosom pent
praise. Must struggle there, despairing of a vent ?" Not mine the soul which pants not after faine :Trou learn'd! Alas, for learning! She is sped. Ambitious of a poet's envied name, And hast thou dimmd thy eyes, and rack'd thy I haunt the sacred fount, athirst, to prove head,
The grateful influence of the stream I love. And broke thy rest for this, for tuus alone? And yet, my friend--though still, at praise beAnd is thy knowledge nothing is not known?
stow'd, O lost to sense!— But still, thou criest, 'tis sweet, Mine eye has glisten'd, and my cheek has To hear “ That's HE!" from every one we meel :
glow'd, That's le whom critic Bell declares divine, Yet, when I prostitute the lyre to gain For whom the fair diurnal laurels twine;
The Euges which await the modish strain, Whom magazines, reviews, conspire to praise, May the sweet muse my grovelling hopes withAnd Greathead calls the Homer of our days.
stand, F. And is it nothing, then, to hear our name And tear the strings indignant from my hand! Thus blazon'd by the GENERAL VOICE of fame? Nor think that, while my verse too much I prize, P. Nay, it were every thing, did that dis- Too much th' applause of fashion I despise ; pense
For mark to what 'tis given, and then declare, The sober verdict found by taste and sense : Mean though I am, if it be worth my care. But mark our jury. O'er the flowing bowl, - Is it not given w Este's unmeaning dash, When wine has drown'd all energy of soul, To Topham's fustian, Reynolds' flippant trash, Ere Faro comes, (a dreary interval !)
To Morton's catchword,+ Greathead's idiot line, For some fond fashionable lay they call Here the spruce ensign, tottering on his chair,
* Thou know'st, when chance, &c.-To see how a With lisping accent, and affected air,
Cruscan can blunder! Mr. Parsons thus politely cont Recounts the wayward fatet of that poor poet, ments on this unfortunate hemistich: Who, born for anguish, and disposed to show it, “Thou lowest of the imitating race, Did yet so awkwardly his means employ,
Thou imp of satire, and thou foul disgrace ; That gaping fiends mistook his grief for joy!
Who callest each coarse phrase a lucky hit,'' &c. Lost in amaze at language so divine,
Alas! no: But this is of a piece with his qui-pro-qu'un The audience hiccup, and exclaim, “ Damn'd the preface of the Mæviad, where, on my saying that I fine!"
had laid the poem aside for two years, he exultingly exclaims, “ Soh! it was two years in hand, then !"
Mr. Parsons is highly celebrated, I am bold, for his * At this late hour-I learn from Della Crusca's lamen- shillin driving a bargain: it is to be presumed that he does tations, that he is declined into the vale of years; that it with his spectacles on.-But, indeed, he began with a the women say to him, as they formerly said to Anacrcon, blunder :-if he had read my motto carefully, he must yepwv et, and that Love, about two years since,
have seen that I never laxed him with keeping a bull: “ Tore his name from his bright page,
his own milking: no; it was the infatuated man who And gave it to approaching age.”
looked for sense in Mr. Parsons'skull that was charged
with this solecism in economics. And yet the bare belief + Recounts the wayward fate, &c.-In the INTERVIEW, of it produced the metamorphosis which I have already see the British Album, the lover, finding his mistress in- | noticed, and which his friends have not yet ceased to exorable, comforts himself, and justifies her, by wasting deplore. how well he can play the fool. And never did Don Quix. ote exhibit half so many extravagant tricks in the Sierra
+ Morton's catchword. WONDERFUL is the profundity Morena, for the beaux yeux of his dulcinea, as our dis of the bathos! I thought that O'Keefe had reached the tracted amoroso threatens to perform for the no less bottom of it; but, as uncle Bowling says, I thought a beautiful ones of Anna Matilda.
d-n'd lie; for Holcroft, Reynolds, and Morton have sunk
bencath him. They have happily found “Yes, I will prove that I deserve my fate, Was born for anguish, and was formed for hate;
In the lowest deep a lower still, With such transcendent wo will breathe my sigh, and persevere in exploring it with an emulation which That envying fiends shall think it ecstacy,' &c. does them honour.
And Holcroft's Shug-lane cant,* and Merry's Moor- That e'en the guilty at their sufferings smile, fields whine ?t
And bless the lancet, though they bleed the Skill'd in one useful science, at the least,
In all the sad variety of wo,
The breast unwares, and steal the soul away.'
essays Speak freely ;-tell me all ;-come, be sincere ; Sunk in acrostics, riddles, roundelays, For truth, you know, is music to my ear.
To loftier labours now pretend a call, They speak! alas, they cannot. But shall I ? - And bustle in heroics, one and all. I, who receive no bribe ? who dare not lie ? *E’en Bertie burns of gods and chiefs to singThis, then :-" That worse was never writ before, Bertie, who lately twitter'd 10 the string Nor worse will be, till—Thou shalt write once more." His namby-pamby madrigals of love,
Bless'd be “ two-headed Janus!" though inclined, In the dark dingles of a glittering grove, No waggish stork can peck at him behind ; Where airy lays,t woven by the hand of morn, He no wry mouth, no lolling tongue can fear, Were hung to dry upon a cobweb thorn! Nor the brisk twinkling of an ass's ear:
Happy the soil, where bards like mushrooms But you, ye St. Johns, cursed with one poor head, rise, Alas! what mockeries have not ye to dread! And ask no culture but what Byshe supplies !
Hear now our guests. The critics, sir! they cry, Happier the hards, who, write whate'er they will, Merit like yours the critics may defy :
Find gentle readers to admire them still ! But this, indeed, they say, “ Your varied rhymes, Some love the verse that like Maria's flows, At once the boast and envy of the times, No rubs to stagger, and no sense to pose ; in every page, song, sonnet, what you will, Which read, and read, you raise your eyes in doubt, Show boundless genius and unrivall’d skill. And gravely wonder-what it is about.
* If comedy be yours, the searching strain These fancy “ BELL's Poetics” only sweet, Blends such sweet pleasure with corrective pain, And intercept his hawkers in the street;
There, smoking hot, inhale Mır Yenda’st strains, * And Holeroft's Shug-lane cant. This is a poor stupid And the rank fame of Tony Pasquin's brains. Í wretch, to whom infidelity and disloyalty have given a momentary notoriety, which has imposed upon the osci. tancy of the managers, and opened the theatre to two or * E'en Bertie, &c.-For Berlie, (Greathead, I think thrs of his grovelling and senseless productions. they call him,) see the Mæviad.
Will future ages believe that this facetious triumvirate should think nothing more to be necessary to the con
† Where airy lays, &c. struction of a play, than an eternal repetition of some
“ Was it the shuttle of the morn contemptible vulgarity, such as “ That's your sort !"
That hung upon the cobweb'd thorn "Hey, damme !" " What's to pay ?» « Keep moving !" &c.
Thy airy lay ? Or did it rise, They will; for they will have blockheads of their own,
In thousand rich enamell’d dyes, who will found their claims to celebrity on similar follies.
To greet the noonday sun?" &c. Whal, however, they will never credit is, that these dri- |--Album, vol. ii. vellings of idiotism, these catchwords, should actually
I Mit Yenda.—This is Mr. Tim, alias Mr. Timothy preserve their respective authors from being hooted off | Adney, a most pertinacious gentleman, who makes a the stage. No, they will not believe that an English au- conspicuous figure in the daily papers under the ingenious dience could be so besolted, so brutified, as to receive signature above cited ; it being, as the reader already such senseless exclamations with bursts of laughter, sees, his own name read backward. “Gentle dulness with peals of applause. I cannot believe it myself, though ever loves a joke!" I have witnessed it. Haud credo-if I may reverse the
Of his prodigious labours I have nothing by me but the good father's position-haud credo, quia possibile est.
following stanza, taken from what he calls his Poor † Merry's Moorfields whine.-In a most wretched Man: rhapsody of incomprehensible nonsense, addressed by this gentleman to Mrs. Robinson, which she, in her valu
Reward the bounty of your generous hand,
Your head each night in comfort shall be laid, able poems, (page 100,) calls a charming composition, alwunding in lines of exquisite beauty, is the following
And plenty smile throughout your fertile land,
While I do hasten to the silent grave." rant: Conjure up demons from the main,
"Good morrow, my worthy masters and mistresses all, Storms upon storms indignant heap,
and a merry Christmas to you !" Bid ocean howl, and nature weep,
I have been guilty of a misnomer. Mr. Adney has poTill the Creator blush to see
litely informed me, since the above was written, that his How horrible his world can be :
Christian name is not Timothy, but Thomas. The anaWhile I will glory to blaspheme,
gram in question, therefore, must be Mot Yrnda, omitAnd make the joys of hell my theme.”
ting the h, euphoniæ gratia. I am happy in an opportu. The reader, perhaps, wonders what dreadful event gave nity of doing justice to so correct a gentleman, and I pray birth to these fearful imprecations. As far as I can col. him to continue his valuable lucubrations. lect from the poem, it was the momentary refusal of the & Tony PASQUIN. I have loo much respect for my aforesaid Mrs. Robinson-io open her eyes! Surely, it is reader, to affront him with any specimens of this man's mnost devoutly to be wished that these poor creatures poetry, at once licentious and dull beyond example: al would recolleci, amidst their frigid ravings and common the same time I cannot resist the temptation of presentplace extravagances, that excellent maxim of Pope ing him with the following stanzas, written by a friend *Persist, by nature, reason, taste unawed ;
of mine, and sufficiently illustrative of the character in But learn, ye dunces, not to scorn your God.” question :
Others, like Kemble, on black-letter pore,
There Fezzan's thrum-capp'd tribes, Turks, ChrisAnd what they do not understand, adore ;
tians, Jews, Buy at vast sums the trash of ancient days, Accommodate, ye gods! their feet with shoes ; And draw on prodigality for praise.
There meager shrubs inveterate mountains grace, These, when some lucky bit, or lucky price, And brushwood breaks the amplitude of space. Has bless'd them with “ The Boke of gode Advice," Perplex'd with terms so vague and undefined, For ekes and algales only deign to seek,
I blunder on ; till 'wilder'd, giddy, blind, And live upon a whilome for a week.
Where'er I turn, on clouds I seem to tread; And can we, when such mope-eyed dolts are And call for Mandeville, to ease my head. placed
O for the good old times! When all was new, By thoughtless fashion on the throne of taste And every hour brought prodigies to view, Say, can we wonder whence such jargon flows, Our sires in unaffected language told This motley fustian, neither verse nor prose, Of streams of amber, and of rocks of gold ; This old, new language which defiles our page, Full of their theme, they spurn'd all idle art; The reluse and the scum of every age ?
And the plain tale was trusted to the heart.
Less to display our subject than ourselves.
Heavens, how we sweat! laboriously absurd !
Words of gigantic bulk, and uncouth sound, “Why dost thou tack, most simple Anthony,
In ratiling triads the long sentence bound; The name of Pasquin to thy ribald strains?
While points with points, with periods periods jar, Is it a fetch of wit, to let us see,
And the whole work seems one continued war! Thou, like that statue, art devoid of brains ? “ But thou mistakest: for know, though Pasquin's head Is not this sad ? Be full as hard, and near as thick as thine,
F. “ 'Tis pitiful, heaven knows Yet has the world, admiring, on it read
'Tis wondrous pitiful." E'en take the prose; Many a keen gibe, and many a sportive line. But for the poetry—O, that, “While nothing from thy jobbernowl can spring I still aspire-nay, smile not-to defend. But impudence and filth ; for out, alas!
You praise our sires, but, though they wrote with Do what we will, 'lis still the same vile thing,
force, Within, all brick-dust-and without, all brass.
Their rhymes were vicious, and their diction coarse; " Then blot the name of Pasquin from thy page:
We want their strength : agreed; but we atone Thou seest it will not thy poor riff-raff sell. Some other would'st thou take? I dare engage
For that, and more, by sweetness ALL OUR OWN. John Williams, or Tom Fool, will do as well."
For instance-** Hasten to the lawny vale, Tony has taken my friend's advice, and now sells, or
Where yellow morning breathes her saffron gale, attempts to sell, his "riff-raff” under the name of Joun And bathes the landscape-" WILLIAMS,
P. Pshaw ; I have it here. It has been represented to me, that I should do well to “A voice sera phic grasps my listening ear; avoid all mention of this man, from a consideration, that wondering I gaze ; when lo! methought afar, one so lost to every sense of decency and shame was a fitter object for the beadle than the muse. This has in. More bright than dauntless day's imperial star, duced me to lay aside a second castigation which I had A godlike form advances.” prepared for him, though I do not think it expedient to
F. You suppose omit what I had formerly written.
These lines, perhaps, too turgid ; what of those
THE MIGHTY MOTHER-
P. Now 'tis plain you sneer, One word more. I am told that there are men so weak For Weston'st self could find no semblance here : as to deprecate this miserable object's abuse, and so vain, so despicably vain, as to wlerate his praise-for such I have nothing but pity ;-though the fate of Hastings, see
of water, to the long ascent of the broad rock of Gerdobah, the “Pin-basket to the Children of Thespis,” holds out a
(p. 289,) from whose inflexible barrenness little is to be dreadful lesson to the latter:--but should there be a man got-from this scene, I say, of gladsome contrast to the or a woman, however high in rank, base enough to pur inveterate mountains of Gegogib, &c. chase the venal pen of this miscreant for the sake of tra
“In the long course of a seven days' passage, the tra. ducing innocence and virtue, then--I was about 10
veller is scarcely sensible that a few spots of thin and threaten, but 'lis not necessary: the profligate cowards meager brushwood slightly interrupt the vast expanse of who employ Anthony can know no severer punishment sterility, and diminish the amplitude of desolation !!!" than the support of a man whose acquaintance is infamy,
* Hasten, &c.—This and the following quotation are and whose louch is poison.
taken from the “ Laurel of Librrty," a work on which the * Lo ! Beaufoy, &c.-" The feet are accommodated with
great author most justly rests his claim to immortality. shoes, and the head is protected by a-woollen night-cap." See p. 167. -AFRICAN ASSOCIATION, p. 139.
+ Weston.—This indefatigable gentleman has been “ From this scene of gladsome contrast, i. e. from the long employed in attacking the moral character of Pope mountain of Zilau, (p. 288,) whose rugged sides are marked in the Gentleman's Magazine, with all the virulence of with scanty spots of brushwood, and enriched with stores Gildon, all the impudence of Smedley, and all the igno
rance of Curl and his associates, I Shoes. By your leave, master critic, here is a small oversight in your What the views of the bland Sylvanus may be, in standquotation. The gentleman does not say their feet are accommodated with
ing cap in hand, and complacently holding open the door shoes, but with slippers. For the rest, accommodate, as I learn, is a
of the temple, for nearly two years, to this " execrable" scholar-like word, and a word of exceeling great propriety. “Accommodate ! it comes from accommodo: that is, when a man's feet are, as they say, accommodated, or when they are-being-whereby they may be thought to 1 Such is the epithet applied to Pope by the “ virtuous indignation" of this be accommodated: which is an excellent thing"-Printer's Devil.
li amiable" traducer of worth and genius!
Weston, who slunk from truth's imperious light, Heavens! if our ancient vigour were not fled, Swells, like a filthy toad, with secret spite, Could VERSE like this be written? or be read ? And, envying the fame he cannot hope,
VERSE! That's the mellow fruit of toil intense, Spits his black venom at the dust of Pope. Inspired by genius, and inform'd by sense ; – Reptile accursed 0 memorable long,
This, the abortive progeny of pride, If there be force in virtue or in song,
And dulness, gentle pair, for aye allied ; O injured bard! accept the grateful strain, Begotten without thought, born without pains, Which I, the humblest of the tuneful train, The ropy drivel of rheumatic brains. With glowing heart, yet trembling hand, repay F. So let it be ; and yet, methinks, my friend, For many a pensive, many a sprightly lay! Silence were wise, where satire will not mend. So may thy varied verse, from age to age,
Why wound the feelings of our noble youth, Inform the simple, and delight the sage;
And grate their tender ears with odious truth? While canker'd Weston, and his loathsome rhymes, They cherish Arno* and his flux of song, Suink in the nose of all succeeding times !
And hate the man who tells 'em they are wrong. Enough. But where, (for these, you seem to say, Your fate already I foresee. My lord, Are samples of the high, heroic lay,)
With cold respect, will freeze you from his board; Where are the solt, the tender strains, which call And his grace cry,“ Hence with that sapient sneer! For the moist eye, bow'd head, and lengthen'd Hence! we desire no currish critic here." drawl ?
P. Enough. Thank heaven! my error now I see, Lo! here-- *** Canst thou, Matilda, urge my fate, And all shall be divine, henceforth, for me : And bid me mourn thee? yes, and mourn too late! O rash, severe decree! my maddening brain
* Of the talents of this spes altera Roma, this second Cannot the ponderous agony sustain ;
hope of the age, the following stanzas will afford a suffiBut forth I rush, from vale to mountain run, cient specimen. They are taken from a ballad which And with my mind's thick gloom obscure the Mr. Bell, an admirable judge of these matiers, calls a sun."
very mellifluous one; easy, artless, and unaffected." “ Gently o'er the rising billons
Sofily steals the bird of night, Erostratus, I know not. He cannot surely be weak
Rustling through the bending willoos : enough to suppose that an obscure scribbler like this
Flullering pinions mark her flight. has any charges to bring against our great poet, which " Whither now in silence bending, escaped the vigilant malevolence of the Westons of the
Ruthless winds deny thee rest : Chciad. Or if ever, from the “ natural goodness of his
Chilling night-deurs fast descending, heart," he cherished so laudahle a supposition, he ought
Glisten on thy downy breast. (whatever it may cost him) to forego it: when, after twenty months' preparation, nothing is produced but an
“Seeking some kind hand to guide thee, exploded accusation taken from the most common edition
Wistful turns thy fearful eye; of the Dunciad!
Trembling as the willows hide thee, It has been suggested to me, that this nightman of lite
Shelter'd from th’inclement sky." rature designs to reprint as much as can be collected of The story of this poor owl, who was at one and the same the heroes of the Dunciad.-If it be so, the dirty work of time at sea and on land, silent and noisy, sheltered and traducing Pope may be previously necessary; and pre-exposed, is continued through a few more of these “ mellijudice itself must own, that he has shown uncommon
fluous” stanzas, which the reader, I doubt not, will readily penetration in the selection of the blind and outrageous forgive me for omitting; more especially if he reads the mercenary now so laboriously employed in it.
ORACLE, 1 paper honoureil-as the grateful editor very Whatever be the design, the proceedings are by no properly has it-by the effusions of this á artless" gentlemeans inconsistent with the plan of a work which may
inan above all others. nnt unapely be styled the charnel-house of reputation,
N.B. On looking again, I find the owl to be a night. and which, from the days of Lauder to the present, has
ingale!-N'importe. delighted to asperse every thing venerable among us
It was said of Theophilus Cibber, (I think by Goldsmith,) which accused Swift of lust, and Addison of drunkenness! that as he grew older, he grew never the better. Much shich insulted the ashes of Toup while they were yet the same (mutatis mutandis) may be said of the gentlemen warm, and gibbe ted poor Henderson alive: which aifect of the Baviad. After an interval of two years, I find the ed ta idolize the great and good Howard, while idolatry
“mellifluous" Arno celebrating Mrs. Robinson's novel was painful to him: and the moment he fell, gloriously
in strains like these. fell, in the exercise of the most sublime virtue, attempted
" For the Oracle. Lo stigmatize him as a brute and a monster!
SONNET TO MRS. ROBINSON, * Canst thou, Matilda, &c. vide Album, vol. ij. -Ma
Upon reading her VANCENZA. tilda! - Vay then, I'll never trust a madman again.” It
“What never-ceasing music! From the throne
To every murmuring breeze of passing wind!
That bathes with purest balm the soften'd breast, that he takes fire at every female signature in the papers;
I see thee urge thy fancy's course along and I remember, that when Olaudo Equiano, who, for a
The solemn glooms of Gothic piles unbless'd. black, is not ill-featured, tried his hand at a soft sonnet,
" Vancenza rises--o'er her time-touch'd spires and by mistake subscribed it Olaula, Mr. Merry fell so
Guilt unrereal'd hovers with killing dew, desperately in love with him, and "yelled out such sylla
Frustrates the fondness of the Virgin's fires, bles of dolour" in consequence of it, that the pitiful heart
And bares the murderous casket to her view. ed negro was frightened at the mischief he had done, and “The thrilling pulse creeps back upon each heart, transmitted in all haste the following correction to the And horror lords it by thy fascinating art.”—Arno. ins--For Olaul, please to read Olaudo, the black Et vitula tu dignus, et KÆC! The novel is worthy of the MAN"
poetry, the poetry of the novel.