While high-born ladies, in their magic celledě And fight with honest men, to shield a knave. đôn On public taste to foist thy stale romance, Though MURRAY, with his MILLER, may combine Who rack their brains for lucre, not for fame: These are the themes that claim our plaudits now; Good night to Marmion' the pathetic and also prophetic exclamation of Henry Blount, Esq. on the death of honest Marmion. E The work of each immortal bard appears are somė The single wonder of a thousand years.❤ Empires have mouldered from the face of earth," Tongues have expired with those who gave them birth, Without the glory such a strain can give, 199 As even in ruin bids the language live. 210 As the Odyssey is so closely connected with the story of the Iliad, they may almost be classed as one grand historical poem. In alluding to Milton and Tasso, we consider the Paradise Lost,' and 'Gierusalemme Liberata,' as their standard efforts, since neither the Jerusalem Conquered' of the Italian, nor the "Paradise Regained' of the English bard, obtained a proportionate celebrity to their former poems. Query: which of Mr. Southey's will survive? Thalaba, Mr. Southey's second poem, is written in open defiance of precedent and poetry. Mr. S. wished to produce something novel, and succeeded to a miracle. Joan of Arc was marvellous enough, but Thalaba was one of those poems 'which,' in the words of Porson, will be read when Homer and Virgil are forgotten, but-not till then. Since startled metre fled before thy face, frow T song! A bard may chant too often and too long: A 220 LOT A fourth, alas! were more than we could bear. [77 too. Next comes the dull disciple of thy school, A * We beg Mr. Southey's pardon: Madoc disdains the degraded title of epic.' See his preface. Why is epic degraded? and by whom? Certainly, the late romaunts of Masters Cottle, Laureat Pye, Ogilvy, Hole, and gentle Mistress Cowley, have not exalted the epic muse; but as Mr. Southey's poem 'disdains the appellation,' allow us to ask-Has he substituted any thing better in its stead? or must he be content to rival Sir Richard Blackmore, in the quantity as well as quality of his verse? See, The Old Woman of Berkley,' a ballad by Mr. Southey, wherein an aged gentlewoman is carried away by Beelzebub, on a high trotting horse.' The last line, 'God help thee,' is an evident plagiarism from the Anti-jacobin to Mr. Southey, on his dactylics di at God help thee, silly one.'-Poetry of the Anti-jacobin, P. 23 Who warns his friend to shake off toil and trouble, 240 A moon-struck, silly lad, who lost his way, N 250 Shall gentle COLERIDGE pass unnoticed here, Lyrical Ballads, p. 4.-- The Tables Turned.' Stanza 1. Up, up, my friend, and quit your books, + Mr. W. in his preface, labours hard to prove that prose and verse are much the same, and certainly his precepts and practice are strictly conformable. And thus to Betty's question he Made answer, like a traveller bold, And the sun did shine so cold,' &c. &c. Lyrical Ballads, p. 129. + Coleridge's Poems, p. 11. Songs of the Pixies, i. e. Devonshire Fairies: p. 42, we have, Lines to a Young Lady:' and p. 52, Lines to a Young Ass.' How well the subject suits his noble mind is weAW A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.? 258 प Oh! wonder-working LEWIS! monk, or bard, 37 Who fain would'st make Parnassus a church-yard! Lo! wreaths of yew, not laurel, bind thy brow, Thy muse a sprite, Apollo's sexton thou! Whether on ancient tombs thou takʼst thy stand, A By gibb❜ring spectres hailed, thy kindred band; Or tracest chaste descriptions on thy page, a To please the females of our modest age; All hail, M.P.!* from whose infernal brain Thin-sheeted phantoms glide, a grisly train; At whose command, 'grim women' throng in crowds, T T A And kings of fire, of water, and of clouds, 270 With small gray men,'-' wild yagers,' and what not, To crown with honour thee and WALTER SCOTT: Who, in soft guise, surrounded by a choir With sparkling eyes, and cheek by passion flushed, Grieved to condemn, the muse must still be just, Pure is the flame which o'er her altar burns; She bids thee, mend thy line and sin no more.' *For every one knows little Matt's an M.P See a poem to Mr. Lewis, in The Statesman,' supposed to be written by Mr. Jekyll. |