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abated, we are left at liberty to contem- difference: or, it may be, the cultivation of mind which teaches us to reject and nauseate these latter objects, aggravates the case, if our improvement in taste be not accompanied by a proportionate improvement of morals.

plate a character of a different complexion, buxom, blithe, aud debonair;" one who, although evidently a great favourite of the poet's, and therefore to be received with all due courtesy, is not withstanding introduced under the suspicious description of an alias.

In heaven yclep'd Euphrosyne, And by men, heart-easing Mirth. Judging indeed from the light and easy deportment of this gay nymph, one might guess there were good reasons for a change of name as she changed her residence. But of all vices there is none we abhor more than that of slanderous insinuation; we shall therefore confine our moral strictures to the nymph's mother, in whose defence the poet has little to sey himself. Here too, as in the case of the name, there is some doubt: for the uncertainty of descent on the father's side having become trite to a proverb, the author, scorning that beaten track, has left us to choose between two mothers for his favourite and without much to guide our choice; for, whichever we fix upon, it is plain she was no better than she should Le. As he seems, however, himself inclined to the latter of the two, we will even suppose it so to be.

Or whether (as some sager sing) The frolic wind that breathes the spring, Zephyr, with Aurora playing, As be met ber once a Maying; There on beds of violets blue, And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, &c. Some dull people might imagine, that the wind was more like the breath of spring than spring the breath of the wind; but we are more disposed to question the author's ethics than his physics, and ac cordingly cannot dismiss these May gam

bols without some observations.

In the first place, Mr. M. seems to bave higher notions of the antiquity of the May-pole than we have been accustomed to attach to it. Or perhaps he thought to shelter the equivocal nature of this affair under that sanction. To us however, who can hardly subscribe to the doctrine that "vice loses half its evil by losing all its grossness," neither the remoteness of time, nor the gaiety of the season, furnishes sufficient palliation. "Violets blue," and "freshblown roses," are to be sure more agriteable objects of the imagination than a gin-shop in Wapping, or a booth in Bartholomew-fair; but in point of morality, these are distinctions without a

If the reader can reconcile himself to this latitude of principle, the anachronisın will not long stand in his way. Much indeed may be said in favour of this notions and manners. union of ancient mythology with modern It is a sort of chronological metaphor-an artificial analogy, by which ideas, widely remote and and the mind is delighted by this unexheterogeneous, are brought into contact, pected assemblage, as it is by the combinations of figurative language.

the pen of Ben Jonson has transmitted Thus in that elegant interlude, which to us, of the Loves of Hero and Leander:

Gentles, that no longer your expectations may

wander,

With a great deal of cloth, lapp'd about him
Behold our chief actor, amorous Leander,

like a scarf,

For he yet serves his father, a dyer in Puddle Wharf;

Which place we'll make bold with, to call it our Abydus,

As the Bank-side is our Sestos, and let it not be denied us.

And far be it from us to deny the use of so reasonable a liberty; especially if the request be backed (as it is in the case of necessities of rhymne. What man who Mr. M.) by the craving and imperious has ever bestrode Pegasus but for an hour, will be insensible to such a claim?

Haud ignara mali, miseris succurrere disco.

We are next favoured with an enumeration of the attendants of this "debonair"

nymph, in all the minuteness of a Ger man dramatis persona, or a rope-dancer's hand-bill:

Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful Jollity; Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek; Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. The author, to prove himself worthy of being admitted of the crew, skips and capers about upon "the light fantastic toe," that there is no following him. He scampers through all the categories, in search of his imaginary beings, from Substance to Quality, and back again;

from

from thence to Action, Passion, Habit, &c. with incredible celerity. Who, for instance, would have expected cranks, nods, becks, and wreathed smiles, as part of a group, in which Jest, Jollity, Sport, and Laughter, figure away as fullformed entire personages? The family likeness is certainly very strong in the two last; and if we had not been told, we should perhaps have thought the act of deriding as appropriate to Laughter as to Sport.

But how are we to understand the stage directions?

Come, and trip it as you go.

Are the words used synonymously? Or is it meant that this airy gentry shall come in at a minuet step, and go off in a jig? The phenomenon of a tripping crank is indeed novel, and would doubt less attract numerous spectators. But it is difficult to guess to whom among this jolly company the poet addresses him self; for immediately after the plural ap. pellative [you], he proceeds,

And in by right hand lead with thee The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty. No sooner is this fair damsel introduced, but Mr. M. with most unbecoming levity falls in love with her; and makes a request of her companion, which is rather greedy, that he may live with both of them:

To live with her, and live with thee. Even the gay libertine who sung, "How happy could I be with either!" did not go so far as this. But we have already had occasion to remark on the laxity of Mr. M.'s amatory notions.

The poet, intoxicated with the charms of his inistress, now rapidly runs over the pleasures which he proposes to himself in the enjoyment of her society. But though he has the advantage of being his own caterer, either his palate is of a peculiar structure, or he has not made the most judicious selection. To begin the day well, he will have the sky-lark

-to come in spite of sorrow,

And at his window bid good-morrow. The sky-lark, if we know any thing of the nature of that bird, must come in spite of something else as well as of sorrow, to the performance of this office. In his next image, the natural history is better preserved; and as the thoughts are appropriate to the time of the day, we will venture to transcribe the passage, as a favourable specimen of the author's

manner:

While the cock with lively dia Scatters the rear of darkness thin, And to the stack, or the barn door, Stoutly struts his dames before; Oft list'ning how the hounds and horn Cheerly rouse the slumbering Morn, From the side of some hoar hill, Through the high wood echoing shrill. Is it not lamentable that, after all, whe ther it is the cock or the poet that listens, should be left entirely to the reader's conjecture? Perhaps also his embarrass ment may be increased by a slight resemblance of character in these two illustrious personages, at least as far as relates to the extent and numbers of their seraglio.

After a flaming description of sunrise, on which occasion the clouds attend in their very best liveries, the bill of fare for the day proceeds in the usual manner. Whistling ploughmen, singing milkmaids, and sentimental shepherds, are always to be had at a moment's notice; and, if well grouped, serve to fill up the landscape agreeably enough. On this part of the poem we have only to remark, that if Mr. John Milton proposeth to make himself merry with

Russet lawns, and fallows grey
Where the nibbling flocks do stray;
Mountains on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often rest,
Meadows trim with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide,

Towers and battlements, &c. &c. &c.

he will either find himself egregiously disappointed, or he must possess a disposition to merriment which even Democritus himself might envy. To such a pitch indeed does this solemn indication of joy sometimes rise, that we are inclined to give him credit for a literal adherence to the apostolic precept, any merry, let him sing psalms."

"Is

At length however he hies away at the sound of bell-ringing, and seems for some time to enjoy the tippling and fiddling and dancing of a village wake; but his fancy is soon haunted again by spectres and goblins, a set of beings not in general esteemed the companions or inspirers of

mirth.

With stories told of many a feat,
How fairy Mab the junkets eat;
She was pinch'd, and pull'd, she said;
And he, by friar's lanthern led :
Tells how the drudging goblin sweat
To earn his cream-bowl duly set ;
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy flail had thresh'd the corn
That ten day-labourers could not end;
Then lays him down the lubber fiend,

And, stretch'd out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength; And crop-full out of door he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings. Mr. M. seems indeed to have a turn for this species of nursery tales and prattling lullabies; and if he will studiously cultivate his talent, he need not despair of figuring in a conspicuous corner of Mr. Newbury's shop-window; unless indeed Mrs. Trimmer should think fit to proscribe those empty levities and idle superstitions, by which the world has been too long abused.

From these rustic fictions we are transported to another species of hum.

Tower'd cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men,
Where throngs of knights and barons bold
In weeds of peace high triumphs hold,
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize
Of wit or arms, while both contend
To win her grace whom all commend.

To talk of the bright eyes of ladies, judge ing the prize of wit, is, indeed, with the poets, a legitimate species of humming; but would not, we may ask, the rain from these ladies' bright eyes rather tend to dim their lustre? Or is there any quality in a shower of influence, which, instead of deadening, serves only to brighten and exhilarate? Whatever the case may be, we would advise Mr. M. by all means to keep out of the way of these knights and barons bold; for, if he has nothing but his wit to trust to, we will venture to predict, that without a large share of most undue influence, he must be content to see the prize adjudged to his competitors.

Of the latter part of the poem little nced be said. The author does seem somewhat more at home when he gets among the actors and musicians, though his head is still running upon Orpheus and Eurydice, and Pluto, and other som bre gentry, who are ever thrusting them. selves in where we least expect them, and who chill every rising emotion of mirth and gaiety.

He appears, however, to be so ravished with this sketch of festive pleasures, or perhaps with himself for having sketched them so well, that he closes with a couplet, which would not have disgraced a Sternhold:

no doubt; but we beg leave to remind him, that in every compact of this nature there are two opinions to be consulted. He presumes, perhaps, upon the poetical powers he has displayed, and considers them as irresistible;-for every one must observe in how different a strain he avows his attachment now, and at the opening of the poem. Then it was, If I give thee honour due, Mirth, admit me of thy crew. But having, it should seem, established his pretensions, he now thinks it suffi cient to give notice, that he means to live with her, because he likes her.

Upon the whole, Mr. Milton seems to be possessed of some fancy and talent for rhyming; two most dangerous endowments, which often unfit men for acting an useful part in life, without qualifying them for that which is great and brilliant. If it be true, as we have heard, that he has declined advantageindulging his poetical humour, we hope ous prospects in business, for the sake of it is not yet too late to prevail upon him to retract his resolution. With the help of Cocker and common industry he may become a respectable scrivener; but it is not all the Zephyrs, and Auroras, and Corydons, and Thyrsises, aye, nor his junketing queen Mab, and drudging goblins, that will ever make him a poet. To the Editor of the Monthly Magazine.

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Black Tea 5s. to 5s. 10d. per lb. Sugar, (refined) 2s. 6d. per pound. Coffee, (raw) 3s. 6d. per pound. Labourer's wages, from 5s. to 7s. a week. If you think it worth while to insert the prices of articles in other parts of this, I shall from time to time give you

the continent.

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These delights if thou canst give,
Mirth, with thee I mean to live.
Of Mr. M.'s good intentions there can be pound.
Monthly Mae, No. 198,

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Scene. The same vestibule-a banquet prepared

in the ball.

inclosure

Editba. YE lofty arches, in your vast
(Entering.)
The soul seems lost-a tread, a sigh, a word,
Falls on the startled ear with hollower mur.

mur

Ye tall grey pillars, down whose chilly sides
A creeping dew distils, whose slender forms
Brandish their branchy arms, and tufted
heads,

Like woods upon the misty mountain-top,
In ceaseless gloom-Ye windows dim with
achments,

Thro' whose stain'd mail the day is scarcely
twilight,

And whence the azure sky, or golden cloud,
rarely seen-that shudder to the blast,
And teach the sullen echoes of the hall
To shriek by fits a soul-appalling clank-
Ye long-drawn avenues, athwart whose aisles
Oft by the gleam of the discolour'd moon-
light,

During their dark and cloudy hours of free-
dom,

The ghosts of past possessors glide in silence, Whence nor the winter-fire, nor summersun,

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Perhaps I never shall behold her more.
My father has not come so often lately,
And may not now return.-What armed man
Stalks hither, like a god, majestic, calm,
But with a seeking eye, and hearkening ear?
Is it my father's spirit? No: 'tis he.
O come my father-let me clasp thy feet,
And thank thee for this welcome, heaven-
tim'd visit.

Pour calm and comfort on my troubled soul.
Tosti. Comfort! What mean'st thou, child,
by words of comfort?

When we have done our duty, and the fate
That we deserve not falls upon our heads,
I know no comfort but to bear it bravely.
I come to snatch thee hence, and with thy
mother

To take thee to her father's court in Flan-
ders:

Then will I think of vengeance. Come along :

There are no moments granted for delay.
Thus strangely arm'd, the servants of the
castle

Took me, it seems, for one of Edward's train,
And let me pass unquestion'd; but should
Harold

Can chase this cheerless and unsocial cool- Find I am here, I know his coward soul

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By hostile spears, and whom a wailing mo-
ther,

Or silent-grieving father, vainly moans:
She is Siguna's prey, and comes not back.
O! Edward, Edward, such will be my lot
If thou be not sincere.

I feel as I could die, and at my death
A father and a mother too would mourn
With lasting sorrow; for I am their all.
'Tis long, 'tis very long, I have not seen
them.

How in a stranger's house one learns to feel
The value of a home! My uncle loves me,
And is most kind to me his little Siegwin
I nurse and fondle with a sister's love-

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Editha queen.

T. He knew that Edward did not ;
For Harold's counsel nam'd the embassy
That but three days agu set off for Denmark,
To bring our monarch his intended bride.
Edi. Then I am lost.

T. Know'st thou the pandar now?
What wonder if I started from my seat,
And,

And, toothing in his sleek and smooth-comb'd

locks

My clenched fingers, dash'd him on the ground,

And made him lick and kiss the feet of

Edward?

The dastard, when he rose, with eager hand Sought not his weapon's hilt: but told the

prince,

Who help'd his minion up, I was his brother: And so I left him. From thy throne, Alfather,

Turn the red eye of wrath upon this man, And heap the measure of his curses full! Ingratitude, with cold and marble hand, Wait on his childless age; and may he vainly

Sue for the faith which he has broke to others!

Disease, and not the warrior's thank, or song
Of praising bard, pursue-

Edi. Stay, stay, my father;
For oft the wishes that we speak in anger,
The gods fulfil to punish our presumption.

T. What mildews from the venom floods below

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Could rack him with such loathsomeness of Stand in thy awful majesty of shape,

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age:

And when his limbs refus'd the toils of war, He scorn'd to live-he brac'd his armour on, And stabb'd himself. (draws his sword.)

This is the blade he hallow'd. His earldom Edward to thy father gave, (Once he had not forgot that I have serv'd him)

And call'd me the great Siward's worthy pupil.

'Twas a proud word; I thrill'd as Edward spoke it.

I priz'd the gift, and on the old earl's sword
I swore to Mana I would not defile it.
And this is snatch'd from me, unjustly
snatch'd,

Because I dar'd to say that lust is wicked.
What dost thou think, Editha ? Is it wicked?
Edi. O do not look so terribly upon me.

By his

And, from between thy venerable locks,
Frown on this son unworthy of his sire:
That if some lurking ember of remorse
Still harbour there, his soul may wake to
feeling,

Tho' not to expiate, yet to repent.

Then will he pour his heart's blood from its source,

An offering to thy justly anger'd spirit,
That he is willing to pollute thy grand-
child,

And aid in the oppression of thy son.
Edi.

And hast thou dealt unfitly with us,
uncle ?

Harold. Much injur'd tho' I be, these

lifted arms

Shall never push a brother from my breast.. His heat mistakes me: be it mine to excuse it. That Edward loves thee, niece, I view with pleasure;

Soon he will love thee so as to repent Of his late contract with the Dane's fair sister,

Whom Harold then may wed without alarming

The monarch's pride; while Edward seats Editha

On the bright throne which she so well deserves.

T, Fair-cas'd dissembling villain, thou

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