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who can have little or no pleasure in Till from the path I fondly stray her appearances, try to deceive them. In musings lap'd, nor heed the way; selves into the belief that they are Wandering through the landscape still, haunted-possessed by a sense of her Till Melancholy has her fill ; most potent charms, and to escape the And on each moss-wove border damp tame assume the intense! Such gen.
The glow-worm bangs his fairy lamp. try would despise Warton's lines “On “ But when the sun, at noontide hour, the approach of Summer.”
Sits throned in his highest tow'r; will not despise them--you will read Me, heart-rejoicing goddess, lead them with delight.
To the tann'd haycock in the mead :
To mix in rural mood among “ Oft when thy season, sweetest queen, The nymphs and swains, a busy throng ; Has dress'd the groves in liv'ry green ; Or, as the tepid odours breathe, When in each fair and fertile field
The russet piles to lean beneath : Beauty begins her bow'r to build !
There as my listless limbs are thrown While Evening, veil'd in shadows brown, On couch more soft than palace down, Puts her matron-mantle on,
I listen to the busy sound
“ But ever, after summer shower, As slow he winds in museful mood, When the bright Sun's returning power, Near the rush'd marge of Cherwell's With laughing beam has chased the storm, flood;
And cheered reviving Nature's form; Or o'er old Avon's magic edge,
By sweet-brier hedges, bathed in dew, Whence Shakspeare cull’d the spiky sedge, Let me my wholesome path pursue ; All playful yet, in years unripe,
There issuing forth the frequent snail To frame a shrill and simple pipe.
Wears the dank way with slimy trail,
The sunny sparkling drop I brush ;
That far and near the valley rings.
His last faint gleam the rainbow spreads. Nor wants there note of Philomel,
But ever against restless heat, Nor sound!of distant tinkling bell :
Bear me to the rock-arched seat, Nor lowings faint of herds remote, O'er whose dim mouth an ivy'd oak Nor mastiff's bark from bosom'd cot : Hangs nodding from the low-brow'd rock; Rustle the breezes lightly borne,
Haunted by that chaste nymph alone, O'er deep embattled ears of corn :
Whose waters cleave the smoothed stone; Round ancient elm, with humming noise, Which, as they gush upon the ground, Full loud the chaffer-swarms rejoice. Still scatter misty dews around; Meantime, a thousand dyes invest
A rustic, wild, grotesque alcove, The ruby Chambers of the West !
Its side with mantling woodbines wove ; That all aslant the village tow'r
Cool as the cave where Clio dwells, A mild reflected radiance pour,
Whence Helicon's fresh fountain wells; While, with the level-streaming rays Or noon-tide grot where Sylvan sleeps Far seen its arcbed windows blaze : In hoar Lycæum's piny steeps. And the tall grove's green top is dight “ Me, goddess, in such cavern lay, In russet tints, and gleams of light : While all without is scorch'd in day; So that the gay scene by degrees
Sore sighs the weary swain, beneath Bathes my blithe heart in ecstacies; His with’ring hawthorn on the heath; And Fancy to my ravish'd sight
The drooping hedger wishes eve,
Smote with keen beat, the trav‘ller stands; And fainter shapes of pensive joy,
Low sinks his heart, while round his eye As twilight dawns, my mind employ, Measures the scenes that boundless lie,
Ne'er yet by foot of mortal worn, no claim to a diction peculiarly his Where Thirst, wan pilgrim, walks forlorn. own; and having studied Milton all How does he wish some cooling wave his life, he had become imbued with the To slake his lips, or limbs to lave ! language of his minor poems, which And thinks, in every whisper low, he rejoiced to use in love and reverHe hears a bursting fountain flow.
rence of his mighty master. The “ Or bear me to yon antique wood,
flow of thought, and sentiment, and Dim temple of sage Solitude !
imagery proceeds from his own genius There within a pook most dark,
thus enriched ; and had he not been a Where none my musing mood may mark,
true poet (nobody calls him a great Let me in many a whisper'd rite
one), his familiarity with Milton would The genius old of Greece invite,
have been shown but in Centos. With that fair wreath my brows to bind,
His “ Humourous Pieces" are very Which for his chosen imps he twin'd, Well nurtur'd in Pierian lore,
pleasant-and “the Progress of DisOn clear Ilissus' laureate shore.
content" (written in his eighteenth Till high on waving nest reclin'd,
year) has been pronounced by Dr The raven wakes my tranced mind!
Joseph to be “the best imitation of “ Or to the forest-fringed vale,
Swift that has yet appeared.” Here Where widow'd turtles love to wail,
it is. Where cowslips, clad in mantle meek, Nod their tall heads to breezes weak :
THE PROGRESS OF DISCONTENT. In the midst, with sedges gray Crown'd, a scant riv'let winds its way, “ When now mature in classic knowledge, And trembling thro' the weedy wreaths, The joyful youth is sent to college, Around an oozy freshness breathes. His father comes, a vicar plain, O'er the solitary green,
At Oxford bred-in Anna's reign, Nor cot, nor loitering hind is seen : And thus, in form of humble suitor, Nor aught alarms the mute repose, Bowing accosts a reverend tutor : Save that by fits an heifer lows:
• Sir, I'm a Glo'stershire divine, A scene might tempt some peaceful sage And this my eldest son of nine ; To rear him a lone hermitage ;
My wife's ambition and my own Fit place his pensive eld might choose Was that this child should wear a gown; On virtue's holy lore to muse.
I'll warrant that his good behaviour “ Yet still the sultry noon t' appease Will justify your future favour ; Some more romantic scene might please ; And, for his parts, to tell the truth, Or fairy bank, or magic lawn,
My son's a very forward youth ; By Spenser's lavish pencil drawn :
Has Horace all by heart—you'd wonder Or bower in Vallombrosa's shade,
And mouths out Homer's Greek like By legendary pens portrayed.
thunder. Haste, let me shroud from painful light, If you'd examine-and admit him, On that hoar hill's aerial height,
A scholarship would nicely fit him ; In solemn state, where waving wide, That he succeeds 'tis ten to one ; Thick pines with darkening umbrage hide Your vote and interest, sir !'_'Tis done. The rugged vaults, and riven towers
“ Our pupil's hopes, though twice de. Of that proud castle's painted bowers,
feated, Whence Hardyknute, a baron bold, Are with a scholarship completed : In Scotland's martial days of old,
A scholarship but half maintains, Descended from the stately feast,
And college rules are heavy chains :
In garret dark he smokes and puns,
“ When nine full tedious winters past, By fairies spelt in mystic rhymes,
That utmost wish is crown'd at last : To teach enquiring later times,
But the rich prize no sooner got, What open force, or secret guile,
Again he quarrels with his lot : Dashed into dust the solemn pile."
• These fellowships are pretty things,
We live indeed like petty kings : Verily there is poetry in these verses
But who can bear to waste his whole age - nor are they, to our mind at least, Amid the dulness of a college, the worse but the better of being be- Debarr'd the common joys of life, sprinkled with colourings from Mil. And that prime bliss-a loving wife ! ton. We do not call that plagiarism 0! what's a table richly spread, — or is it borrowing; Warton lays Without a woman at its head !
Would some snug benefice but fall, Plants cauliflow'rs, and boasts to rear
Thinks alteration charming work is,
“ But ah! too soon his thoughtless “ Too fond of freedom and of ease
breast A patron's vanity to please,
By cares domestic is opprest; Long time he watches, and by stealth, And a third butcher's bill, and brewing, Each frail incumbent's doubtful health ; Threaten inevitable ruin: At length, and in his fortieth year,
For children fresh expenses yet, A living drops-two hundred clear! And Dicky now for school is fit. With breast elate beyond expression, • Why did I sell my college life' He hurries down to take possession, (He cries)' for benefice and wife ? With rapture views the sweet retreat- Return, ye days, when endless pleasure • What a convenient house ! how neat! I found in reading, or in leisure ! For fuel here's sufficient wood:
When calm around the common room Pray God the cellars may be good! I puff'd my daily pipe's perfume ! The garden—that must be new plann'd. Rode for a stomach, and inspected, Shall these old-fashion'd yew-trees stand ? At annual bottlings, corks selected : O'er yonder vacant plot shall rise
And din'd untax'd, untroubled, under The flow'ry shrub of thousand dies :- The portrait of our pious founder! Yon wall, that feels the southern ray, When impositions were supply'd Shall blush with ruddy fruitage gay: To light my pipe-or sooth my prideWhile thick beneath its aspect warm No cares were then for forward peas, O'er well-rang'a hives the bees shall A yearly-longing wife to please ; swarm,
My thoughts no christ'ning dinners crost, From which, ere long, of golden gleam No children cry'd for butter'd toast; Metheglin's luscious juice shall stream; And every night I went to bed, This awkward hut, o'ergrown with ivy, Without a modus in my head!' We'll alter to a modern privy ;
“ Oh! trifling head, and fickle heart! Up yon green slope, of hazels trim, Chagrin'd at whatsoe'er thou art; An avenue so cool and dim
A dupe to follies yet untry'd, Shall to an harbour at the end,
And sick of pleasures scarce enjoy'd! In spite of gout, entice a friend.
Each prize possess'd, thy transport ceases, My predecessor lov'd devotion
And in pursuit alone it pleases." But of a garden had no notion.'
“ Continuing this fantastic farce on, Of “ Newmarket,” a satire, Dr He now commences country parson. Mant somewhat too boldly says, “I To make his character entire,
do not think it can be deemed inferior He weds—a cousin of the squire ; to the best satirical compositions of Not over weighty in the purse,
Young and Pope." That will never But many doctors have done worse ; do. There is too much whipping and And though she boasts no charms divine, Yet she can carve and make birch-wine.
spurring of his Pegasus, who makes “ Thus fixt, content he taps his barrel,
play from the start. The truth is,
that the Laureate liked a race-course, Exhorts his neighbours not to quarrel ; Finds his church-wardens have discerning Stand for a booth. It could not be
and between heats used to leave the Both in good liquor and good learning ; With tithes his barns replete he sees,
said of him, “ facit indignatio versus” And chuckles o'er his surplice fees ;
-and he indulges in such exaggera. Studies to find out latent dues,
tion as shows him not to have been And regulates the state of pews ;
quite sincere in his ire. But here is a Rides a sleek mare with purple housing, passage worthy of all admiration-on To share the monthly club's carousing ;
account of the beautiful picture it preOf Oxford pranks facetious tells,
sents of the “ good old seat" of " the And—but on Sundays-hears no bells ; good old English gentleman." Sends presents of his choicest fruit, And prunes himself each sapless shoot ;
“ His country's hope, when now the blooming heir
Of each rash frolic what the source and end,
“ Some squires, to Gallia's cooks devoted dupes,
“ What dreams of conquest flush'd Hilario's breast,
“ And see the good old seat, whose Gothic tow'rs
We feel our article has nearly reached its limits. Another extract will do the business-and the final page of a number should be candid towards its close.
PROLOGUE ON THE OLD WINCHESTER PLAYHOUSE OVER THE BUTCHER'S SHAMBLES.
“ Whoe'er our stage examines, must excuse
Hark! the Bell ringing “ dress for of laughter, soft in themselves, and dinner." We have nothing to do but softer through that door, ever and
-to shave. Sorry to feel that we anon excited us gently at our task to are not hungry-for we love to sit wish to know what was the harmless down voracious—then our wit fires a scandal--but we shall be let into the volley between courses - our dry secret on the sofa after tea, when the humour flavours the weeping Par- old people are at cards. Will this mesan-our wit refreshes the Des. Rain continue to Doomsday? We sert. And how happens it that we are begin to have serious fears of the not hungry, pray? We were betrayed Harvest. They are groundless — into Lunch. Why, really we have « WE PROPHESY A FALL IN THE PRICE passed a pleasant day. Frequent peals OF BREAD."
Edinburgh: Printed by Ballantyne and Company, Paul's Work.