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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
And mists in spreading streams convey Of mirth and toil that hums around;
More fresh the fumes of new-shorn hay: And see the team shrill tinkling pass,
Then, goddess, guide my pilgrim feet Alternate o'er the furrow'd grass.
Contemplation hoar to meet,

“ 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,
There thro' the dusk but dimly seen, While, as I walk, from pearled bush
Sweet ev'ning-objects intervene :

The sunny sparkling drop I brush ;
His wattled cotes the shepherd plants, And all the landscape fair I view
Beneath her elm the milk-maid chants, Clad in robe of fresher hue ;
The woodman, speeding home, awhile And so loud the blackbird sings,
Rests him at a shady stile.

That far and near the valley rings.
Nor wants there fragrance to dispense From shelter deep of shaggy rock
Refreshment o'er my soothed sense ; The shepherd drives his joyful flock;
Nor tangled woodbine's balmy bloom, From bowering beach the mower blithe
Nor grass besprent to breathe perfume : With new-born vigour grasps the scythe ;
Nor lurking wild-thyme's spicy sweet While o'er the smooth unbounded meads
To bathe in dew my roving feet :

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,
Portrays her kindred visions bright. In vain, of labour short reprieve!
At length the parting light subdues Meantime, on Afric's glowing sande,
My softened soul to calmer views,

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 :
Begirt with many a warrior guest,

In garret dark he smokes and puns,
To quell the pride of Norway's king, A prey to discipline and duns ;
With quiv'ring lance and twanging string. And now, intent on new designs,
As through the caverns dim I wind, Sighs for a fellowship and fines.
Might I that holy legend find,

“ 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 !

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Would some snug benefice but fall, Plants cauliflow'rs, and boasts to rear
Ye feasts, ye dinners ! farewell all! The earliest melons of the year ;
To offices I'd bid adieu,

Thinks alteration charming work is,
Of dean, vice præs.-of bursar too ; Keeps Bantam cocks, and feeds his turkies;
Come joys, that rural quiet yields, Builds in his copse a fav'rite bench,
Come, tithes, and house, and fruitful And stores the pond with carp and tench.
fields !

“ 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
Has lost the parent's or the guardian's care ;
Fond to possess, yet eager to destroy,
Of each yain youth, say, what's the darling joy?

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Of each rash frolic what the source and end,
His sole and first ambition what ?-to spend,

“ Some squires, to Gallia's cooks devoted dupes,
Whole manors melt in sauce, or drown in soups :
Another doats on fiddlers, till he sees
His hills no longer crown'd with tow'ring trees;
Convinced, too late, that modern strains can move,
Like those of ancient Greece, the obedient grove :
In headless statues rich, in useless urns,
Marmoreo from the classic tour returns.-
But would you learn, ye leisure-loving squires,
How best ye may disgrace your prudent sires ;
How soonest soar to fashionable shame,
Be damn'd at once to ruin-and to fame;
By hands of grooms ambitious to be crown'd,
O greatly dare to tread Olympic ground !

What dreams of conquest flush'd Hilario's breast,
When the good Knight at last retir'd to rest !
Behold the youth with new-felt rapture mark
Each pleasing prospect of the spacious park :
That park, where beauties undisguis'd engage,
Those beauties less the work of art than age ;
In simple state where genuine Nature wears
Her venerable dress of ancient years ;
Where all the charms of chance with order meet
The rude, the gay, the graceful, and the great.
Here aged oaks uprear their branches hoar,
And form dark groves, which Druids might adore ;
With meeting boughs, and deepening to the view,
Here shoots the broad umbrageous avenue :
Here various trees compose a chequer'd scene,
Glowing in gay diversities of green :
There the full stream thro' intermingling glades
Shines a broad lake, or falls in deep cascades.
Nor wants there hazle copse, or beechen lawn,
To cheer with sun or shade the bounding fawn.

“ And see the good old seat, whose Gothic tow'rs
Awful emerge from yonder tuft'd bow'rs ;
Whose rafter'd hall the crowding tenants fed,
And dealt to Age and want their daily bread;
Where crested knights with peerless damsels join'd,
At high and solemn festivals have din'd :
Presenting oft fair Virtue's shining task,
In mystic pageantries, and moral mask.
But vain all ancient praise, or boast of birth,
Vain all the palms of old heroic worth !
At once a bankrupt and a prosp'rous heir,
Hilario bets,-park, house, dissolve in air ;
With antique armour hung, his trophied rooms
Descend to gamesters, prostitutes, and grooms.
He sees his steel-clad sires, and mothers mild,
Who bravely shook the lance, or sweetly smil'd;
All the fair series of the whisker'd race,
Whose pictur'd forms the stately gallery grace ;
Debas'd, abused, the price of ill-got gold,
To deck some tavern vile, at auctions sold.
The parish wonders at the unopening door,
The chimnies blaze, the tables groan, no more.
Thick weeds around the untrodden courts arise,
And all the social scene in silence lies.
Himself, the loss politely to repair,
Turns atheist, fiddler, highwayman, or play'r;
At length, the scorn, the shame of man and God,
Is doom'd to rub the steeds that once he rode,"

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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
The wondrous shifts of the dramatic Muse;
Then kindly listen, while the prologue rambles
From wit to beef, from Shakspeare to the shambles !
Divided only by one flight of stairs,
The monarch swaggers, and the butcher swears!
Quick the transition when the curtain drops,
From meek Monimia's moans to mutton-chops !
While for Lothario's loss Lavinia cries,
Old women scold, and dealers d-n your eyes !
Here Juliet listens to the gentle lark,
There in harsh chorus hungry bull-dogs bark.
Cleavers and scimitars give blow for blow,
And heroes bleed above, and sheep below!
While tragic thunders shake the pit and box,
Rebellows to the roar the staggering ox.
Cow-horns and trumpets mix their martial tones,
Kidneys and kings, mouthing and marrow-bones.
Suet and sighs, blank verse and blood abound,
And form a tragi-comedy around.
With weeping lovers, dying calves complain,
Confusion reigns-chaos is come again!
Hither your steelyards, butchers, bring, to weigh
The pound of flesh, Anthonio's bond must pay !
Hither your knives, ye Christians, clad in blue,
Bring to be wetted by the ruthless Jew!
Hard is our lot, who, seldom doom'd to eat,
Cast a sheep's-eye on this forbidden meat-
Gaze on sirloins, which, ah! we cannot carve,
And in the midst of legs of mutton_starve !
But would you to our house in crowds repair,
Ye generous captains, and ye blooming fair,
The fate of Tantalus we should not fear,
Nor pine for a repast that is so near.
Monarchs no more would supperless remain,
Nor pregnant queens for cutlets long in vain."

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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.

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