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Ne'er yet by foot of mortal worn,
Where Thirst, wan pilgrim, walks forlorn.
How does he wish some cooling wave
To slake his lips, or limbs to lave!
And thinks, in every whisper low,
He hears a bursting fountain flow.

"Or bear me to yon antique wood,
Dim temple of sage Solitude!
There within a nook most dark,
Where none my musing mood may mark,
Let me in many a whisper'd rite
The genius old of Greece invite,
With that fair wreath my brows to bind,
Which for his chosen imps he twin'd,
Well nurtur'd in Pierian lore,
On clear Ilissus' laureate shore.
Till high on waving nest reclin'd,
The raven wakes my tranced mind!
"Or to the forest-fringed vale,
Where widow'd turtles love to wail,
Where cowslips, clad in mantle meek,
Nod their tall heads to breezes weak:
In the midst, with sedges gray
Crown'd, a scant riv'let winds its way,
And trembling thro' the weedy wreaths,
Around an oozy freshness breathes.
O'er the solitary green,

Nor cot, nor loitering hind is seen:
Nor aught alarms the mute repose,
Save that by fits an heifer lows:

A scene might tempt some peaceful sage
To rear him a lone hermitage;
Fit place his pensive eld might choose
On virtue's holy lore to muse.

"Yet still the sultry noon t' appease
Some more romantic scene might please;
Or fairy bank, or magic lawn,
By Spenser's lavish pencil drawn:
Or bower in Vallombrosa's shade,
By legendary pens portrayed.

Haste, let me shroud from painful light,
On that hoar hill's aerial height,
In solemn state, where waving wide,
Thick pines with darkening umbrage hide
The rugged vaults, and riven towers
Of that proud castle's painted bowers,
Whence Hardyknute, a baron bold,
In Scotland's martial days of old,
Descended from the stately feast,
Begirt with many a warrior guest,
To quell the pride of Norway's king,
With quiv'ring lance and twanging string.
As through the caverns dim I wind,
Might I that holy legend find,
By fairies spelt in mystic rhymes,
To teach enquiring later times,
What open force, or secret guile,
Dashed into dust the solemn pile."

Verily there is poetry in these verses -nor are they, to our mind at least, the worse but the better of being besprinkled with colourings from Milton. We do not call that plagiarism -nor is it borrowing; Warton lays

no claim to a diction peculiarly his own; and having studied Milton all his life, he had become imbued with the language of his minor poems, which he rejoiced to use in love and reverrence of his mighty master. The

flow of thought, and sentiment, and imagery proceeds from his own genius thus enriched; and had he not been a true poet (nobody calls him a great one), his familiarity with Milton would have been shown but in Centos.

His "Humourous Pieces" are very pleasant-and "the Progress of Discontent" (written in his eighteenth year) has been pronounced by Dr Joseph to be "the best imitation of Swift that has yet appeared." Here it is.

THE PROGRESS OF DISCONTENT.

"When now mature in classic knowledge,
The joyful youth is sent to college,
His father comes, a vicar plain,
At Oxford bred-in Anna's reign,
And thus, in form of humble suitor,
Bowing accosts a reverend tutor :
'Sir, I'm a Glo'stershire divine,
And this my eldest son of nine;
My wife's ambition and my own
Was that this child should wear a gown;
I'll warrant that his good behaviour
Will justify your future favour;
And, for his parts, to tell the truth,
My son's a very forward youth;
Has Horace all by heart-you'd wonder-
And mouths out Homer's Greek like
thunder.

If you'd examine-and admit him,
A scholarship would nicely fit him;
That he succeeds 'tis ten to one;
Your vote and interest, sir !'-'Tis done.
"Our pupil's hopes, though twice de-
feated,

Are with a scholarship completed:
A scholarship but half maintains,
And college rules are heavy chains :
In garret dark he smokes and puns,
A prey to discipline and duns;
And now, intent on new designs,
Sighs for a fellowship-and fines.

"When nine full tedious winters past,
That utmost wish is crown'd at last :
But the rich prize no sooner got,
Again he quarrels with his lot:
'These fellowships are pretty things,
We live indeed like petty kings:
But who can bear to waste his whole age
Amid the dulness of a college,
Debarr'd the common joys of life,
And that prime bliss-a loving wife!
O! what's a table richly spread,
Without a woman at its head!

Would some snug benefice but fall,
Ye feasts, ye dinners! farewell all!
To offices I'd bid adieu,

Of dean, vice præs.-of bursar too;
Come joys, that rural quiet yields,
Come, tithes, and house, and fruitful
fields !'

"Too fond of freedom and of ease A patron's vanity to please,

Long time he watches, and by stealth,
Each frail incumbent's doubtful health;
At length, and in his fortieth year,
A living drops-two hundred clear!
With breast elate beyond expression,
He hurries down to take possession,
With rapture views the sweet retreat-
'What a convenient house! how neat!
For fuel here's sufficient wood:
Pray God the cellars may be good!
The garden-that must be new plann'd
Shall these old-fashion'd yew-trees stand?
O'er yonder vacant plot shall rise
The flow'ry shrub of thousand dies:-
Yon wall, that feels the southern ray,
Shall blush with ruddy fruitage gay:
While thick beneath its aspect warm
O'er well-rang'd hives the bees shall

swarm,

--

From which, ere long, of golden gleam
Metheglin's luscious juice shall stream;
This awkward hut, o'ergrown with ivy,
We'll alter to a modern privy ;
Up yon green slope, of hazels trim,
An avenue so cool and dim
Shall to an harbour at the end,
In spite of gout, entice a friend.
My predecessor lov'd devotion-
But of a garden had no notion.'
"Continuing this fantastic farce on,
He now commences country parson.
To make his character entire,
He weds-a cousin of the squire ;
Not over weighty in the purse,
But many doctors have done worse;
And though she boasts no charms divine,
Yet she can carve and make birch-wine.

"Thus fixt, content he taps his barrel,
Exhorts his neighbours not to quarrel;
Finds his church-wardens have discerning
Both in good liquor and good learning;
With tithes his barns replete he sees,
And chuckles o'er his surplice fees;
Studies to find out latent dues,
And regulates the state of pews;
Rides a sleek mare with purple housing,
To share the monthly club's carousing;
Of Oxford pranks facetious tells,
And but on Sundays-hears no bells;
Sends presents of his choicest fruit,
And prunes himself each sapless shoot;

Plants cauliflow'rs, and boasts to rear
The earliest melons of the year;
Thinks alteration charming work is,
Keeps Bantam cocks, and feeds his turkies;
Builds in his copse a fav'rite bench,
And stores the pond with carp and tench.
"But ah! too soon his thoughtless
breast

By cares domestic is opprest;

And a third butcher's bill, and brewing,
Threaten inevitable ruin:

For children fresh expenses yet,
And Dicky now for school is fit.
Why did I sell my college life'
(He cries) for benefice and wife?
Return, ye days, when endless pleasure
I found in reading, or in leisure!
When calm around the common room
I puff'd my daily pipe's perfume!
Rode for a stomach, and inspected,
At annual bottlings, corks selected:
And din'd untax'd, untroubled, under
The portrait of our pious founder!
When impositions were supply'd
To light my pipe-or sooth my pride-
No cares were then for forward peas,
A yearly-longing wife to please;
My thoughts no christ'ning dinners crost,
No children cry'd for butter'd toast;
And every night I went to bed,
Without a modus in my head!'

"Oh! trifling head, and fickle heart!
Chagrin'd at whatsoe'er thou art;
A dupe to follies yet untry'd,
And sick of pleasures scarce enjoy'd!
Each prize possess'd, thy transport ceases,
And in pursuit alone it pleases."

Of "Newmarket," a satire, Dr Mant somewhat too boldly says, “I do not think it can be deemed inferior to the best satirical compositions of Young and Pope." That will never do. There is too much whipping and spurring of his Pegasus, who makes play from the start. The truth is, that the Laureate liked a race-course, and between heats used to leave the stand for a booth. It could not be said of him, "facit indignatio versus" -and he indulges in such exaggeration as shows him not to have been quite sincere in his ire. But here is a passage worthy of all admiration-on account of the beautiful picture it presents of the "good old seat" of " the good old English gentleman."

"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 vain 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,"

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.”

Hark! the Bell ringing "dress for dinner." We have nothing to do but -to shave. Sorry to feel that we are not hungry-for we love to sit down voracious-then our wIT fires a volley between courses our dry humour flavours the weeping Parmesan-our wit refreshes the Dessert. And how happens it that we are not hungry, pray? We were betrayed into Lunch. Why, really we have passed a pleasant day. Frequent peals

of laughter, soft in themselves, and softer through that door, ever and anon excited us gently at our task to wish to know what was the harmless scandal-but we shall be let into the secret on the sofa after tea, when the old people are at cards. Will this Rain continue to Doomsday? We begin to have serious fears of the Harvest. They are groundless

"WE PROPHESY A FALL IN THE PRICE OF BREAD."

Edinburgh: Printed by Ballantyne and Company, Paul's Work.

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A CRUSTACEOUS TOUR. BY THE IRISH OYSTER-EATER,

637

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WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SOns, 45, George street,

EDINBURGH:

AND T. CADELL, STRAND, London.

To whom Communications (post paid) may be addressed.

SOLD ALSO BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN The United KINGDOM.

PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND CO. EDINBURGH,

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