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ODES OF ANACKEON; TranBloKril into EogUsh 

V^r»e, wllh Noteii >4 

Dedication to bin Royal Hiebuciu Ibe Prince of 

Wales 14 

Advertisement H 

Index to tlie OJea 14 

Ao Ode by the Translator 16 

Kemarks ou Anacreon 16 


1. 1 saw the smiling bard of pleasure 1^ 

% »ivu me (be barpnf epic sou^ '^ 

3. Listen to the Miiae's lyre SO 

4. Vulcan! hear your glorious tank ■ 20 

6. Scullitor, wouldnt tbou glad my soul 30 

6. As late I sought the spangled bowers ■•*• 91 

7. The woraen tell me every day 21 

a I care not for the idle stale 21 

9. 1 pray tbee, by the gods above 23 

10. How am I to puuish thee M 

11. «'Tell me. gentle youth, 1 pray thee 23 

13. They tell how Atys, wild wilh I'.ve 33 

13. I will, I will, the condiet's past 23 

M. Count me, on the summer trees M 

15. Tell me, why, my sweetest dove 'J4 

16. Thou, whose soft and rosy hues .•••>■ 35 

17. Ami I. jw with all thy pencil's truth 36 

18. Now Ibe star of day is high 37 

19. Here recline you, gentle moid 38 

2U. One day the Muses twin'd the hands 38 

21. Ob..erve when mother earth Is dry 'Jfi 

33. The Phrygian rock, that braves the storra 29 

33. I often wish this languid lyre 90 

24. To all that breathe the air of heaven SI 

35. Once in each revolving year •• 31 

36. I'hy harp may sing of Troy's alarms S3 

27. Wo read the flying courser's name S2 

2H. As, by his Lemnian forge's Home ■>.... 93 

29. Yee — loving is a painful thrill 33 

SO. "Twns In a mocking dream of night S3 

31. Arm'd with a hyacinlhine rod S3 

yi. strew me a fragrant bed of leaves S4 

33. 'Twas noon of night, when round the pole 34 

3-1. Oh thou, of all creation blest 36 

S6. Cupid once upon a bed S5 

36. If hoarded gol.l possess 'd t he power 36 

37, 'Twos night, and many a circling bowl 36 

SB. Let us drain the nectur'd bowl 37 

39. How I lovo the festive boy 37 

40. 1 know tbkt Heaven bath sent me here 3» 

41. When Spring adorns the dewy scene S8 

43. Yes, be the glorious revel mine S» 

43. While our rosy fillets shed 39 

44. Buds of roses, virgin flowers 39 

45. Within this goblet, rich and deep 39 

46. See the young, the rosy Spring SU 

47. 'Tls true, my fading years decline 39 

4B. When my thirsiy soul I steep 40 

49. When Bacchus, Jove's immortal boy 40 

60. When wine I quail, before my eyes 40 

61. Fly not thus my brow of snow 41 

62. Away, awav, ye men of rules 41 

t3. Wheu I behold the festive train 43 

H. Methinks, the pictur'd bull we see 42 

65. While we invoke the wreathed spring 43 

66. He, who instructs the youthful crew 44 

67. Whose was the artist hand that spread 44 

68. When Gold, as fleet a« zephyr's pinion 45 

69. Ripen'd by the solor beam 45 

— ' ... 46 

... 40 

76. Hither, gentle Muse of mine... 

77. Would that 1 were a tuneful lyri 
7a. When Cupid sees bow thickly ni 


Cupid, whose lamp has lent the ray 60 

Let me resigu tins wretched breath 60 

I know thou lov'et a brimming measure 60 

I fear that love disturbs my rest 60 

From dread Leucadia's frowning sleep 6() 

Mix mc, child, a cup divine 60 


Kotice 60 

A VTiTiaTftov Zliwwv, as AvaXfiioVTa 60 

Toti avrov, £is tov aliTOf 61 

Toi; avTov, tij rov a«70v 6 

Tov avTov^ £is Tov avTov °i 


Preface, by the Editor "J 

Dedication to Joseph Atkinson, Esq 64 

Fragments of College Exercises 64 

Is there no call, no consec rating cause M 


To a Boy with a 
Bong ... 


ny sleeping shell 
61. Youth's endearing 
63. Fill me, boy, as deep a draught 
69. To Love, the soft and blooming ehil 
61. Haste thee, nymjih, wh'tse weli-aim 

65. Like soriie wanton filly sporliug 

66. To thee, the tiueen of nymphs divii 

67. Rich in bliss, I proudly scoiu 

68. Now Neptune's month our sky def. 

69. They wove the loi 

I Is hung 49 

to deck .. 4h 

70. A broken cake, with h< 

71. With twenty chords m 
73. Fore thee well, perfidious mai 

73. Awhile I bloom'd a happy flo 

74. Monarch Love, resistleas boy. 

75. Spirit of Love, whose locks uDrolI'd 49 

Written for n friend.. 


Reuben and Rose. A tale of romance . 

'. culumules BgaiusC 

her character.! 

To . . . . 

To Julia, in 
To Juliu.. . 
The Shrine 
To a Lady, 
ing the c< 
To Julia... 

i illiberal criticlsi 

To . 

Nature's Labels. A fragment , 

'I'o Julia. On her birthday ... 

A Reflection at Sea 

Cloris and Fanny 

The Shield 

To Julia, weeping 


The Sale of Loves. 

On the Death of 


The Nalal Genius. A dieam 
morning of her birthday .. 

Elegiac Stanzas, supposed to b 
the death of her brother .. 

To the large and beautiful Mil 
eion to some partnership in 
prompt u • • 

A Dream 


creontic . 

I VirEin of Delphi, at the tomb of tier 

....f 62 

"tu Julia 62 

The Surpiiee. .. . 

To Mis-s 

she had sleeplei 


ODES continued ••• C7 




Aristippus to a Lamp* which had 
1 b; Lais 

her beautiiul traQsIatioo of Voi- 

KoQdeau •••■ 6^ 

Soag C9 

TnRo«a 09 

of Follies' 

To Rnaa 

Light sounds the liarp 

Flora theOreeU of Meleager. . 


The Resemblance 

Fuaoy, dearest 

The Riijp, to 

To the iDvisible Girl 

The Ring, a tale 

i-plate boot, lalled •■ The Book 


oo seeing he) 

■il and a rich girdle 

tieu in the blaok leaf of a lady's 

To Mrs. Bl , wnUen in 

To Cora, after an interval n 
To Cara, on the dawning of 

her album 74 

, IbOl.. 

'-year's day. 

rreRularode 75 

The Genius of Harmo 

I found her not — the t 

To Mrs. Henry Tighe, on reading her "Psyche"... 

From the High Pries! of Apollo to a Virgin of Delphi 


A Night Thought 

The Kiss 


The Catalogue.. 


To Rosa 

To Fhilli 

To s Lady on her singing 

Song. On the birthday of Mrs. . Written iu 

Ireland, 17a0 


Morality. A familiar eriatle. Addressed to J. 

Atkinson, Esq. M. R. L A 

The Tell-tale Lyre 

Peace and Giory. Written ou the approach of war 


Love and Reason 

14 ay, do not weep, my Fanny dear 


The Grecian Girl's Dream of the Blessed Islands. 

To her lover 

To Ctoe, imitated from Martial 

The Wreath and the Chain 



I Pictu 

Fragment of a Mythological Hymn to Love 

To his Kerene Highness the Duke of Montpenaier, 
on his portrait of the Lady Adelaide Forbes • 

The Fall of Hebe. A dithyrambic ode 

Rings and Seuls 

To Miss Susan B— ckf— d. On her singing 

Impromptu, on leaving some friends 

A Warning. To 



To ; 

A Vision of Philosophy 

To Mrs 

To Lady Heathirole, on an old ring found at Tun- 
bridge Wells 

The Devil among the Scholars. A fragment 


Dedication to Francis, Eailof Moira 


To Lord ViBcouol Sliangri.rd. Aboard the Phneloo 
frigate, o? Ibe Azores, by moonlight 

Btanzas ••- 

To the Flying-fish 

To Miss Moore. From Noifolk, in Virginia, Nov. 

▲ Ballad. The Lake of the Dismal Swamp. Writ- 
ten at Norfolk, inVirginia 

To the Marchioness Dowager of Donegall. From 
Bermuda, January, m04 

Odes to Nea 1 

Nay, tempt me not to love again ] 

I pi ay you, let us roam no more 1 

Yiiu read it in these spell-bound eyes I 

A Dream of Antiquity I 

Well— peace lo Ihy heart, Iboogh another's it bo. I 

If 1 were yonder wave, my dear 1 

The Snow Spirit 1 

1 stole along the tiowery bank ] 

A Study from the Antique 1 

There's not a look, a word of thine ] 

To Jo-eph Atkinson, Esq. From Bermuda I 

The Steersman's Song, Written aboard the Bos- 
ton frigate, 28tb April 1 

To the Fire-fly...-; 1 

To the Lord Viscount Forbes. From the city of 

Washington ] 

To Thomas Hume, Esq., M. D. From the city of 

Washington ] 

Lines written on leaving Philadelphia 1 

Lines writteu at the Cohos, or Falls of the Mohawk 

River 1 

Song of the Evil Spirit of the Woods 110 

To the Hon. W. II. Spencer. From Buffalo, upon 

Lake Erie 

Ballad Stanzas 

A Canadian Boat Song. Writteu oa the river St. 

To the Lady Charlotte Kawdon. From the banks 
of the St. Lawrence 

Impromptu, after a visit to Mrs. , of Montreal.. 

Written on passing Deadman's Island, in the Gulf 
of St. Lawrence, late iu the evening, September, 

To the Boston Frigate, on leaving Halifax for Eng- 
land, October, ItiOl 


A Satire 122 

TWOPENNY POST-BAG. By Thomas Brown, the 

Younger 1 

Dedication. To Stephen Woolriche, Esq 1 

Preface 1 

Preface to the Fourteenth Edition. By a Friend of 
the Author 1 


Letter I. From (he Pr--nc— as Ch— rl~e of 

W— I— s to the Lady B— rb— a Ashl— y ] 

Letter II. From Colonel M'M— h~u lo G— Id 

Fr— nc~a L— ckie. Esq 1 

Postscript : 

Letter 111. From G— ge Pr — ce R~g — t to tba 

E — of Y th I 

Letter IV. From the Right Hon. 1'— tr— ck D— 

gen— u to the Right Hon. Sir J— hn N— ch— 1..., 



Poal script. . 
Letter VI. 

in Ispaha: 

1 the Countess Dowager of C— rk t 
1 Abdallah, in Lcndou, to Mohassaa 

VII. From Messrs. L— ck— gt— n and Co. 

to , Esq ; 

Letter VIII. From Colonel Th—m— a to 

Sk— ff—ngt— n. Esq '■ 



The Insurrection of the Papers. A Dream : 

Parody of a celebrated Letter '. 

Anacreontic to a Plumassier ) 

Extracts from the Diary of a Politician : 


King Crack and his Idols. Written after the late 

Negotiation for a Dew M— n— stry : 

What's my Thought likel : 


Epigram. Dialogue between a Calhnlic Delegate 
•nd Hit R— y-l H— ghn— bs the D— e ot C— 

b— I— il HI 

'Wreathe for the Miiiimers. An Anaireoiitic 141 

Epigrnra. Dialfigije between a Itowager and her 

Moid on the Night of Lord Y— rra— th's Fete.... 141 
Horace. Ode XI. Lib. II. Freely translated by the 

rt— ce R— g— t 142 

Horare, Ode XMII. Lib. 1. Freely Iran.lated hy 

Lord Eld— 142 

The New Costume of the Ministers 14'J 

Correspondence between a Lady and Gentlemmi, 
upon the Advantage of (what is euUed) "having 

Law on one's Side" 113 

Occasional Address for the OiieninB of the New The- 
atre of bt. bt--i>h — n, intended to have been 
spoken by the Proprietor in lull Costume, on the 

24th of November, 1«12 144 

The Sale of the '1 nun 144 

Little Man and Little Soul. A Ballad 146 

Keiuforcements for Lord Wellington 145 

Horace, Ode 1. Lib. III. A Kragment 140 

Horace. Ode XXXVIU. Lib. I. A Fragment. 
Tianslated by a Treasury Clerk, while wuiting 

Dinner for the Right Hon. <i— rge K— se 146 

Impromptu. Dpon being obliged tn leave a pleasant 
Party, (mm the Wunt of a Pair of Breeches to 

dres.for Dinner ii 146 

Lord Wellington ai;d the Minibters 146 


Dedication to the Marchioness Dowager of Donegal 146 

Piefuee 146 

Go where Glory waits thee 146 

War Song. Remember the Oloriea of Brien the 

Brave 147 

Erin ! the Tear and Smile in thine Eyes 147 

Oh, breathe not his Name 147 

When he, who adores thee 147 

Tile Harp that once through Tara's Halls 147 

Fly not yet 147 

Oh, think not my Spirits are always as light 148 

Tho' the last Glimpse of Erin with Sonow 1 see.. 148 

Rich and rare were the Gems she wore 14C 

As a Beam o'er the Face of the Waters may glow. 14tj 

The Meeting of the Waters UH 

Ilow dear to me the Hour 149 

Take back the Virgin Page. Written on returning 

a blank Book 149 

The Legacy 149 

How oft has the Benshee cried 149 

We may roam lliruugb ihis World 149 

Kveleeo's Bower IDO 

Let F:rin remember the Days of old JfiO 

The Song of Fionnuala.. ..' 150 

Come, send round the Wine 151 

Sublime was the Warning 151 

Believe me, if all those endearing young Charms... 151 

Krin, oh Erin 151 

Drink to her 151 

Oh, blame not the Bard 153 

While gazing on the Moon's Light 152 

llHlmens 152 

Before the Battle 152 

After the Battle 153 

•Tia sweet to think 163 

The Irish Peasant to his Mistress 153 

On Mnsic 153 

It is not the Tear ot this Moment shed 154 

The Origin of the Harp 

Love's Young Dream 

The Prince's Day 

Weep on, weep on 

LesbiB hath a beaniing Kye 

I saw thy Form in youthrui Prime 

By that Lake, whobe gloomy shuie 

She is far from the Land ,. 

Nay, tell me not, dear 

Avenging and bright 166 

What the Bee ia to the Floweret 

Love and the Novice 

This Lite Is all chcquer'd with Pleaiurta and Woes 

Oh the Shamrock 

At the md Hour of Night 

One Bumper at parting 

'T.a the last Rose of Summer 

The young May Moon 

The Minstrel- Boy 

The Song of O'Ruork. Prince of BielTui 

Ob. had we some bright litlle Ihle of our own 

Farewell '.—But whenever yon welcome the Hour.. 

Oh, doubt me not 

I'd Qtouin the Hopes 

Come o'er the Sea lliO 

Has Sorrow thy young Davs shaded 

No, not more weltorae....' 

\A hen lirst I met thee 

While History's Muse 

The Time I've lost in wooing 

Where IS the Slave 

Come, rest 10 this Bo.soa 

I saw from the Beach 162 

Fill the Bumi-er tair 

Dear Harp of my Country 162 


IRISH MELODIES, continued 167 

My gentle Harp 16? 

In the Morning of Life 167 

Asshiwour Ship 167 

When cold in the Earth 16g) 

Remember thee 168 

Wreath the Bowl 168 

Whene'er I see those smiling Eyes Ibo 

H thou'lt be mine 168 

To Ladies' Eye! ICU 

Forget not the Field 169 

They may rail at this Lif.- Hi9 

Oh for the swords of (orniei Tunc 119 

St. Sesanus and the Ludy 169 

Ne'er ask the Hour 170 

Sail on, sail on 170 

The Parallel I'd 

Drink of this Cut 17tJ 

The Fortune-teller 171 

Oh, ye Dead 171 

O'Donohue's Mistress 171 

Echo J71 

Oh banquet not 172 

Thee, thee, only thee J72 

Shall the Haip then be silent 172 

Oh, the Sight euttauciug 172 

Sweet Innisfsllen 173 

•Twas one of those Dreams 173 

Fairest! |iut on awhile 173 

Quick ! we have bul a Second 174 

Anddolh not a Meeting like this 174 

The Mountain Sprite 174 

As vanquish 'd Erin 174 

Desmond's Song 176 

They know not my Heart 176 

1 wish I was by that dim Luke 176 

She sung of Love 1'6 

Sin6-«ing--Musie was given 176 

Though humble the Banquet 176 

Slug, sweet Harp 176 

Song of the Battle Eve 176 

The wandering Bard — 1*6 

Alone in Crowds to wander on 177 

I've a Secret to tell thee 177 

Song of Innisfail I'7 

The Mghl Dance 177 

There aie Soonds ot Mirth 177 

Oh: Arranmore, loved Arrnnmore 176 

Lay his Sword by hie Side 178 

Oh, could we do with this World ot oura 178 

The Wine-eup is circling 178 

The Dream of those Days 179 

From this Hour the Pledge la given 179 

Silence la m our festal Halls 179 

Appendix 1'9 

Advertisement prefixed to the First and Second 

Numbers...... n» 

Advertisement to the Third Number IbO 

Letter to the Marchioness Dowager of Donegal, 

piefixed to the Third Number 180 

Advertisement to the Fourth Number 183 

AdverlL-enient to the Fifth Nomher 183 

Advertisement to the Sixth Number 163 

Advertisement to the Seventh Number Ifc4 

Dedication to the Marchioness of Headforl prefixed 

to the Tenth Number IM 


Advertiseraeni IM 

A Temple toFilendship. Spanish Air 184 

Flow on, thou shining River. Portuguese Air.. .. 185 

All that's bright must fade. Indian Air 1H6 

So warmly we met. Hungarian Air 186 



Those EvcnlDg Belli. Air.— The Bells of St. Pc- 
leraburgh 185 

ShmiM those fond Hopes. Porluguese Air 188 

Reason. Folly, and Beauty. Italian Air 185 

Fare thee well, thou lovely one ! Sirilian Air 186 

Dost thou remember. Portuguese Air 186 

Oh, cnme to me when Daylight set*. Venetion Air 166 

Oft, in the stilly NiRht. Scoteh Air 166 

Hark! the Vesper Hymn is stealing. Russian Air lb? 

Love and Hope. Swiss Air 167 

There comes a Time. German Air IM 

My Harp has one unchanging Theme. Swedish Air IM 
Oh, no — not ev'n when first we love. Cashmerlaa 

Peace be around thee. Scotch Air , 

Common Sense and Genius. French Ai: 

Then, fare thee well. Old English Air 

Gaily sounds the Castanet. Maltese Air 

Love is a Hunter-boy. Languedoeian Air 

Come, chase that starting Tear away. French Ail 

Joys cf Youth, how lleeting! Portuguese Air 

Hear me but once. French Air 

When Love was a Child. Swedish Air 

Bay, what shall be our Sport to-day? Sieiiian Air 

Bright be thy Dreams. Welsh Air 

Go, then— 'tis vain. Sicilian Air , 

The Crystal Hun 

Row gently here. 

Ob. Days of Youth. French I 

When first that Smile. Venetian Air. 

Peace to the Slumlierere ! Calalonian . 

When I hou shalt wander. Sicilian Air 

Who'll buy my Love-knola? Portuguei 

Bee, the Dawn from Heaven. To an 

Rome, on Christmas £ve 

Nets and Cages. Swedish .Mr 

When through the Piazzetta. Venelia 
Go, now. 


Neapolilan Air 

enelian Air 

np Stars. Savoyard t 

When the Wine cup is smiling, llaliai 
Where shall we bury our Shame 7 Nea 
He'er talk of Wisdom's gloomy Schools, 

Air , 

Here i-leeps the Bard. Highland Air.. 

Do not say that Life is waning 

The Gaaelle 

Ho— leave my Heart to rest 

Where are the Visions 

Wind thy Horn, my Hunter Buy 

Oh. guaidour AtTrction 

Slumber, oh slumber 

Bring the bright Garlands hither 

If in loving, singing 

Thou lov'sl no more 

When abroad in the World 

Keep those Eyes still purely mine 

Hope cornea again 

O say, thou best and brightest 

When Night bringa the Hour 

Like one who, doom'd 

Fear not thai, while around thee 

When Love is kind 

The Garland 1 send thee 

How shall I woo7 

Th.iu art. O God. Air.— Ui 

The Bird, let loo^e. Air.— Beethoven 

Fallen is thy Throne. Air.— Maitini 

Who isthe Maidl SI. Jerome's Love. Air— B 


This World is all n Uceting Show. Air.— Slev. 

1 Tear. Air 

Oh Thou who dry'st the Mour 

Weep not for those. Air.— Av 
The 'I'urf shall be my fragrant t 

Sound the loud Timbrel. Miri 

Oo, lei 

Air.- Ste 
ug. Air.- 

,0 Lord. Air.— Haydn 

Were -ot the sinful Mary's Tears. Air.— Stevensci 
A« >3\i-Q in the sunlesa Kelreats. Air. — Haydn.. 

But who shall see. Air.— Stevenson 

Almighty God. Chorus of Priests. Air.— Mozart. 199 
Oh fair 1 oh purest I Saint Augustine to his Sister. 

Air.-Moore ! 

Angel of Charity. Air.— Handel 200 

Behold the Sun. Air.— Loid Morninglin 200 

Lord, who shall bear that Day. Air.— lit. Boyce.. 200 

Oh, teach me to love Thee. Air. — Haydi 200 

Weep, Children of Israel. Air.— Stevenson SOI 

Like Morning, when her early Breeze. Air — Beeth- 
oven 201 

Come, ye disconsolate. Air.— German 201 

Awake, arise, thy Light is come. Air.— Stevenson 201 

There is a bleak Desert. Air.— Crescenlini ! 

Since first thy Word. Air.— Micholas Freeman... ! 

Hark! 'lis the Breeze. Air.— Rousseau I 

Where is your Dwelling, ye sainted 7 .\ir, — Hasse ^ 
How lightly mounts the Musc'a Wing. Air.— 


Go forth to the Mount. Air.— Stevenson '. 

Is it not sweet to think, hereafter. Air.— Haydn.. 203 

War against Babylon. Air.— Hovello 

The Summer Fete 

Dedication to the Honourable Mrs. Norton 204 



First Evening : 

Second Evening '• 


Dedication to the Miss Feildings 1 

The Voice '■ 

Cupid nnd Psyche 1 

Hero and Leander ■ 

The Leaf and the Fountain : 

Cephalus and Procris I 

Y'oulh and Age ' 

The dying Warrior ' 

•Ihe Magic Mirror '■ 

The I'llgrim : 

The high-born Ladye I 

The Indian Boat ' 

The Slranger ' 

A Melologue upon National Music 1 

Advertisement '■ 

SET OF GLEES. Music by Moore ' 

The Meeting of Ihe Ships.'. ■ 

Hip, hip, hurrah ! ' 

Hush, hush ! ' 

The Patting before the Battle : 

TheWauhman. A Trio 

Say, what shall we dance? ] 

The Evening Gun ' 


ic • 

To-day, dearest 1 is ours * 

When on the Lip the Sigh delays ' 

Here, take my Heart ' 

Oh. call it by some belter Name '■ 

Poor wounded Heart •.«• ' 

The East Indian | 

Poor broken Flower ' 

The pretty Rose Tree ' 

Shine out, Slars! '■ 

The young Muleteers of Grenada 

Tell her, oh lell her ' 

Nights of Music • 

Our lirsl young Love ■ 

Black and Blue Eyes ' 

Dear Fanny '■ 

Fruin Life wilhout Freedom 

Here's the Bower ' 

I saw the Moon rise clear. A Finland Love Song.. ! 
Love and the Sun-diul ; 

Love's light Summer-cloud ' 

Love, waiid'iing through the golden Maze '. 

Merrily every Bosom boundeth. The Tyrolese Song 

of Liberty * 

Remember the Time. The Caslilian Maid i 

Oh, soon return '■ 

Love thee? • 

One dear Sinile '■ 

Yes. ves. when the Bloom '- 

The bay of Love \ 

Lusitaniao War-song.... ........ .....•..••...•.*. ■ 

The young Rose ] 

When 'midst the Gay 1 meet S 

C O N T E-N T S , 

vn I 

When Twilight Dew 236 

Young JFfiaica S36 

How liapjf. ince S36 

lloT« but thtp 236 

Let Joy uloDe tir reinrmbcr'd now 237 

Love thee, den^el^t ? love tbea 7 237 

Mr Heart aod Lute 237 

Peace, peace to bim tbal'agooe! 237 

Rose or the Dinert 237 

Tisall for thee 237 

The Song of the Olden Time 238 

'Wake thee, my dear '£iH 

The Bny of the Al|ja 23H 

For thee alone 23ti 

Her last Wnrdn, ut parting 238 

Let'a Inke this World ai some wide Scene 239 

Love'e Victory 239 

Song of Hercules to hie Daughter 239 

The Dream of Heme 239 

They tell me thou'rl the favour'd Gueat 239 

The young iDdiQQ Maid 240 

The Homeward March 240 

Wake up, BWeet Melody 310 

Calm be thy Bleep 240 

I'be Exile 24U 

The Fancy Fair 240 

ir thou would'at have me aing and play 241 

Btill when DayliKhl 241 

The Summer Wcbe 241 

Mind not though Daylight 241 

1'hey met hut once 241 

\Vith MouQlight beaming 241 

Child's Song. Froma Masque 242 

The Halcyon baugb o'er t^ceau • 242 

The World was huKh'd 242 

The two Lovea 242 

The Legend of Fuck the Fairy 242 

Beauly and Song 243 

\\ hen (hou art uigb.. 243 

Song of a Hyperborean » 243 

Thciu bidst me eing 243 

Cupid armed 243 

Kound the World goee 244 

Oh, do not look 80 bright and bleat 244 

The Musical Box 244 

When to ead Music silent yon listen 244 

The Language of Floweis 244 

The Dawn is breaking oVl u 244 


Here a( thy Tomb. By Meleager 245 

Sale of Cupid. By Meleager 315 

To weave a Uarlaud for the Rose. By Faul, the 

Sileotiary 546 

Why does she en long delay 7 By Paul, the Silen. 

liaty 245 

Twin'at thou with lofly Wreath thy Brow. By 

Paul, Ibe Silentiary 246 

When the slid Woid. By Paul, the Bileuliaiy 'J46 

My Mopaa is lillle. By Philodemus 246 

Still, like Dew iu silence lallmg. By Meleager 246 

Up, Sailor Boy. 'tis Day '247 

In Myrtle Wreaths. By Alcaeu 247 


Aak not if still 1 live 247 

Dear? yes 217 

Unbind Ihee, Love '^47 

There's Homelhing Btrjnge. A Buffo Song 247 

I4ot from thee 248 

Guess, guess 24S 

When Love, who ruled 24ti 

Still thou Qiest 24U 

Then tirst from Love 249 

Uu^h. sweet Lute 249 

Bright Moon 249 

Lung Years have pass'd 249 

Dreaming for ever '.i49 

Though lightly eounda the Song i aing. A Song of 

the Alpid 249 

The Buasiao Lover 349 



Dedication 269 

The Veiled Prophet of Khoraasan 255 

Parudiae and Per 276 

The Fire-Worshippers 2b3 


LaLLA ROOICH, continued 105 

The Ughlotlhe Ha 


Linea on the Death of Mr. P— re— v 

Fum and Hum, the Two Birds of Royally 814 

Lines on the Death ol Sh— r— d— c 

Epislle from Tom Crib to Big Ben, 

fuul Play in a late Transaction... 


Preface Sl6 

Letter I. From Misa Biddy Fudge to Miss Dorothy 

Letter 111. From Mr. Bob Fudge to Richard , 

E»q : 

Lelter IV. From Phelira Connor to i 

Leiler V. From Misa Biddy Fudge to Miea Doro. 

Ihy ! 

Leiler VI. From Phil. Fudge, Esq. to hia Brother 

Tim Fudge, Esq. Barriater at Law 322 

Lelter VII. From Pbelim Connor to r 

Letter VIII. From Mr. Bob Fudge to Richard , 

Esq { 

Letter IX. From Phil. Fudge, Esq. tu the Lord 

ViecouDi C— St— r— gh I 

Letter X. From Misa Biddy Fudge to Miaa Dorothy 

Letter XL Fri 

I Biddy Fudge tu Misa Doro> 

Fable I. The Dissolution of the Holy Alii! 

Fable IV. The Fly and the Bulluck.., 

Fable V. Church and State 

Fable VL The Lillle Grand Lama.. . 

Faille VII. The Exiinguishera 

Fable VIIL Louis Fourteenth's Wig.. 

Exlrait VII S4« 

Extract VIII 

Extract IX 

Extract X 

Extract XI &l« 

Extract XII 34t 

Extract XIII S5« 

Exiract XIV 

Extract XV 

Exiract XVI Sii 


Occasional Epilogue, spoken by Mr. Corry, in the 
Character of Vapid, after the Play uf the Drama- 
lint, at the Kilkenny Theatre 

Extract from a Prologue wiitten and spoken by Ihe 
Author, at Ihe Opeuing of Ihe Kilkenny Theatie, 
October. lbU9 

The Sylph's Ball 

My Birlh-Day. 

Song. Fanny, dean 
'Pr.malatious fiom ' 
Tibullua to Sulpic 


I Catullus S51 

ia S5I 

Ihe Fri 

I Lord Lansdowne ] 
Verses to the Poet Crubbe's Inkstand. Written 

May, ies2 ! 

To Caroline, Viscountesa Valletort. Written at 

Lac(.ck Abbey, January, lb32 I 

A Speculation I 

To My Mother. Written in a Pocket Book, lb33.. i 

Love and Hymen • i 

Linea on the Entry of the Austrians into Muplea, 

1621 i 




Fust Angel's Sloiy "iS 

Setond Augel's Story Sli6 

Third Angel'a Slory SiS 


Stt-plicism *'^' 

A Joke Versilifd 3'6 

Ou the Death uf a Friend J^o 

To James Crrv, Ksq., on hi8 making me a Present 

Ota Wine.Bl"a.ner 31| 

Fragment or a Character.... 3'8 

What Bliall 1 sine Thee I To f» 

Country Dance and (iuadrille ^'^ 

GiCfi 3eO 

LiLes on the Death of Joseph Atkinson, Esq. of 

Doblin 380 

Genius anil Criticism 380 

To Lady J'r"y, ou being asked to write something 

in her Album 3^' 

To the same, on looking through her .\lbum 361 


To Sir Hudson Lowe 3hl 

Amatory Colloquy between Bank and Government.. Sbl 
Dialogue between a Sovereign and a One Pound 

An Expostulation lo Lord King SB'2 

The Sinking Fund cried 383 

Ode to the G^jldess Ceres. By Sir Th-m— s L-th- 

br— e 383 

A Hymn of Welcome after the Reiess 3»4 

Memorabilia of Last Week 384 

All in the Family Way. A new Pastoral Ballad... 386 

Ballad for the Cmbridge Election 385 

Mr. Roger Dodsworth 385 

Copy of an intercepted Despatch. F- ~ ■- - *-'---• 

" n SIr,.Diln,tO Diabnln. EnV.>r j^Aiiau*".- 



Song Of the deparling Spirit of Tithe 4OT 

The Euthanasia of Van ■40' 

To the Reverend . One of the sixteen Ite.jui- 

Bitioniets of Nottingham <06 

Irish Antiquities WS 

A n„rin„«EaeI <09 

tency Don Slrep'iloso Diaboln. Envoy Extraordi 
nary lo his Saianic Maji '"" 

The Millennium. Suggesled by the late Work of 

the Reverend Mr. Irv— ng "On Prophecy" i«^ 

The Three Do<tora 38' 

Epitaph on a Tult-Hunter 367 

Ode to a Hot ~° 

News for Country Cousins 368 

A Vision. By tlie Author of Christaliel 388 

The Petition of the Orangemen of Ireland 389 

Cotton and Corn. ADlalogue 391) 

The Canonization of Sjint B— tt— rw— ith 390 

An Incantation. Sung by the Bubble Spirit 390 

A Dream of Turtle. By Sit W. Curtis 391 

The Donkey and his Panniers. A Fable 391 

Ode lo the Sublime Porte 892 

Corn and Catholics JJ' 

A Case of Libel S9a 

Literary Advertisement 39a 

The Irish Slave If* 

Ode to Ferdinand SM 

Hat versus Wig ■■•• 395 

The Periwinkles and the Locusts. A Salmagundi 



Batch the First 396 

1 the Umbrella Question. By Lord Eld— n 31*6 

A'Pastoral Ballad. By John Bull 39' 

A lale Scene at Swanage 397 

Wo; Wo! ^ 

Tout pour la Tripe »« 

Eoiemt 398 

Dog day Refleclions. By a Dandy kept in Town.... 398 

The "Livins Dog" and "The Dead Lion" 399 

Ode to Don Miguel 399 

Thoughts on the present Government of Ireland.... 400 

The Limbo of lost Reputations. A Dream 400 

How to write by Proxy «1 

Imitation of the Inferno of Dante 401 

Lament tor the Loss of Lord B— th— sfs Tail 40'2 

TheChetries. A Parable 40J 

I of Defeat. 




Ode 10 the Woods and Forests. By one of the 

Board JO' 

eianzai* from the Banks of the Shannon 49o 

The Annual Pill *"f, 

-If" and "Perhaps" 40" 

Write ot), Write on. A Ballad 406 


• keii 


i-Lord 1 

Epistle ot Condolence. I 

ton. Lord ■«»" 

The Ghost of Miltiades 411 

Alarming Intelligence— Revolution in the Dictionary 

—One Gall at the Head of it 411 

Resolutions passed at a late Meeting of Reverends 

and Right Reverends <" 

Sir Andrew's Dream 412 

A Blue Love-Song. To Miss 4'3 

Sunday Ethics. A Scotch Ode 413 

Awful Event 413 

The numbering of the Clergy. Parody 

Charles Han. Willi ' ' 
A sad Case 
A Dream ol 

The Brunswick Club 416 

Proposals for a Gynaecocracy. Addressed 10 a late 

Radical Meeting 416 

Lord H— nl— y and St. Cecilia 415 

Advertisement 416 

Missing 416 

The Dance of Bishops ; or, the Episcopal Quadrille. 
.\ Dream 417 

1 famous Ode 413 

^ 414 

' Hindostan 414 

A corrected Report of some late Speeches.. 

Moral Positions. A Dream 

The Mad Tory and the Comet. Founded c 

1 lale 


, . iLndyEmma ....419 

Triumph of Bigotry..'. 420 

Translation from the Gull Language 420 

Notions on Reform. By a Modern Reformer 4110 

Tory Pledges 42) 

St. Jerome on Earth. First Visit 421 

St. Jerome on Earth. Second Visit 422 

Thoughts on Tar Barrels. (Vide Description of a 

late Fete) 422 

The Consultation 4'23 

To the Rev. Ch-rl-s Ov-rt-n, Curate ot Romaldkirk 423 
from a Play, acted at Oxford, called " Malri- 


Late Tithe Case ™ 

Fools' Paradise. Dream the First 4« 

The Rector and his Cunte ; or. One Pound Two. .. 426 

Paddy's Metamorphosis 4i5 

Cocker, on Church Reform. Founded upon some 

late Calculations 425 

Les Hommes Automates 4afl 

How to make One's Self a Peer. According to the 

newest Receiit, as disclosed in a late Herald: 



riled for 


I Romantic Drama. 429 

r Thalaba. Addri 

led lo 

The Duke is the Lad 4'.i7 

Epistle from Erasmus on Earth to Cicero in the 

Shades 4!7 

Lines on the Departure of Lords C— Bl— r— gh and 

St— w— rt tor the Continent 

To the Ship In which Lord C— st— r— gh 

the Conlinent 

Sketch of the First Ac 
Animal Magnetism.... 
The Song of the Box.. 
Announcement of a J 

Robert Southey, Esq 

Rival Topics. An Extravaganza 
The Boy Statesman. By a Tory 
Letter from Larry O'Branigan to 

O'Mulligan ■•■" 

Musings of an Unreformed Peer 4fJ 

The Reverend Pamphleteer. A Romantic Ballad.. 4il2 
A Recent Dialc 
The Wellinglo 
A Character.. 

A Ghost Story 

Thoughts on the late destructive Prcpoi 

the Tories. By a Common-Councilmac 
Anticipated Meeting of the British Asso 

the Rev. Murtagb 

No. I. 

Epistle from Henry of Ex— I— r to John of Tuwa.. 436 
Song of Old Puck *^ 


Police Reports. Case of Impoatu 

KetU'c'liiina. Adilresscd to Ilie Ai. 

of ihrCliurth lu Ibe UatNurab 



New Urauil ICxhibilinn of Mulels ol the two Houat 
of Pailiaineut 

Aiiiiour.cemelit of a n«w grand Acceleration Coir 
pany for ttie I'roiQolion nf tlie Speed of Lileratui 

Goiue Account of tlie talc Uinncr to Dan 

New Hoapilol for iiicli Literati 

K.lisiou and Trade 

Ideated by tlie late I'rontotiou of Mn 



lust Non 

" KonianiMU iu ireland" 

irund Dinner of Type and Co. A poor Vm 


Cllureh Exieuaion 

Latent Accounts from Olympus 4i'2 

Tlie Triumphs of Farce 442 

Thnughts on Patrone, Putts, and other Matters. Iu 

an Epistle from T. M. to S. K 443 

Tliuughts oo Mi«chier. By Lord St— ul— y. His 

lint attempt at Verse 443 

Eptstle from Captain Rock to Lord L— iidh— t 444 

Captain lluck iu Loudon. Le.ter from the CaplalQ 

to Terry Alt, lisq 444 

Sequel to 

Prefiice '. 445 

Letter I. From Patricit Magan, I'^q., to the Rev. 
Richard — — , Curale nf , in Irela.d 446 

Letter IL From Miss Biddy Fudge, to Mrs. Eliza- 
beth 446 

Letter Iir. From Miss Funny Fudpe, to her Cousin, 

Mias Kitty . Stauztia (inclosed) to my 

Sliiidnw; or. Why I— What J— H.i\» ) 448 

Letter IV. From Patrick Mafao, Esq., to the llev. 
Hichard 449 

Letter V. From Larry O'Sranigan, In England, tu 

his wife Judy, at Mullinarad < 

Letter VI. From Miaa Biddy Fudge, to Mrs. ElUa- 

Letter VIL From M:sa Fanny' Vudcei' "to her 
Cousin, Miaa Kilty . Irregular Ode 463 

Letter Vili. From Bob Fudge, Esq., to the Rev, 
Mortimer O'MulliKaD < 

Letter IX. Froin Larry O'llrauigan to his Wife 

Judy i 

" ■' the Rev. Mortimer O'Mulligaii, to 

the Kev. 
Letter ,\1. 

I Patrick Magan, Ksq., to the Rev. 




At Nieht 

To Laily llnlland. On Nnpcleon's Legacy of a ^Snuff 

Anne lloleyn. Translaliou from the metrical •■ His. 

toired'Aune Boleyu" . 

The Dream of the Two Sisters. From Dante 461 

Sovcreipn Woman. A Ballad 

Come, play me that simple Air again. A Ballad.... 



ALCIPHRON: A Fragment 60« 


The Ediiion of tlie works of Mr. Pdoore, now offered to ihe public, 
is reprinied from that recently published in London, under the super- 
vision of the Author, and may therefore be deemed authentic and 

The London Ediiion is in ten volumes; and to each are prefixed 
Autobiographical Sketches and Anecdotes connected with the Poems 
in that volume. In order to present these in their proper connexion, 
and to elucidate clearly the Author's allusions, the American publish- 
ers have marked the beginning of each volume of the English Edition, 
and have adopted Mr. Moore's arrangement throughout the entire 













FINDING it to be the wish of my Publishers that 
at least the earlier volumes of this colleclion shouIJ 
each be accomi)anieJ by some prefatory matter, illus- 
trating, by a few biographical memoranda, the pro- 
gress of my humble literary career, 1 have consented, 
though not, I confess, without some scruple aud hesi- 
tation, to comply with their request. In no country 
is there so much curiosity felt lespecting the interior 
of the lives of public men as in England" ; but, on the 
other hand, in "no country is he who ventures to tell 
his own story so little safe from the imputation of 
vaiiity and self-display. 

The whole of the poems contained in the first, as 
well as in the greater part of the second volume of 
this collection, were written between the sixteenth 
and the twenty-third year of the author's age. But I 
had begun still t-arlier, not only to rhyme, but to pub- 
lish. A sonnet to my schoolmaster, Mr. Samuel 
Whyte, written in my fourteenth year, appeared at 
the time in a Dublin Magazine, called the Antho- 
iogia,— the first, and, I fear, almost only creditable 
attempt in periodical literature of which Ireland has 
to boast. 1 had even at an earlier period (1793) sent 
to this magazine two short pieces of verse, prefaced 
by a noie to the editor, requesting the insertion of the 
*' following attonipts of a youthful muse;" and the 
fear and trembling with which I ventured upon this 
step were agreeably dispelled, not only by the appear- 
ance of the^contribulinns, but still more by my find- 
ing myself, a few months after, hailed as "our esteem- 
ed correspondent, T. M." 

It was in the pages of this publication,— where the 
whole ot the poem was extracted,— that I first met 
with the Pleasures of Memory ; and to this day, when 
1 open the volume of the Anthnlogia which cimtains 
it, Ihe very form of the type and colour of the pajter 
brings back vividly to my miud the delight with 
which I first read that poem. 

My schoolmaster, Mr. Whyte, though amusingly 
vain, was a good and kind-hearted man j aud. as a 
teacher of public reading and elocution, had long 
enjoyed considerable reputation. Nearly thirty years 
Ijcfore I became his pupil, Richard Brinsley Sheridatij 
then about eight or nine years of age, had been placed 
by Mrs. Sheridan under his care ; » and, strange to 
say, was, after about a year's trial, pronounced, both 
by tutor and parent, to be *'an incorrigible dunce." 
Among those who took lessons from him as private 
pupils were several young ladies of rank, belonging 
to those great Irish families who still continued to 
lend to Ireland the enlivening influence of their pre- 
sence, and made their country-seats, through a great 
part of the year, the scenes of refined, as well as hos- 
pitable festivity. The Miss Mnntgonierys, to whose 
rare beauty Ihe pencil of Sir Joshua has given im- 
mortaliiy, were among those whom my worthy pre- 
ceptor most boasted of as pupils; and, I remember, 
his description of Ihem long haumed my boyish 
imagination, as though they were not earihly women, 
but some spiritual " creatures of the element." 

About tiiirty or forty years before the period of 
which I am speaking, an eager taste for private thea- 
trical performances had sprung up among the higher 
ranks of society in Ireland ; and at Carton, the seat tf 
the Duke of Leinster, at Castletown, Marley, and 
other great houses, private plays were got up, of 
which, in most instances, the superintendence was 
entrusted to Mr. Whyte, and in general the prologue, 
nr the epilogue, contributed by his pen. At Marley, 
the seat of the Latouches, where the Masque of Cnmus 
was performed in the year 1776, while my old master 

1 Some confused notion of this fact has led the 
writer of a Memoir prefixed In ihe *' pocket Edition " 
of my Poems, printed at Zwickau, to state that Ilrins- 
ley Sheridan was my tutor ! — " attention was 
paid to hi:^ education by hlH tutor, Sheridan." 





supplied the prolngue, no less dis iii'uislied a hand 
than that of our " ever-glorious Graitaii.'' i fuinislied 
the epiln^ue. This re ic of his pen. ton, is the nmre 
nieninrable, as being, I believe, the on'y poetical com- 
position he i^as ever known to produce. 

At the lime when I first be^an to ^tlend his school, 
Mr. Wliyte still continued, to the no small alarm ot 
many parents, to encnutag^e a taste acting among 
his pupils In this line 1 was lon^ his favour iie show- 
scholar; and among the play-bills introduced in his 
volume, to illustr.Te the occasions of his own pio- 
In^ufcs and epilogues, there is one of a play gut up in 
the >ear 1790, ai Lady Borrowes's pti\ate theatre in 
Dubi.n, where, auiong the items of the evening's 
emeriainmeiil, is "An Epilogue,^ Squeeze to &t. 
PauVSy Master Moore." 

VViih acting, indeed, is ass-^ciated the very first 
attempt at verse-making to which my menjory enables 
nie to plead guilly. It was at a period. 1 ih nk, even 
earlier ihan the date l-is* mentinned, that, while pass- 
ing the summer holidays, wiih a number of other 
young people, at one of tho-e bathing-places, in the 
neighbourhood of Dublin, which aflord such fresh 
and healthful retreats to i's inhabitants, it was pro- 
posed among us that we should combine together in 
snme theatrical performance; and the Poor Soldier 
and a Harlequin Pantomime being the enterlainments 
agreed upon, the par's of Patrick ai;d ihe Motley hero 
fell to my share. I was also encouraged to \yrile and 
recite an appropriale epilogue on the occasion; and 
the following lines, alluding lo our speedy return to 
school, and reni:»ikable only fnr their having lived so 
long in my memory, formed pari of this juvenile 
effort : — 

Our Pantaloon, who did ho aged li.ok, 
Miist now resume his youth, his la-^k, his book : 
Our Harlequin, who Hkiiip'd, lungh'd, dniicM. and died, 
Must now Mlaud t[enit)Iiiig by his maater'ii side. 

I have thus been led hack, step by step, frnm an 
early date to one siill earlier, with the view of ascer- 
laining, for those who take any interest in literary 
biography, at what period I fir^t shov^ed an aptitude 
for the now common ciaft of ve'se-making ; and ihe 
result i^— so far back in childhood lies ihe e|.r,ch-that 
I am really unable to say at what age 1 first began to 
act, sing, and rliynie. 

To the-e dilterent talents, such as they were, the 
gay and soci d habits prevailing in Dublin affi^rded 
frequent opportunities of displav ; while, at home, a 
most amiabe faiher, and a molher. such as in heart 
ai d head has rarely been equalled, fui'ni:hed me with 
that purest stimulus to exertion— the desire to please 
those whom we, at once, most I'^ve, and most respect. 
It was, I think, a year or two after my entrance into 
collese, that a masque written by myself, and of 
which I had adapted one of the songs to the air o 
Haydn's Spirit-Song, was acted, under our own hum 
ble roof in Aungier Street, by my elder sister, mysell 
and one or two other young peisons. Tlie littl 
drawing-room over tne shop was our grand place c 
representation, and young , now an eminent pro- 
fessor of music in Dublin, enacted for us the part of 
orchestra at the piano-forte. 

It will be seen from all this, that, however impru- 
dent and ]>reiiiature was my first appjearance in 
London world as an author, "it is only lucky that I bad 
not much earlier assumed tliat responsible character 
in wh:ch c^se 'he public wnuld pi'obably have treated 
my nursery productions in much the same manner ii 
which that >ensihle cn'ic, my Uncle Toby, xvould 
have disposed of ihe *' work which the great Lipsiu: 
produced on the dav he was Ijorn.'' 

While thus the turn I had so earlyshown forrhymt 
and song, w 'S, by the gay and sociable cii cle in whici 
I lived, called sn encouraffingly intt) play, a far deepe; 
feeling— :uid, I should hope, power— was at the sami 
time awakened in me by the mighiy change then 

1 Byron. 

working in the political aspect of Europe, and the 
Stirling influence it had begun to exercise on the spirit 
and hopes of Irtland. Born of Catholic puents^ ' 
had come into Ihe world with the slave's >oke aiound j 
my neck; aid it was alt in vain hat the fond ambi- i 
li"n of a m-'ther lo(»ked forward to the Bar as open- 
ing a career that inisht lead her son to affluence and 
hoiii ur. Ag inst the ynung Papist all suctt avenues to 
distinction were closed ; and e>.en the Universi'y, ihe 
professed source of public educalifii, was to him "a 
fountain staled." Can any one now wonder that a 
pe(ple thus trampled upon sbould ha\e hailed the 
first dazzling outbreak of the French Revrpjtion as a 
signal to the slave, wherever suffering, that the day 
of his deliverance was near at hand? I ren. ember 
being taken by my father (1792) to one of ihe dinneis 
given m honour of that great event, ai d sitting upon 
the knee ot the chairman while the followiig toast 
was enthusiaslically sent routd ; — " M ly the breezes 
from France fan < ur Irish Uak into verdme." 

In a few months after was passed the memorable 
Act of 1793, sweeping away some of tlie mo-t mon- 
slrtius of he rt-m inir g sanclinns of the penal code; 
nd I was n.yself amnug the first of the young Helots 
of Ihe land, who ha'-tened to avail themselves of the 
new privilege of being educated in their country's 
ersily,— th-iigh still excluded from all share in 
those coileze honours and emoluments by which Ihe 
nhition of il.e youths of the ascendant class \ 
imulated and rew.irded. As I well ki.ew Ihat, next 
my attaining si me of the e distinctions, my show- 
g that I dcsa-ved to attain them would mo>t gratify 
y nnxious mother, I eirered as cand;d te for a schol- 
arship, and {-AS far a^ the re ult of the examii atinn 
went) successfully. But, of course. Ihe mere barren 
ciedit of the effort was all I enjoyed for my pains. 

it was in this year (1794), or about the beginning of 
the next, that I lemember having, fnr Ihe first tin 
Hied mv hand at poliical satire. In iheir very worst 
limes oV slavery and sufieiing. the happy disposition 
of mv countrymen had kept their thee' fulness : 
unbroken and buojant; and, at the peiiod of which I 
am spe king, the hope of a brighter day dawn" 
up'^n Ireland had given lo the society of the middle 
classes in Dublin a more than u nal flow of hilarity 
and life. Among oiher gay re*^ul s of this festive 
spi'it, a club, or sncieiy, was i-stituted by sime of our 
most convivial citizens, one <f whose objects w a i 
burlesque, gocd-humouredly, the forms aid pomps of 
royally. With this view they established a sort of 
mock kingdom, of which Dalkey, a sn all i-land near 
Dublm, was made the seat, and an eminent pa- 
bri ker. named Stephen Aimitage, much renow 
for his agreeable singing, was the chosen aud popular 

Befoie public afifairs had become tto serious for 
such pastime, it was usual to celebrate, >early, at 
D.ilkey, the day rf this sovereign's accession ; and, 
among the gay scenes that still In my memory, 
there ~are few it recUs with more fre^hne^s than the 
celebration, on a fine Sunday in summer, of one of 
these anniversaries of King Stephen's coronation. 
The picturesque sea-views from that spot, Ihe gay 
crouds along the shores, the innumerable boats, full 
of life, floatms abou', and, above ail, th t true sf 
of mirth which ihe Irish lemperament never fails to 
lend to sucli meetii:gs rendered the whole a scene not 
easily forgotten. The s'ate cerenmnies of the day 
we'B peiformed, with all due gravity, within the 
ruins of an ancient church 'hat stands on the island, 
where his mock majesty bestowed the order ' f knight- 
hood upon cer'ain favoured per onages, and among 
others, I recollect, upon Incledon, the celebrated 
singer, who arose from under the touch of tlie royal 
sword with the appiopriate title of Sir Lha 
Melody. There was also selected, for (be favours of 
the crown on that day, a lady of no ordinary po 
talent. M-s. Battier, who had gained much fame by 
snme spirited satires in the manner of C luirchdl, and 
whose kind encouragenient of my early attempts 
versification were to me a source of much pride. 





This lady, as wii officially inncunced, in tlie course 
of Ihe d ly, had been appointed liis niajes y's poeiess 
laureate, under the style and title of Menrietia, Coun- 
teas of Laurel. 

There could liardly be devised a more apt vehicle 
for lively political satire than this gay travesty of 
monarchical power, and its stio«y appurtenances, so 
temptingly supplied. The very day, indeed, afier 
this con.niemoration, there, in the usual 
record of Oalkc-y ^tate intelligence, an amusing pro- 
cl.imalion finni the king, otierir.g a larre rewaid in 
cratiebancs,i to the finder or tii.ders of "his majesty's 
crown, whch, owmg to his '*h-iving measuted boih 
•ides of Ihe" in his pedestrian progress from 
D.ilkey on the preceding night, had unluckily fallen 
from the hroiv. 

It is not to be wondered at, that whatever natural 
turn I may hive pos-essed for the lighter skirmishing 
of satire should have been callid into play by so plea- 
sant a held f tr its exercise as the state atfaiis ■ f ilie 
Dilkey kingdom afforded ; and, accordingly, my first 
attempt in this line was an Ode to his iMajcsty, King 
Stephen, con rasting Ihe happy state of stcurity in 
which he lived among his merry lieges, with the 
" metal conch,'* and other such precautions against 
mob violence, said to have been adopted at that time 
by his loyal brother of England. Sjme portions of 
lliis juvenile sauib still live in my memoiy; hut they 
fall lar too short of Ihe lively demands of the subject 
to be virorlh pre-erving, even as juvenili i. 

In college, the fiist circumstance that drew any 
attention to my rhyming powers was my giving in a 
theme, in English verse, at one of the quarterly 
examinitions. As the son of short e-s.Tys required on 
those occasions were cnnsidered, in general, as a mere 
ma'ter of form, and were written, at that time, i 
believe, invaiiably, in Latin prose, the appearance of 
a theme in Etglish verse could hirdly fail to attract 
some notice, it was, therefore, with no small anxie'y, 
that, when Ihe moment for judging of the themes ar- 
rived. I saw the examiners of the difl'eient divisions 
asemble, as usual, at the bottom of ihe hall for that 
purpose. Still more trving it when I perceived 
that Ihe reveiend inquisitor, in whnse hands wa; my 
fate, had left the rest of the awful group, and was 
bending h a steps towards the table where I was seat- 
ed. Leaning across to me, he asked suspiciously, 
whether the verses which 1 had just given in were 
my own; and. on my answeiing in the alBiiiative, 
added the^e cheering words, ■' Miey do you great 
CI edit; and 1 shall not fail to recommend them to ihe 
notice of the Board." 'i his result of a step, venured 
upon with some little fear .iiid scruple, was, of cou'se, 
very gratifying to mej and the premium I receivid 
from the Board was a well-hound copy of the TiaveU 
of Anacharsis, together with a cerlifici'e, siating, in 
not very lofty Litin, lh»t this reward had been'cnn- 
ferred upon me, "propter laudabileni in veisibus 
compoiiendis progressum." 

'I he idea if attempting a version of some of Ihe 
Songs or odes of Anicreon had very eaily occurred 
to me J and a .specimen of my first ventures in this 
undert.iking may be found in the Dublin Magazine 
already referred to, where, in the number of that 
work .for February, 1791, appeared a "Taiaphrase of 
Anacreou's Fifth Ode, by '1 . Moo;e." As it niav not 
be uninlerestirii! to future and betier tianslators of the 
poet to compare this sclioolbny experiment wih my 
Inter and more labomed version of the same Ode, 1 
shill here extract the specimen found in the Antho- 
logia : — 

*'Li't us, with the clnsleriiig vine, 

The rose. I.ove'n titiishins How^-r, entwine. 

Fancy's hmvl our chaplel» wrcuthiiiB, 


We 'M gaily drink tiiM gi.ljlels quaflluB, 

At flighted Care Hecurely laughiny. 
"RoKrl thou balmr-sceuled flower. 

Rear il by Spriiij'a niusl losUriug power, 

Thy dewy blostioma, opening bright. 
To gods themselves can givcdeliglil; 
And Cypria'e child, wilh roses ciown'd. 
Trips with eatti Grace ihe mazy round. 

Bind my b 


-I '11 tune Ihely 

Love my 


isslrains jhall 1 

Near Ea.c 
Wliile rn, 
Led hv Ih 


ape-encirclcd shr 
1 rny hiuwe enrw 
d train of I'leati 

1 'II dance 

with n 

ympha to ...porliv 

In pui 

ng further this light task, the only object 
onie time in view was to lay before the 
select number of the Odes I I for : 
Board a seieci numoer oi me uaes l men trans- 
lated, with a hope, suggested by the kind encourage- ' 
meiit I had alieady received,— that llrey might con- 
sider them as deserving of some honour or reward. 
Having experienced much hospitable attention from 
Doctor Kearney, one rif ihe senior fel.ows,ti a man 
of most amiable character, as well as of refined 
scholarship, I submitted to his perusal the manuscript I 
of my translation as far as it had then proceeded, and 
requested his advice respectii g my intention of lay- ' 
iiig it before the Boaid. On Ihis latter point his ' 
opinion was such as, with a Imle more Ihouiht, I ' 
might have anticipated, namely, ihat he did not see 
how the Boaid of the University could lend their < 
sanction, by any public reward, to writings if so con- 
vivial and amatory a nature as were almost all those 
of Aitacreon. He veiy good-naturedly, however, 1 
lauded my transl.ition, and advised me to complete 
and puhlish it I was also indebted hi him for Ihe 
use, during my task, of Spalelti's curious publication, 
giving a facsimile of llio e pages of a MS. in the ! 
Vatican Library which contain Ihe Odts, or " Sym- ; 
posiac-,"a'tributed to Anaciei n.3 And here I shall 
venture lo add a few pa-sing woids tn a point which i 
1 once should have thi.ught it profanation to question, i 
— the authenticity of these poems. The cry raised | 
against their getiuineness by Rolortellus and other 
enemies of Henry Stephen, when tli,>t eminent scholar 
first introduced them to the leaned world, may be 
thought to have long since entirely sub-ided, leaving 
ilieir claim to so ancient a pateiniiv safe and uiiquts- 
tioned. But 1 am forced tc confe'-s. however reluc- 
tantly. Ihat there appear to me strong giounds for ; 
pronouncing these light and beauiful lyrics to he I 
mciely modem labrications. Sunie of ihe reasons i 
that incline me to .adopt Ihis unwelcrme conclusion 
aie thus clearly stated by the same able scholar, to 
whom I am indebted for the emendations of my own 
juven.le Gieek Ode : — 'M do not see how it is possi- 
ble, if Auacieon had written chiefly in Iambic d. me- 
ter verse, that Horace should have wholly neglected 
that metre. 1 may add that, of those fragments of 
Anacreon. of whoe genuineness, fiom inteinal evi- 
ience, there can be no doubt, almost all aic written 
n one or other of the lighter Horatian met es, and 
scarcely one in Iamb c dimeter verse. This may be 
•n by lookiog through the list in Fi-cher." 
I he unskilful attempt at Greek verse fi om my own 
pen, which is found prefixed to the 'I ransaiion, was 
ntended originally to illustrate a jiiclurc, repiesent- 

* Irish halfjience, s 


t2 Appointed Provost of Ihe University in thejear 
nag, and made afterwards Bishop of Otsory. 

a When the monument to Piovost Baldwin, which 
stands m the hall of the College of Dublin, arri\ed 
from Italy, there came in the same packing-case with 
it two copies of this work of Spaletti, one of which 
was presented bv Dr. Tioy, the Konian Catholic a'ch- 
hishop, as a gift fiom the Pope to the Librar\ of the 
University, and Ihe other (of which I subsequent- 
ly favoured wi'h the usei he piesenled, in like man- 
ner, to niv friend. Dr. Kearnev. Thus, curi. usly 
enough, ivhile Anacreon in EngUsh coiisideied— 
and, 1 giant, on no unreasonab'e grounds — as a wmk 
to » hich grave collegiate authorities could not ojienly 
lend their sanction, Anacreon in Greek was thought 
no nnlitting piesent lo be received by a Protestant 
bishop, through the medium of a Catholic archbishop, 
f .1.., ..-..J .. ^ thel'ope. 

from the hands of his holm 



in^ Anacreon conversing with the Goddess of Wis- 
dom, from which the fiontispiece to the first edition 
of the work was taken. Had I been biou^hl up with 
a due fear of the laws of prosody before my eyes, I 
certainly should not have dared to submit so untutor- 
td a production tti the criticism of the trained proso- 
dians of the English schools. At the same time, I 
cannrit help adding that, as far as mus c, dis inct from 
metre, is concerned, I am much mcliuei to prefer the 
Ode as originally written to its present correc'ed 
shape; and that, at all events, I entertain but very 
liitle doubt as to whichol the two a composer would 
most willingly jet to mus-c. 

For the meins of collecting the materials of the 
notes appended to the Translation, 1 was chiefly in- 
debted til the old library adjoining St. Patrick's Caihe- 
dral, called, from the name of the archbishop who 
founded it. Marsh's Libiary. Thmugh my acquaint- 
ance with ihe deputy libr.ri:in, the Rev. Mr. Cradock, 
I enjoyed the privilege of constant access to this col- 
lection, even at that period of the year when it is 
alwiiys closed to the puhlic On these occasions 1 
used *to be locker! in ihere alone; and to the many 
solitary houis which, both at the time I am now 
speaking of and subsequently, I pissed in hunting 
thron2:h the dusty tomes of this old library, 1 oue 
much of that odd and out-of-the-way sort of reading 
which may be found scattered through some of my 
earlier writings. 

Early in the year 1799, while yet in my nineteenth 
year, I'left Ireland, fnr lire fi'st lime, and proceeded 
to London, with the two not very congenial objec's, 
of keeping my terms at the Middle Temple, and pub- 
lishing, by subscription, my Translation of Anacreon. 
One of those persons to whom, through the active 
zeal of friends, some part of my manuscript had been 
submitted before it went to press, was Doctor Laur- 
ence, the able fnend of Rurke ; and. as an instance, 
however sh^ht, of that ready variety of learning, as 
well the lightest as the most solid, for which lAur- 
ence was so remarkable, the follnwinj ex'ract from 
the letter wrilien by him, in returning the mmu-cript 
to my friend, Dr. Hume, may not be without some 
interest ; — 

**Dec. 20, 1799. 

** I return you the four odes which vou were so 
kind to communicate for my poor opinion. They 
are, in many parts, ver}- elegant and poetical ; and, in 
some passages, Mr. Moore has added a pretty turn not 

to be fourd in the rriginal. To confess the truth, 
however, they arc. in not ?_ few places, rather more 
paraphiastical Itian suits my notion (peihaps an incor- 
rect notiuiOof translation. 

*' In the fifty-third Ode there is, in my judgment, a 
no less sound than beautiful emendation suggested — 
would you suppose it?— by a Dutch Lawyer. Mr. M. 
possibly niay not be aware of it. I have endeavour- 
ed to express the sense of it in a c uplet interlined 
with pencil. "Will you allow me to add, that I am 
not cerlam whether the trauslation has not missed the 
meaning, too, m the former pait of that passage 
which seems to me to intend a distinction and climax 
of pleasure :— ' It is sweet even to prove it among the 
brieiy paths; it is sweet a^ain, pluckinsr, to cherish 
wiih tender hands, and carry to the fair, i lie flower of 
love.' This is nearly liteial, including the conjec- 
tural crreciion of Mynheer Medenbac.h. If this be 
right, instead of 

' *T is sweet to dare the tangled fence, 

I would propose something to this effect : — 

tie timid beauty Itlt-nre, 
with leniler handn away 
i that nn its blushes lay ; 1 

"I would dro'p altogether the image of the stems 
'• druYfing with gems.'' I believe it is a confused 
and false meiaphor, unless Ihe painter should take the 
figure of Aurora from Mrs. Hastings. 

"There is ano'her emendation of the same critic, 
in the followin? line, whch Mr. M. may seem, by 
accident, to have sufficiently exj)ressed in the phrase 
of ' roses shed their light.'' 

"I scrii)ble this in very great haste, but fear that 
3'ou ;ind Mr. M'Ote will find me too long, minute, and 
impertinent. Relieve me to be, very sincerely, 
*' Your obedient, humble servant, 


» "Quer}', if it ought not to be lie? The line 
might run. 

With tender hand thi 
That give new soflne 




Sir, — In allowing me to dedicite this Work to 
Tour Royal Hijhness, you have conferred upon me an 
honour which I feel very sensibly : and 1 hnve only to 
rejret, that the pages which you have Ihus dislin- 
CTlsheJ are not more deserving of such illustrious 

Believe me, Sir, 
With every sentiment of respect. 

Your Knyal HiKliness's 
Very grateful and devoted Servant, 


It may be necessary to mention, that, in arranging 
Ibe Odes, Ihe Translator has adopted the order of the 

Vatican MS. For those who wish to refer to Ihe 
original, he has prefixed an Index, which marks the 
number of each Ode in Barnes and the other editions. 


Ode. Bamej. 

1. ANAKPEJ2N t.Smv p,e . . . . -63 

2. AoT£ /tot Xvptjv 'OfiTjpov- ... 48 

3. Ay£, ^ujypa^wv aptCTTE .... - 49 

4. Toi/ aoyiipov TopttJuji/ 17 

5. KaAAirt^^no (tot toqivo-ov - . - . 18 

6. Ete^os nXsKoiv iroO' tlfov i9 

7. Atyovc-iv al yvvatKt^ ---.- .. n 

8. Ov /toi ricKn to Tiiyou 15 

9. A<pt% ftr Tovq -Stovs trot - ... - 31 
10. Tt <rot -SiAiis ToiT;<7o) • ' 13 



Bpuira Krjptvov Tts ---••---10 

Oi /i£V Ka\TJV Kv(ST){i7}V 13 

GeXcu, ^t\ui <pt.Xrj(r(U --•-•-•• 14 

, Et <fivXXa itavra devdpojv • . - - - 32 

, Epacfitrj ntXeia ------.-• 9 

• -AV£» ^iMyga<Paiv aptore- --••-• 23 

rpa(/ȣ fioi 3a9v\\ov oirm 29 

Aors ixoi, SoTt yvvaiKi^ --•••- 21 

, riapa TTjv a-K'\Tjv, Ba^vAAe • • • • • 22 

, Ai Movaat Tov Epwra 30 

. 'ii yrj (iiXaLva nivu -•-•--•19 

. 'H 'VavTaXov jtot' ta-rrj 30 

. QiXio Xeyziv Arpettfaj -•---.- 1 

, ^vcns K£pfiTa Tavpotff • 2 

, Lv (lev 0tA7/ ;^;fAii?(uv -•--.--33 

Zv fiev Xcyus ra Btj/^tj^ IS 


27. Kt (o-,v*ot? /i£ 

23. 'O avijp b 7y<; KvOijqjj^ 

\aXmov ■ 

/t£ (fiiXria-ai 
-ap Tpo:\;a^at/ 

ais TtQUvati 
wS rrotf (^jpaij 

EjTt llVp(Tl 


'0 nXovTO^ uyc ,'^;pv<rou • 
Ata vv/cro§ ey*ca9£t)dtuv - 
'lAapot TTtai/icv oivov • - 

EttuStj (3poTos tTvxSijv • 
Tt KaXov ea-Ti (^a^i^iiv • 
XloOcui fi€V Aiovva-ov - - 
llrt<pavov^ y.iv KpOTa<poi<ri 
To foSov -,0 TOiV £pa,Tc.l/ 
'Orav TTtvio TOV oivov- - 
I(Jfi, TTOj iapos <}>aV€V7o^ - 
Eyu* yepoiv fi£v elju - - 
'Oraf 6 BaKxos ti<rtXOtj - 
Tov Atos 6 irats BaKX<^J " 
'Or' tyw JTiw TOV ott'ov - 
Ml] /is f^vyj;5 opujca - - 
Tt pLt rovs vofiovg Sida<TK£ig 
'Or' cyu) t/£u>t/ dfiiXov 



Lre0av?^0opov fier' Hpoj 
•Q TOV cv itovoig ampti - 

'O (JprtTTETT/S 6 XP^O""^ • 

Tov /t£Xavo:\rp(uTa jJOTpvv 
Ava ^apScTov Sovt](Tut • - 

rioXtOl /t£V 7//ltV 7Ji59) - - 

Ay£ Ct}, ^tp' ^fj-tv^ w Tcai 
Tov Epu)ra yap tov AGpov 
Povvo/iat ff' t.Xa(f}7iGoXe • 

rituXc 0p7?tft7^, 7£ dr] fLt 

Qcavjv avaa-a-a, Kvirpi 
SI not, nap9eviov /?\£Trwv ■ 
Eyw i5' ovt' av A/taAOic?;? 
For the order of the rest, see 


Em podotvois TaTijcrc, 
TtjIos yror' b [itXic-Ttjs 

'lAapoj ytXojv £*C£ito, 
MiOvujv ft Kat Avpi^tov' 

AfKpi aVTOV ol 5' £pU>T£S 

'AnaXoi cvvexop^va-av 
'O {SiXrj ra ti]S KvdijprfS 


'O dz XevKOL noptpvpoLtrt 
Kpiva ffvv ^oConn irAE^aff, 
Ei^tAtt OTc^tyv yepovTa* 
•n 6i ^£a(uv avao-o-a, 
ZO^III jtot' £5 OXvfinov 
Eo-opuxr' Ava/cpEovra, 
EcTopujca Tovs cpturas', 
'Ynoiiiidiacraas ttnf 
]Eo^)«, 6' toy Avoicp£OVT<E 
Tov a-o<puiTaTov anavrwVf 
KfiA£oxf(r(v ol fTotfiKTTait 
Ti. yjpojv, Tcov 0LOV /aev 
Toij tpuj(n, Tio Avai</jf 
K' ovK ifioi Kpartiv fifftuicas; 
Ti ^1X1)^1.0. ri]q KvB'iipi]£ 
Tt Kt;n-£AAa tov Avaiov, 
Alu y' e7pv<l})}(rns a^wv^ 
Ovtc Efiovs vo/iovs (Ji^ao-Kojv, 
OvK tfLov Xaxf'V awTov ; 
*0 6t Ti}{os /.ilXlo-ttj^ 
MijTC Cvax^paivt, <pr)<n, 



*0 (ro(l)(oTaTos anavTaiV 
riapa twv a-o<}iu}V KaAov/iat* 
*tA£tu, niw, Xvpi^uiy 
MtTtt Twv KttAtuv yuvatKwv 
AfpiXuiS dfi T£pnva nai^oi, 

'ilq Avp); yap, £/tOV T^TOp 

Avajrv£t jlovovs EpouTaj* 
'Q^£ PtoTov XaXrjvrjv 
^iAecuv /taAtCTTa TraVTwv, 
Ov <roff>o£ ficXu)6o^ tifii; 
Tij (TO^utTEpoj /i£v EffTt ; 


There is but IKMe known with cerlainty of the life 
of Aiiacreon. Chameleon Heracleotes,i who wrole 
ujioii the sutiject, has been lost in Ihe general wreck of 
ancient lirerature. The editors of the poet have col- 
lected the few IrifliMR anecdotes which are scattered 
through the exiani authors of antiquiiy, and, supply- 
ing the deficiency of materials hv fictions of their own 
inu^inatioii, have arranged, what Ihey caM, a life of 
Anacreon. These f.ibricatious are intended 
to indulee that interest which we naturally feel in the 
biography of illii«itriou8 men; but it is rather a dan- 
gerous kind of illusion, as it confounds (he limits of 

He is quoted by Athenaaus cv t^ n-tpt tov AvaX' 



hisloiy and romance,* and is too often supported by 
unfaithful cllarion.^ 

Our poet was born in the city nf Tens,3 in the deli- 
cious region of Ionia, and ttie time of his Inrth appears 
to have been in the sixth centui y jel'ore Christ.* He 
flourished at that leniarkahle period, « hen, under the 
polished tyrants Hipparchus and Folycrates, Athens 
and Samoa were became the rival avyiumN nf )>enius. 
There is nothing certain knowu abiui his family, and 
those who pretend to discover in Plato thai he was a 
descendant of the monarch Codrus, show much more 
of zeal than of either accuracy or judsment.s 

The disp silinn and talents of Anacieon recommend- 
ed him to ihe monarch of Samos, and he was formed 
to be the friend of such a prince as Polycr.ites. Sus- 
ceptible only to the pbaauies, be fell not the corrup- 
tions of the court; and, while I'ythagoras tied from 
the tyrant, Anacreon was celebrating his praises on the 
lyre. We are told too by Maximiis Tyrius, that, by 
tlie influence of his amatory sonsjs, he softened the 
mind of Polycrales into a spirit uf benevolence to- 
wards his subjecis.6 

The amours of the poet, and the rivalship of the 
tyrant. 1 I shall pass over in silence; and there are 
few, 1 presume, who will regret tlie nmissinn of most 
of those anecdotes, which the indus'iy of some editors 
has not only proniulged, but discussed. Whatever is 
repugnant to modesty and virtue is cnsidered in ethi- 
cal science, by a suppo-ition very favourable to 
humani'y, as impossible; and this amiable persuasion 
should be much more strongly entertained, where the 
transgression wars with nature as well as virtue. But 
why are we not alloued to indulge in the presump- 
tion ? Why are we officiously teniinded that tliere 
have been really such instancue of depravity ? 

Hipparchus, who nnw maintained at Athens the 
power which his fa her Pi-istratus had usuriietl. w*a^ 
one of those princes who may be said to hive polished 

> The History of Anacreon, by Gacon (le Poete 
sans fard, as he styles himself,) is professedly a 
romance ; nor does Mademoiselle Scudeii, from whom 
he borrowed the idea, pretend to historical veracity in 
her account of Anacreon and Sappho. Th^-se, then, 
are allowable. But how can Barnes be forgiven, who, 
with all the confidence of a bif)grai)her, traces every 
wandering of the poet, and settles him at last, in his 
old age, at a country villa near Teos ? 

* The learned Bayle has detected some infidelities 
of quotation in Le Fevre. {Dictionnaire Historique., 
ifC.) Madame Dacier is not more accurate than her 
father: they have almost made Anacreon prime min- 
ister to the "monarch of Samos. 

3 The Asiatics were as remarkable for genius as for 
luxury. ** Ingenia A^iatica indyta per gentes fecere 
Poetsp, Anacreon, inde Minjuermus at Antiniachus, 
&c."— Solmus. 

< 1 have not attempted to define the particular 
Olympiad, but have adopted the idea of Bayle, who 
sa\s, '' Je n'ai point Marque d Olympiade ; car pour 
un hommequi a vecu 85 ans, il me semble que I'on ne 
doit pnint s*enfermer dans des homes si etroites." 

8 This mistake is founded on a false interpretation 
of a very obvious passage in Plato's Dialogue on Tem- 
perance ; it originated with Madame D cier, and has 
been received implicitly bv many. Gail, a late eOilor 
of Anacreon, seems to clVim to himstlf the merit of 
detecting this error ; but Bayle had observed it before 

6 AvaK(i£D]V T.a(iioi£ UoXvKQaTTjv ■fi/iEpwffe. 
Maxim. 1 yr. § 21. Maxinius Tyrius mentions tliis 
among other instances of the inhuence of poetry, if 
Gai! had read Maximus Tynus, hnw could he ridicule 
this idea lu Moutonnet, as unauthenticated ? 

1 In the romance of Clelia, the anecdote to which I 
allude is told of a young girl, with whoni Anacreon 
fell in love while she pers <nated the god Apollo in a 
mask. Put here Mademoiselle Scuderi consulted 
nature more thin truth. 

the fetters of their subjects. He was the first, accord- 
ing to Plato, who edited the pocm^ of Homer, and 
commanded them to be sung by the Rhapsodists at the 
celebration of the Panathenaea. From his coun, which 
was a sort of galaxy of genius, Anacreon could not 
long be absent. Hipftarchns sent a barge for him ; (he 
poet readily embraced the inviiation, and the Muses 
and the Lnves were wafted with him lo Alhen.s.8 

The manner ofAn^creon's death was singular. We 
are told that in the eJehty-hfth year of his age he was 
choked by a grape-stone ; 9 and, however we may 
smile at iheir enthusiastic partiality, who sec in this 
easy and characteristic death a peculiar indulgence of 
Heaven, we cannot help admiring that his fate should 
have been so emblematic of his disposition, CaeJioi 
Calcaennius alludes lo this catastrophe iu the follow- 
ing epitaph on our poet : — lO 

Those bpy, then, hallow'd eage, which pour'd nIoDg 
A music swfti as any cyjiiit^l's s.iog, 

The grape halh clua'd for ever J 
Here let lUv ivy kiss the poet's ti>mb, 
Here let the rose he 'ov'd wilh laurels bloom, 

In bands that iio'er shall never. 
But far be thou, oh ! far, unholy vine, 
By whom the favourite minstre! nf ihe Nine 

Lnat his sweet vital breath; 
Thy God himself now blushes lo confess, 
Ouce liallowM vine! he feels he loves thee lees, 
Since poor Anarreon's death. 
It has been supposed by some writers that Anacreon 
and Sappho were contemporaries ; and the very 
thought of an inteicoune between persons so conge- 
nial, both iu warmth of passion and delicacy of genius, 
gives iuch play to the imagination, that the mind loves 
to indulge m it. But the vl^ion dissolves before histori- 
cal tiuth ; and Chamjelenn and Hermesianax, who are 
the souice of the supposition, are considered as having 
merely indulged in a poetical anachroiii>m.ii 

To infer the moral dis|iositions of a poet from the 
lone of sentiment which jeivades his works, is some- 
times a very fallacious analogy ; but the scul of Ana- 

8 There is a very interesting French poem founded 
upon this anecdote, iniputed toDcsyvelaux, and called 
** Anacreon Cit( yen." 

9 Fabricius appears not to trust very implicitly in 
this story. " Uvie pa-^sas acino landem ^uttocatus, si 
credinijs Suidse in oii-oTrorj^^ ; alii enim hoc mortis 
genere perii«se Iradunt yophoclem.'"— /'atricn JiibliO' 
thee. GrsEC. lib. ii. can. 15. It must be confessed that 
Lucian, who tells us that Sophocles was choked by a 
giape-stone, in Ihe very sme treative mentions the 
longevity of Anacreon, and yet is silent on the man- 
ner nf his dea'h. Cnuid he have been ignorant of 
such a remarkable c.>incidence, or, kr owing, could he 
have neiileefed to remark it? SeeRegnier^s introduc- 
tion to his Anacreon. 

10 At te, sanc'e senex, acinus sub Tar'ara misit ; 
Csgneafi clausit qui tibi vocis iter. 
Vos, hederK, tnmulum, tumulum voscingite, lauri, 

Hoc ro?a perpetuo vernet odora loco ; 
At vitis procul bine, procul hinc odiosa faceesat, 

Qnas causam dirae protulit, uva, necis. 
Creditor ijise minus vitem jam Bacchus amare, 
III vatem tantum qux fuit ausa nefas. 
The au'hor of this epitaph, Caelius Calcagninus, 
has tiamlaied or imitated the epigrams cig tt^v 
Mvpfui'uj {3ovv, which are given under the name of 

*i Barnes is convinced (hut verygratuitouslyJ,of the 
synchronism of Anacreon and Sappho. In ci'ing his 
authorities, lie has strangely neglected the line quoted 
by Fulvius U'sinua, as from Anacieon, among the 
testimonies to Sappho : — 

Eific XaSuiV ELcapas T>a7T<Pto iragOzvov AJv^ovov. 
Fabricius thinks that they might have been contempo- 
rary, but cun^jllers Iheir amour as a tale of imagination 
V'ossius rt'itcts the idea entirely : as do also Olaus Bor- 
ricliius and others. 



creon speaks so utietiuiv cally through his odes, that 
we nay safely consult them as the faitliful niiimrs nf 
his heart.i VVefinJ him there the elegant voluptuary, 
diftusing the seductive charm of sentiment over pas- 
sions and propt-usilies at v\ hich ri;id morality must 
frown. Hisheait, devoted to indolence, seems to have 
thought that there is wealth enough in happiness, but 
seldom happiness in meie wealth. The cheeilulness, 
indeed, witli which he brightens his old a£;e is inttre-^t- 
ing and endearing: like his own rose, he is fra^nnt 
even in decay. Bui the most peculiar fea'ure of his 
mind is thai love of simnlicily, which he atlrihutes to 
himself so feelinglj', and which breathes characlerisii- 
cally Ihrouiihout all that he hns sunj. In truth, if we 
omit those few vices in our estimate which relig:ion, at 
thit time, not only connived at, but con'^ecrated, we 
slnll be inclined to say that the di'-pnsition of our poet 
was amiable; that his morality was relaxed, but not 
:*bandoned ; and that Virtue, witli her zoi e loosened, 
mny be an apt emblem of the character of Anacreon.^ 
Of his person and physiognomy time has preserved 
such uncerlain meniorjals. that il were Letter, perhaps, 
to leave (he pencil to fancy; and few can lead the 
Odes of Anacreon withoui imagining to themselves Hie 
form nf the anintate.l old Lard, cruwned with roses, 
and sin-iiig cheerfully to his lye. But the of 
Anacreon, prefixed to this work, 3 has been considered 

* An Italian poet, in some verses on Belief's 
translation of Anacreon. pretends to imagine that our 
bard did not feel as he wrote : — 

Lyaeum. Vouerfm, Ciipidinenique 

t^eiiex lufil Anacreon poe!a. 

SeO quo U-mporr noc copariort-s 

Rngabat cyathns, nt^c inquit-tia 

Urcbatur ainoribus. Bed ipsis 

Tantutn versibus et i-K\s amabnt, 

JJullum prae ee tiabitum gereim amnntifc 

Tu Lovrt and Baci'hus ever yjung 

While sagi* Anacreon loiiched Ihe lyra 

He neiltier ft It Ilm luveb he snug, 
Kor filiM h\9 b"wl to Bacchus liieher. 

Those fiuwpry days had faded long. 

When youth could act Ihe lover's part; 

And pssflinn trembled in hia sonp, 
Bot never, never, reuch'd hi« heart. 
^ Anacreon's character has been variously coloured, 
Biirnes lingers on it wiih enthusiastic admira'ion ; but 
he is always extr.ivagmt, if not sometujiei also a litlle 
prnfine. Baillet runs too iimch into Ihe opposite ex- 
treme, exiggerating aUo the testimonies which he has 
cniisulted ; and we cannot sorely agree witii him when 
he cites such a compile- as Athenxui, as " un des plus 
sivans critiques de r3ntiquite." — /u<cme7ii dcs Sea- 
vans, M.CV. 

Barnes could hardly have read the passage to which 
he refers, when he accuses Le Fevre nf having cen- 
sured our poel's diameter in a note on Longinus; the 
note in question being manifest irony, in allusion to 
some censure passed upon Le Fevre for his Anacreon. 
It is clear, indeed, th^t praise rather than censure is 
intimated. See Johannes Vulpius (de Utilitate Poeti- 
ces), who vindicates our poet's reputation. 

3 It is laken from Ihe Bibliotheca of Fulvius Ursi- 
nu^. Pellnri h^s copied the same head into his Ima- 
gines. Johannes Faber, in his description of the coin 
of Ursinus, mentions another head on a very beautiful 
cornelian, which he supposes was worn in a ring by 
some admirer of the ))oet. In the Ic^nograpliia of 
Cuiini there is a ynuihful head ''f Anacreon from a 
Grecian medal, wiih the lellersTEIOE around it ; on 
the reverse thTe is a Nenlune. holding a spear in his 
risht hand, and a do'jihin. with the word TiANflN 
inscribed, in Ihe left; " volendoci denotare (sa\s 
Canini) che quelle cittadini I.i coinasbero in honore de! 
suocompairiota poetn." There is also among Ihe coins 
of De Wilde one, which thoush it bears no effigy. w,<s 
probably struck to the memory of Anacreon. It has 
the v\ord THlfiN. encircled with an ivy crown. *'At 
quidni respicit hive corona Atacreontem, nobilem ly- 
ricutn 1'' — Dc IVilde. 

I so aulheniic. that we scarcely (ouM be jusliPed in the 
omission of il ; and some have even thought that it is 
by no means deficient in Ihat benevolent suavity of 
expre<;Mon which should characteiise the countenance 
of such a pott. 

Af'er the very enthusiastic eulogiums bestowed bolh 
by ancients and modems upon the pnems of Anacreon,* 
»e i.eed not be diflident in cxpiessing our raptures at 
their lefluty, nor liesilate to pronounce them the most 
polished remains of antiquity. 5 They are, indeed, all 
beauiy, all enchantment. t> He seals us so insensibly 
along with him, that we sympathise even in his ex- 
cesses. In his amatory odes there is a delicacy tif com- 
pliment not to be found in any other arcieut poet. 
Love at that periled wms rather an unrehned emotion : 
and the intei course of the sexes wa&aiiimated moie by 
passion than by seniiment. They knew not those lit^ 
tie tendetnesses which form the spiritual part of afl'ec- 
tion ; their expressionof feeling was iherefore rude and 
unvaried, and Ihe poetry of love deprived it of its most 
captivatiTig graces. Anacreon. however, attained come 
ideas of this purer gillantiy ; and Ihe same delicacy of 
mind which led him to this tetinement, prevented him 
also from yielding to the freedom of lar guage. "hich sullied the pages of all the other poets. His descrip- 
tions are warm ; but the warmth is in the ideas, no! 
the words. He is iponive withoui being wanton, and 
ardent without being licen'ious. His poetic invention 
is always most biilliantly di5pla\ ed in those allegorical 
fictiori-j \^hich so many have endeavoured to imitate, 
though all have confessed them to be inimitable. Sim- 
plicity is the distinguishing fealuie of Ihese odes, aud 
they interest by iheir innocence, as much as thev fasci- 
nate by theii beauty, 1 hty niay be said, indeed, to be 
the very infants of the Muses, ati'd tohsp in numbers. 

1 slia'l not be accused of enthiisiastic partiality by 
those who have read and felt the original ; but, to 
others, I am conscioi^s, this should nnt be the language 
of a tiatislator, whose faint reflection of such beauties 
can but ill justify his admiration of them. 


* Besides those which are extant, he w rote hymns, 
elegies, epigrams, &c. Some nf the epigrams still 
exist. Horace, in addition to the mention of him (lib. 
iv. nd. 9.), alludes also to a pnem of his upon (he rivalry 
of Circe and Penelope in the affections of Ulysses, lib. 
i. od. 17.; and the scholiast upnn Nicander cites a 
fragment from a pnem upon Sleep by Anacreon, and 
allribules to him likewise a medicimi treatise. Ful- 
gentius men'inns a work of his upon the war between 
Jupiter and the Titans, and the origin of the consecia- 
tiou of the eagle. 

* See Horace. Tyrius, &c. "His style 
(says ScaligerJ is sweeter ihan'ihe juice of the Indian 
reed." — Poc(. lib. i. cap. ^4. »'Fiom ihe sofinessof 
bis verses (says Olaus Bnrrichius) the ancients bestowed 
on him Ihe epithets sweet, dehca'e. graceful, &c." — 
Disscrtationes Academics, de Poetis, diss. 2. Scali- 
ger again praises him thus in a pun ; speaking nf ihe 
fLtXoi;, or ode, '' Anacreon antem non solum dedit hjec 
fit\T] sed eii m in ipsis mella," See the passage of 
Kapin, quoted by all the eJitors. ! cannot omit citing 
also the following very spiriied apostrophe of the au- 
thor of the Commen'ary prefixed to Ihe Parma edition : 
" O vos sublimes anin.a?, vos Apnllinis alumni, qui post 
unum Alcmanem in tola Hellade lyricam poesim ex- 
suscitasiis, coluistis. amplificastis. quajso vos an ullus 
unqnam fuerit vates qui Ttin cantnri vel naturae can- 
doie vel metii suavitale palmam prasripueut." See 
likewise Viricerzo Gravini riella Rag. Poetic. lihro 
primn, p. 97. Among the Riiralli of Marino, there is 
one of Anacreon beginning *' Cingetemi la fronte," 
&c. &c. 

^ 6 " We may perceive,'' says Vossins, " Ihat the item 
lion of his words c nduces very much (o Ihe sweetncs 
of his style." HenryStephen remarks the same beauty 
in a no'e nn the forty-fr-urlh ode. This fitcure nf i'era- 
linn is bis most apjifopriate grace : — hut Ihe modern 
writers of Juvenilia and Basia have adopted It loan 
excess which destioys the effect. 




In the as:e of Amcreon music and pnetry were 
insepaiabie.' Tjicse kindred talents were fnr a long 
time assoria'eJ, and ihe poet always sung his own 
compositions to the lyre. It is probable that they 
were not set to any regular air, but rather a kind iil 
musical recitation, which was vareJ accordii g to the 
fancy and feelings of the moment « The poems of 
Anacreon were sung at hauqneis as lale as Ihe time of 
AulusGellius, who tells us hal he heard one ot the 
Oics performed at a birthday entertainmenL* 

'1 he singular beauty of our poet's s'yle, and the ap- 
parent facility, perhaps, of his metre, have attracted, 
as I have already remarked, a crowd of imitators. 
Some of these have succeeded with wonderful felicily, 
as may be discerned in the few Odes which are altn- 
buted to writers of a later period. But none of his 
emulators have been half so dangerous to his fame as 
those Greek ecclesiastics of the early ages, who, being 
con-cious of their own iuferinrity to their great pr -to- 
tvpes, determined on removing all pnSMbility of com- 
narison. and. under a semblance of moral zeal, de- 
prived the world of some of the m .st exquisite trea- 
sures of ancient times.3 The work of Sappho and 
Alcaeus were among those flowers of Grecian liteia- 
ture which ihns fell bene-ith the rude band of eccle- 
siastical presumptinn. It is true they pretended that 
■ sacrifice of genius was hallowed by Ihe interests 
of religion ; but 1 have already assigned Ihe most pro- 
bable motive;'' and if Gregorius Nazianzenus had 
not written Anacreontics, we might now perhaps have 
the works of Ihe Teian unmulilated, and be empower- 
ed to say exuliingly with Horace, 

Nvc ei quid olim lusit ADacieoo 

Deltfvil uelan. 
The zeal by which these bishops professed to be 
actuated, gave birth more innocently, indeed, to an 
absurd species of |,ari'dy, as lepugnant to piety as it 
is to taste, where the poet of voluptuousness was made 
a preacher of the gospel, and his muse, like Ihe Venus 
in armour at Lacedzeumn, was arrayed in all the 
severities of priestly instruction. Such was the 
"Anacreon Recintatus," by Carolus de Aquino, a 
Jesuil. publi-hed 1701, which cnnsi-ted of a series of 
palinodes to the several songs of our [loet. Such, too, 
was the Christian An.acreon of Patrignanus, another 
Jesuit,' who preposterously tiaiisferred to a most 

sacred sulject all that the Grecian poet had dedicated 
to festivitv and loie. 

metre has frequently been adopted by the 
modern Latin poets; and Scaliger, Taubnian, Bar- 
iliius.s and olhe's, have show n Ihat it is by no means 
uncongenial wilh Ihat language.i The Aiiac enutics 
of Scaliger, however, scarcely deserve the name; as 
they glit er all over with conceits, and, though often 
elegant, are always laboured, i he beautiful fictions 
of Angerianus 8 preserve more happily than any 
others the delicate turn of those allegorical f.bles, 
which, passing so frequently through the mediums c-f 
version and imitation, have generally lost their finest 
rais in the transmission. Many of the Italian piets 
have indulged their fancies upon the s'ibjects, and in 
the manner of Anacreon, Bernardo 'lasso first intro- 
duced the metre, which was afterwards polished and 
enriched by Cbabrieta and other-. s 

To judge by the references of Degen, the German 
language ab'.unds in Anncreon'ic imitations; and 
Hagedoin'O is one among many who have assiinied 
him as a model. La Faire, Chaulieu, anJ the otiier 
light pnetsof France, have also profesed to cultivate 
the niu»e of Teos; but they have aliained all her 
neslijence with little of the simple gare that embel- 
lishes it. InthedelicalebardofSchirasH we find the 
kindred spirit of Anacreon: some if his gazelles, or 
songs, possess ail the character of our poel. 

We come now to a re'rospect of the editions of 
Anacreon. To Henry Stephen we are indebted for 
hiving first recovered his remains from the obscurity 
in which, so siii?iilaily, they had for ni'tiy ages re- 
posed. He found the seven. h Ode, as we are told. 

.he cover of an old book, and communicated it to 
Victorius, who mentions the circumstance in his 
Re.adiiigs.'' Stephen was then veiy young; 
and this di;cnvery was consideied by some ciitics of 
that day as a literaiy impo-ition.'tJ In 15,^4 however, 
he gave Auacieon to the woild,i3 arcnmpanied wilh 
annotations and a Latin version of the greater part of 


I In the Paris edition there .are four of Ihe original 
Odes set to nius)C, by Le Sueur, Gossec, Mehul, and 
Cheiubini. "On chante du Latin, et de ITtalien," 
says Gail, "quclquef lis mcme sans les eiitendie ; qui 
empeche que nous iie chantions des Odes Grecques?'* 
The chromatic learning of these composers is very 
unlike what we are told of the simple melody of the 
ancienis ; and they have all, as it appears to me, mis- 
t-,ken Ihe accentuation of the words. 

"i The Parma commentator is rather careless in re- 
ferring to this passage of Aulus Gellius, (lib. xix. cap. 
9.) The Ode "as not sung by the rhetorician Juliaiius, 
as he says, but by the minstrels of both sexes, who 
were introduced at Ihe entertainment. 

3 See what Colomesius, in his " Literary Treasures," 
has q.ioted from Alcyonius de Exilio; it may he 
found in BaxJer. Colomesius, af er citing Ihe pa sage, 
adds, "Haec auro conlia cara non polui non appo- 

4 We may perceive by the beginning of the fi'st 
byir.r. f f Bi?hnp Synesius,' that he made Anacreon and 
Sappho his models of composition. 

A'ye /lot, Aiyiia dop/ii-j'?, 
MzTa 'I'jj'iav cioiiav, 
Mera AcaSiav ti iioXnav. 

MarguiiiiiS and Damascenus were likewise authors of 

pious Anacreontics. 

» This, perhaps, is the " Jesui'a quidam Grseculus" 

alluded to by B rues, who has himself composed an 

Avaxpsuiv Xpio-Tiavo;, as alsurd as the rest, but 

somewhat more skilfully executed. 

6 1 have seen somewhere an account of Ihe MSS 
:arthius written just after his death, which 
lany more Anacreontics of his that 
ever been published. 

Thus too Alberlus, a Danish poet 

I belli 


Fidil tu 

Gaudfbo semper ilium 
Laudare puniilillia 
See the Danish Poets, collected by Ros'gajird. 
The.-e pretty littlenesses defy translation. A beauli- 
fnl Anacreontic, by Hugo Grotius, may be found. Lib. 
i. Farraginis. 

8 To Angeriaiins, Prior is indebted for some of his 
happiest myihological subjec's. 

s See Crescimbeni, Hisloria delta Volg. Poes. 
10 " L'aimable Hagedorn vaut quelquefois Ana- 
creon."— /)'.»'(l(, Idee'tk la Pacsie Mlemande. 

■ 1 See Toderini on Ihe learning of Ihe Turks, a« 
trnislated by de Cournard. I'rmce Cantemir has 
made the Russians acquainted wilh Anacreon. See 
his Life, p:efixed to a translation of bis Satires, by 
the Abbe de Guaco. 

12 Robortellus, in his work "Tie Ratione corri- 
fendi," pion.iunces these verses to be the Iririings of 
some insipid Graecist. 

3 Ronsard commemorates this event: — 
ay boire a Henrie Etieunff 

Qui lies c 

Du vieil Anacreon perdu, 

La dnuce lyre Teicnne. 
I fill Ihe bowl m Stephen's 

Who retJCued frnm the gl» 
The Teisn bard nf frative fa 

AnO brought his living ly 


. book 5. 

ut niehl 
) litht. 



Ihe Odes. The learned still besi'ated to receive them 
aa iht! relics of the Teiaii baid, and su>|iec'ed them to 
be Ihe fabricatiDu of some inoiiks of the sixteenth 
century. This was an idea fioni which Ihe classic 
muse lecoiled ; and ihe VaMcaii manuscript, Cnnsult- 
ed by Scsli^e- and Sa!ma>ius, conlirmed the antiquity 
of most of the poems. A vety Inaccunte copy of 
tills MS. was talieii by Isaac Vnssius, and this is the 
authority which Barnes has followed iu his ci llatinn. 
Accordingly he misrtpresrnts almost as ofien as he 
quotes; and the siiljsiiquent ediiois, rt;U ins; upon his 
authority, have spoken of the unnusciipt with not 


however, has at lensrlh been gratified 
ous memorial of the poet, bv ttie industry of the Abbe 
Spaletii, who published at Rmie, in 1781, a fac-simile 
of ihose pase-4 of the V:\ticaM manuscript which con- 
lained the Odes of Anacreon.i 

A cat;iloe;ue has been given by Gail of all the dif- 
ferent editions and translations of Auaceon. FinJ- 
inff iheir number to be niucti giealer than I could 
possibly have had an opportunity of consulting, 1 
shill here content luysolf wi h enumenulng only 
tho'e edition* and versions which it has been iu my 
power In collect; and which, though very few, are, i 
believe, the most important. 

The edition by Henry Sit-phen, 1554, at Paris — the 
Lritiii version is altribuled by Colomesius to John 

The old French translations, by Ron-^ard and Bel- 
leau-the fi.rmer published in 1555, the hitter in 1556. 
It appears from a note of Muretus ujion one of the 
sonnets of Ron-ard, that Hrnry Stephen communi- 
cated to this p^et his manuscript of Anacreou, before 
he piomuleaied it to the world, 3 

The edi'iou by Le Fevre. It60. 

The edition by Madame Dacier, 16S1, with a prose 
translation * 

The edition by Longepierre, 1684, with a transla- 
tion in verse. 

The edition by Baxter; London, 1695. 

A French tr-n^iatioo by La Fo^se, 1704. 

" L'Histoire des Odes d Anacreon," by Gacon ; Rot- 
teid^m, 1712, 

A translntion in English verse, by several hands, 
1713, in which the Odes by Cowley are inserted. 

The edition by Birnes ; London, 1721. 

The edition by Dr. Tiapp, 1733, with a Latin ver- 
sion in eli'^iac metre. 

A translation in English verse, by John Addison, 

A collection of Italian tnrslations of Anacreon, 
published at Venice, 1736, consisting of those by Cor- 
sini, Regnier,^ Sr-ilvini, Marchetti, and one by several 
anonymous authors. 6 

A translation in English verse, by Fawket and 

Doctor Broome, 1760.'' 

Another, anonynious, 1768. 

'Ihe edition by Spaletti, at Rome, I7S1 ; with the 
fac-simile of the Vatican MS, 

The edition by De^en, 1786, who published also a 
German lianslation of Anaoeon, estet-med the best. 

A lianslation in English verse, by Urquhart, 1787. 

The edition by Gail, at Pans, 1799, with a prose 

t This manuscript, which Spaletti thinks as old as 
the tenth century, was brought from the Palatine imo 
the Vatican library: it is a kind of anlhojoey of 
Gieek epigram-;, and in tlie 676th page of it are found 
the 'HfitafiSia l.vfino(rtaKa of Anacreon. 

•i '• Le menie (M. Vossius) m'a dit qu'il avoit pos- 
sede un Anacreon. ou Scaliger avoit marque de sa 
miin, qu' Henri Etienne n'etoit pas I'auteur de la ver- 
sion Latjne de* Odes de ce poete, mais Jean Dorat.*'— 
Pauhis CoInmesiiiSj Particularites 

Cnlomesius, however, seems 'o have relied too im- 
plicitly on Vossius; — almost all these Paiticulari;es 
begin with " M. Votsius m'a dit." 

3 " I,a fiction de ce sonnet comme l^uteur memo 
m'adit, est prise d'une Ode d'Anacreon, encore non 
inipnmee, qu'il a depuis traduit, Zv fiEV 0tAjj 

* The author of Nouvelles de la Repub. des Lett, 
bestows on this translntion nmch more praise than its 
merits appear to me to justify. 

» The notes nf Regniet are not inserted in this edi- 
tion ; but they must be interesting, as they were tor 
the most pari communicated by the ingenious Menage, 



I saw the smiting bard of pleasure. 
The minstiel of the i eian measure; 
'T was in a vision of the night. 
He beam'd upon my wi:ndt'riiig sight. 
1 heard his voice, and warmly prest 
The deir to my breast. 
His tresses wore a silvery dye, 
Put beauty spukled in his eje; 
Sparkled in his eyes of fire, 
Through the mist of soft desire. 
His lip exhal'd, wheneer he sigh'd, 
The fragiance of the racy tide ; 
And, as with weak and reeling feet 
He came my cordial kiss lo meet, 
An infant, of the Cyprian band, 
Guided bini on with tender hand. 
Quick from his glowing brows he drenr 
His braiil, ot many a wauton hue; 
I took the wrea'h, whose inmost twine 
Breath'd of him aiid blush'd with wine. 

This ode is the first of the series in the Vatican 
mnnuscript, which a'tiibutes it to no other poet than 
Anacreon. They who ^s.^ert that Ihe manu^ciipt im- 
putes it (o Basilius, have been misted by the words 
Tov avTov HaaiXiKvjS i" 'he margin, which are 
merely intendt-d as a liile lo the lollown:gode. Whe- 
ther it be Ihe production of Anacreon or not, it hns all 
the features of ancient simplicity, and is a beautiful 
imitaiion of the poet^s happiest manner. 

Sparkled in his eyes ofjirc, 

Through the mist of soft desire.'] " How could he 
know at the first look (says Baxter) that tjie poet was 
^Aedvos?" There are surely many tell-tales of this 
propensity ; and the following are the indices, wliicli 
the physiognomist gives, describing a disposition per- 
haps not unlike that of Anacreon: 0(}>9aXfiot kXv^o- 
7}tvotf KVfiatvovT£^ tv AuTOtj, us a(ppodi(na koi 
tvnadiiav cnTOTjvTai- ovri 6t aSiKoi. ovtz KUKovg- 
yot, o'UTE ^vfTfius <pavXr)<;^ ovrt arjovcroi. — Ma- 
mantius. *'The eyes thai are humid and tiuctuaiing 
show a propensity to pleasure and love; they be-ptak 
loo a mind of integriiyand beneficence, a generosity 
of disposition, and a genius for poetry." 

Baptista Porta tel s us some strange opinions of the 
ancient physiognomists on this subject, their reasons 
for \vhich were curious, and perhaps not altogether 
fanciful. Vide Phyiiognom. Johan. Baptist. Portse. 

/ l:ni\ the wrearh, vjhose inmost ttvine 

Breathed of him^ ^c] Philoi.'ttatus has the same 

who, we may perceive, from a passage in the Mena- 
gtan.i, bestowed some research on the subject. *• C"e t 
anssi Itii (M. Bigott qui s'est donne la peine de con- 
ferer des manuscrits en Italie dans le terns que je tra- 
vailloit sur Anacreon." — MenaKiana, seconde paiiie. 

6 I find in Haym's Notizia de' Libri rari,, 
1670, an Italian translation by Cappone, mentionrd. 

' This is the most complete of Ihe English transla- 



I hung^ it o'er my thoughtless brow, 
And ah ! I feel its magic now. 
1 feel that even his g:trl-ind s touch 
Can make the bnsom love too much. 
Ihojght in one of his KpcuTtKa, where bespeaks nf the 
garland which he bad sent lo his mislress. Et 6i 
pov\a Tt (t)LKii} X(^oi^^^dat, ra Xzi^pava avrmtfi- 
xf/ov, fi7]KtTi TTVEovTa ^oduiV fJLOVov oAAo Kat oov. 
" if thou art inclined to gritify ihy lover, send him hack 
the remains of the garl-iiid, no longer breathing of roses 
ooly, bul of ihee I" Which pretty conceit is borrowed 
(is the author of the Ob-erver remarks) in a well- 
krawD little bong of Ben Jorison's: — 

••But thou thereon didst only breathe. 
And sent it bark tu me ; 
Bioce wbfo il looks and emellst I sweaTt 
Not o{ itseir, but tbee !'* 
^nd ah I I feel its viagic now 21 This idea, as 
Longepierre remarks, occuis in an epigram of the 
seventh book of the Anlhologia. 

E.\oTi fioi mvovTi avvia-Taova-a XaptKAw 

IIvp o\oov danrtL fiB. 

While I anconRcious quatTd my wine» 

'Twaa then thy fingers slily ctole 
Upon my brow thai wreath uS thine. 

Which since haa maddened all my bouU 

Give me the harp of epic song, 
Which Homer's fin;;er thrill'd along; 
But te:»r away the sane^uine string, 
For war is not the theme I sing. 
Proclaim the laws of festal rite, 
1 'm monarch of the bo.ird to-night; 
And all anund shall brim as high. 
And quatf the tide as deep as I. 
And when the cluster's mell-iwing dews 
Their warm enchanting btlm infuse, 
Our feet shall catch th* elastic bound, 
And reel us through the dancers lound. 
Great Bacchus I we shall sing to Ihee, 
In wild but sweet ebriety ; 
Flashing around such sparks of thought. 
As Bacchus could alone have t^iugbt. 
Then. ?ive the hirp of epic song. 
Which Hnmer's finger thnll'd alnng; 

Proclaim the laws of festal rite.] The ancienis 
escribed certain laws of drinking at their (i 
I of which see the commentators. 


their festivsU, 

creon here acts the symposiarch, or master of the fes- 
tival. I have translated according to those who con- 
aider nvTTcWa St<riuuiV as an inversioa of ^ec/aovj 



Listen to the Muse*9 lyre, 
Master of Ihe pencilVfire \ 
Sketch'd in painting's bold display, 
Many a city first portray ; 
Many a city, re/elling fiee, 
Full of loose festivity. 
Picture then a rosy train, 
Bacchants straying o'er the plain; 
Piping, as they roam along, 
Roundelay or shepherd-song. 
Paint me next, if painting may 
Such a theme as this portray, 
All the earthly heaven of love 
These delighted mortals prove, 
Li Fosse has thought proper to lengthen thrs poem 
by considerable inlerpnlatinns of his own, which he 
I thinks are indispensably necessary to the completion 
ol the description. 


Vulcan ! hear your glorious task j 

I do not from ynur Inbourt; ask 

In gorgeous pmoply to shine. 

For war was ne'er a sport of mine. 

I\'o — let nie hrtve a siher bowl, 

Where I may cr die alt my soul ; 

But miTid tha', o'er its simple frame 

No mimic cuslellations n:<me; 

Nor grave upon the swelling side, 

Oiion, scowling o'er the tide. 

I care not for the gliil'ring wain. 

Nor yet the weeping sister train. 

But let the vine luxuriant roll 

Its blushing tendrils round the bowl. 

While many a lose-lipp'd bacchant maid 

h cullii:g clusters in their shade. 

Let sylvan gr,ds, in antic shapes, 

Wildly press the gushing grapes, 

And flights of Loves, in wanton play. 

Wing ihrough the air their windmg way j 

While Venus, from her ai hour green, 

Looks laughing at the joyous scene, 

And young Lya?us by her side 

Sits, worthy uf so bright a bride. 

This ode, Aulus Gellius tells us, was performed \t 
an eulertainment where he was present. 

While many a rose-lifped bacchant maid, S^-cl I 
have availed myself hereof the additional lines given 
iu the Vatican manu^crip*, which have not been accu- 
rately inserted in any of the ordinary editions : — 


Kat (3o7pva^ xar' airtov 
Kat. fiatva^as Tpvyiutras. 
IlotEt ^£ Xtjvov oivov, 
AyvoSaTas narovvras, 
Tovs o'aTvpovs yiXuiVraSt 
Kat X9'V^o^S "TwiJ? £p(oTas, 
Kai Kudtpijv ytXujffaVf 
'Ofiov Ka\(o Avoitu, 
Epwra k' A4>Qo6i,Tijv 


Sculptor, wouldst thou glad my soul, 

Grave for nie an ample bowl, 

Woithy to shine in hall or bower, 

When spring-time brings the reveller's hour. 

Grave it with themes of chaste design, 

Fit f'T a simple board like mine. 

Display not theie 'he barbarius rites 

In which relieiouszeal delights j 

Nor any tale of tragic fate 

Which History shudders to relate 

No — cuJI ihy fancies from above. 

Themes of heav'n and i hemes of love. 

Let Bacchus, Joves ambrosial boy. 

Distil the grape in drops of joy. 

And whde he smiles at every tear, 

Let warm-ey'd Venus, da' cing near, 

With spirits of the genial bed, 

The dewy herbage def'ly tread. 

Let Love be there, without his arms. 

In timid nakedness of charms; 

Degen thinks that this Ode is a more modern imita- 
tion of the preceding. There is a poem bv Cselius 
Calcagninus, in he manner of both, where he gives 
instructions about ihe making of a ring. 

Tornabis onnulum mihi 

Et fabre. et apte, et cnnamode, ic, 4rc. 

Let Love be there, loithoitt his arms^ ^-c] Thus 
Sannazaro in the eclogue of Gallicio nell' Arcadia: — 
Vegnan li vaghi Amort 
Seaza fiammelle, n slrali, 
Si-her2andu insit-me pargoleltl e nudl. 



And all the Grace 'ink'd with l^ve, 
Slray, laughing, tli.ou^h the hhndowy grov 
While rosy boys disparting round, 
Id circlets tiip the \elvet ground 
But ah! if there Apollo luys, 
1 tremble for the roay boys. 

Fbitterlnj; nn the busjr wing, 
A tram or naked Cupids cnme, 

Spoiling around in harnik-NS ring. 
Without a dart, withuul n Hams, 

And thus in 

the Pervigiliun 
nymphae, posuit arma, f< 
'e la diBarm'd — ye nympl 
ur boeuiiiM now inuy bcBHt a holiday 

But ah ! if there Jipvllo toys, 

I tremble fin- the rosy hoys.} An allusion ti 
fable, that Apolio h.d killed his beloved bny 
cinth, while playing with him at quoits. " 
(says M. La Fosse) is assuiedly (he sense of the 
and it cannot admit of ^ny other." 

The Italian translators, to save themselves the 
ble of a no'e, have taken the liberty of making 
creon himself explain this fable. Thus Salvini 
moat literal of any of them : — 

Ma cnn lor non gluochl AimiMo; 


As late I sought the spangled bowers, 
To cull a wreath of m;.tm Howers, 
Where maiy an eirly rose was wecpinj 
I found the urchin Cupid sleeping. 
I caught the boy, a goblei's tide 
Was richly mantling by my side, 
I caught liini by his downy wing 
And whelm'd him in the racy spring. 
Then drank I down the poisnti'd bowl, 
And Love now nestles in my snul. 
Oh, yt-s^ my soul is Cupids 

I teel him flutterir 


This beautiful fiction, which the commentators 
have atiriliuted to Julian, a roval poet, the V,itican 
MS. pronounces to be the genuine ollspring of Ana- 
creoa. It has, indeed, all the fetlures of the parent : — 
et radl» inaciis 
Noscitelur ab amnibu5. 
Where many an early rose was weepintr^ 
I fmtnd the urchin Cwpid sleeping.] This idea is 
prettily imitated in the following epigram, by Andreas 
Nauge'nua: — 
Florentes diim forte varans mea Jlyclla per hnrtot 

Ti-xit odoratia itlia cana ronis, 
Ecre rosBB int^r lalitantem invfnlt Amorem 

EI slmut aonexia Horibus implk-uit. 

Lurlatur primn, et contra mtentibns alls 

Indomitus Icntal solvere vincia ptier* 

Mnx ubl lacIeolaB el di^^nas matre papillafl 

Vidit et ora ip«n9 nala m»ivere Deust 
Impoaitnsqiie romae ambrosloa ut sentit odores 
Qii09i]ue legit diti messe btatUB Arabs ; 

ImperiG a 

rit npta 

libi, mater. Amoren!* 

As fair Hyelln, Ihronnh the tvloomy grove, 

A wreath of many mingled flow'rets wove. 

Within a rose a sleeping Love ahe found, 

And ill the twisted wreaths the baby bound. 

Awhile he struggled, and Impatient tried 

To break ttie rosy bonds the virgin tied ; 

But when he enw her bosom's radiant swell, 

Her fealfffes, where the eye of Jove michl dwell ; 

And CBUEht th' ambrosial odours of her hair, 

Rlrh un the breathings of Arabian air; 

"Oh ' mother Venus," (sakl the niptur'd child. 

By rharmR, of more than mortal bloom, beguifd,) 

This epigrnm of Naugerius is imitated by Lodovico 

Dolce, in a poem, beginning, 

Mi-nfre raccoglie hor uno, hor allro fior« 
Viitiia n un rio di chiare et lucid* onda 
Lidla, Ike. dec. 

The women tell me every day 
That all my bloom has past away, 
** Behold," the pretty wantons or)', 
»' Behold this mirror with a sit;h ; 
The locks upon thy brow are few, 
And, like the rest, they 're withering too I " 
Whether decline has thinn'd my hair, 
I'm sijie I neither know nor care: 
But this I know, and this I feel, 
As onward to the tomb 1 steal, 
'ihat still as death ajiproaches nearer, 
The joys of life are sweeter, dearer j 
And had I but an hour to live, 
Th-tl little hour to bliss I 'd give. 
Alberli has imitated this Ode, in a poem, beginning, 

NisB mi dlree Clori 
Tirsi, tu »e' pur veglio. 
H'Ticthcr decline has thimVd my hair^ 
/'m sure I ntithcr kmyw nor care ;"] Henry 
Stephen very justly remarks ihe elegant negligence of 
expression in the original here: 

Eyco 6t TttS Kofias fuv, 

RiT na-iv, ut' ajri^AQov, 


And Longepierre baa adduced fmm Catullus, what he 

thinks a smiilar instance of this simplicity of man 

Ipse quis sit, ulrum ait, an non ait, id quoque neurit, 

Longepierre was a good critic; but perhaps the line 

which he has selected is a Fpecimen of a carelessness 

not very cnmmendatde. At the same time I confess, 

that none of the Latin poets have ever appeared tome 

so capable of imitating Ihe graces ot^ Anacreon as 

Catullus, if he had not allowed adepraved imagination 

to hurry him so often into mere vulgar licentiousness. 

That still us death ajoproaches 7icarcr^ 

T/ie jcrys of life are swtetcr, dearer;] Pontanus 

has a very delicate thought upon the subject of old 

Quid rides, Matrona 7 senem quid lemnis amantfiml 

Quisquis amat nulla est londitione stnex. 

Why do you scorn my want of youth. 

And with a smile my brow behold 7 

Lady dearl believe this truth, 

That he who loveu cannot be old. 


I care not for Ihe Idle state 
Of Persia^ king, the rich, the great: 
"The German poet Leasing has imitated Ibis Ode. 
Vol. i. p. 24." Degen. G.-iil de Editionibuf. 

Baxter conjectures that this was written upon the 
cession of our poet's returning the money to Poly- 
crates, according to the anecdote in Stobxus, 
/ care not fur the idle state 

Of Persia's kiv^, SfC] "There is a f-v^ent of 
Archilochus in Plutarch, 'De tranquillitate ariimi/ 
which our poet has very closely imilatea here; it 

On /iot TO, Vvynii 70V koXvxqvo-ov /izXci." 
£4 ''WES. 
In one of the monkish imitators of Anacrp^n <rD find 
the same thought : — 

Tt cot StXzLS ytvtadat ; 
BeXcis rvyeoi ra Kai ra ; 



I envy not the monarch's throne, 

Nor wish the treasur'd gold my own. 

But oh '. be miae the rosy wreath, 

Its freshness o'er my brow to brea'he; 

Be mine Ihe rich perfumes Ihat flow, 

To C(rt>I and scent my lucks of snow, 

To-d;»y I 'M haste to quaff my wine, 

As if to-morrow ne'er would shine; 

But if lo-morrow comes, why then — 

I 'II haste to quaff my wine affsin. 

And thus while all our days are bright, 

Nor lime h»s dinimM their bloomy light, 

Let us the festal hours beguile 

With mantling cup and cordial smile, 

And shed from each new bowl of wine 

The richest drop on Bacchus' shrine. 

For Death may come, with brow unpleasant, 

M.iy come, when least we wish him present, 

And beckon to the sable shore, 

And grimly bid us — drink no more I 

Se mine the rich perfumes tkatJloWy 
To cool and scent 7ny lockt of snow.] In the origi- 
nal, fivpoKTi KaraSptXf^iv 'bnTjvrjv. On account of 
this idea of perfuming ihe beard, Cornelius de Fauw 
pronounces the whole nde lo be the spurious production 
of some lascivious monk, who was nursing his beard 
with unguents. But he should have known, that this 
was an ancient eastern custom, which, if we may be- 
lieve Savary, still exists : " Vous voyez, Monsieur (s^ys 
this traveller), que I'usage antique de se parfumer la 
tete et la barbe,* celebre par le prophete Hoi, subsiste 
encore de nos jours." Leltre 12. Savary likewise 
cites this very ode of Anacreon. Angerianus has not 
thought the idea inconsistent, having introduced it in 
the following lines; 

Haec mihl cura, rosis et cingere tempora inyrto, 

Et curas multo Oelapidare inero. 
HatfU mill] cura. comas et barbam tingere succo 

Aesyrio et dulcea continuare joct«. 

This be my cart*, to wreathe my brow with flowers, 
To drench n.y sorrows in the ample bowl; 

To pour rich perrumes o'er my beard in thnwerg. 
And give tuU loost: to mirth aud joy ut eou1> 


I pray thee, by the goJs above, 
Give me the mighty bowi I tove, 
And let me sin?, in wild delight, 
" 1 will -- I will be mad to-night !" 
Alcm^on once, as legends tell, 
Was frenzied by the tiends of hell ; 
Orestes too, with naked tread. 
Frantic pacM the mountainhead : 
And why? a murder'd mother's shade 
Haunted them still where'er they strayed, 
B^t ne'er could I a murderer be, 
The grape alone shall bleed by me : 
Yet can I shout, with wild delight, 
" I will — 1 will be mad to-night. 

Alcides' self, in days of yore, 
Inibru'd his hands in youthful gore, 
And brandish'd, with a maniac joy, 
The quiver of th' expiring boy ; 
And Ajax, with tremendous shield. 
Infuriate scour'd the guiltless field. 
But I, whose hands no weapon ask, 
No armour but this joyous flask ; 
The trophy of whose frantic hours 
Is but a scatfer'd wreath of flowers 
Ev'n I can sine with wild delight, 
*• 1 will — I win be mad to-night. 

••Sifut nngoentum in cnpite quod descendit to bar- 
bam Aaronis." Fseaume 133. 

The poet is here in a frenzy of enjoyment, and it u 

indeed^ "amabilis insania ;" — 
Furor di poeeia, 
Di lascivia. e di vino, 
Triplicato furore, 
Bacco, ApoUu, et Amore. 

Ritratti del Cavalttr Mariuo, 

This is truly, as Scaliger expresses it, 
Et aapidum furere furorem. 


How ?m I to punish thee, 
For the wrong thou 'st done to me. 
Silly swallow, prating thing — 
Shall 1 clip that wheeling wing? 
Or, asTereus did, of old, 
(So the fabled tale is told.) 
Shall 1 tear that tongue away, 
Tongue thnt ut'erM such a lay? 
Ah, how thoughtless hast thou been! 
Long befoie the dawn was seen. 
When a dream came o'er my mind, 
Picturing her I worship, kind, 
Just when I was nearly blest, 
Lnud thj' matins broke my rest! 

This ode is addres-jed to a swallow. I find from 
Degen and from Gail's index, that the German poet 
Weisse has imitated it, Scherz. Lieder. lih. ii. carm. 
5. ; that Rr^mler al^o has imitated it, Lyr. Blumenlese, 
lib. iv. p. 335. ; and some others. See Gail de Editi- 

We ^»re here referred by Degen to th:*t dull book, the 
Fpistlesof Alciphron. tenth epistle, third book; where 
Inphnn compI.Tins to Erajion of lieing wakened, by the 
crowing of a cock, from his vision of riches. 

Silly swallow, f rating thin^, ^-cl The loquacity 
of the swallow was proverbial ized ; thus Nicostratus • 

Et TO cvvtx^S 'Cat TroX.\a Kat Ta,'V:c(us XaAtiv 
Hv rov (f'Qovtiv Tiapamjiiov^ al x^^'-^'^'^^S 
KXtyovT' av ^/tojv o-wf^poi/torcpat noXv. 

If in prating Trom morning till night 

A sign of our wisdom there lie, 
The swallows arc wiser by right, 

For they prattle much faster than we. 

Or, as Tcrevs did, of old, Sz-c] Modern poetry has 
confirmed the name of Philomel upon the nightingale ; 
but many respec'able authorities among the ancients 
assigned this metamorphose to Progne, and made Philo- 
mel the swallow, as Anacreon does here. 


'* Tell me, gentle youth, I pray (hec, 
What in purchase shall I pay thee 
For this little waxen toy, 
Image of the Paphian boy ?'* 
Thus I said, the other day. 
To a youth who pass'd my way : 
*' Sir," (he answer'd, and the while 
Answer'd all in Doric style,) 
*'Take it, for a trifle take it; 
'T was not I who dared to make it ; 
No, believe me, 't was not I : 
Oh, it has cost me many a sigh, 

It is difficult to preserve with any grace the narra- 
tive simplicity of this ode, and Ihe humour of the turn 
with which it concludes. I feel, indeed, that the 
translation must appear vapid, if not ludicrous, to m 
English reader. 



And I can no longer keep 

Little gods, who murder sleep !" 

•' Here, then, here," (I said with joy,) 

" Here is silver fcrlhc hoy; 

He shall be my bosom guest, 

Idol of my pious breast 1" 

Now, young Love, 1 have thee mine, 
Warm nie with that torch of thine 
Make me feel as I have felt, 
Or thy waxen fr.ime shall melt : 
I must burn wiih warm desire^ 
Or thou, uiy boy — in yonder fire. 

And I can no longer keep 

Little f^vds^ tvfio murder sleep 11 I h.ive not lite- 
rally rendered ihe epithet navTotiEKra ; if it has any 
meaning here, it is one, peihaps, belter oiiiitled, 

/ mtist bum with waiin desire. 

Or ihoH, my buy — in yonder fire,"] From this 
Lnngepierre conjectures, lh:it, whatever Anacrenii 
mighi say. lie felt sometimes Ihe inconveniences of old 
age, and here soliciis from the power of Love a warmth 
which he could no longer expect from nature. 


They tell how Atys, wild with love, 
Ro.ims the mount 'and haunted grovej 
C>bde'3 name he hnwls nround, 
The gloomy blast returns the sound ! 
Oft too, by Claros' hallow'd s::ring, 
The vo'aries of the laurell'd king 
Quad" the insjiiring, magic s'ream, 
And rave in wild, prnphe'ic dream. 
But freiizied dreams are not for me, 
Gre .t n^icchus is my deity ! 
Full of mirth, and full of nini, 
While floating odours round me swim, 
While niantlmg bowls are full supplied, 
And you sit blushing by my side, 
I will be mid and raving loo — 
Mad, my girl, with love for you '• 

They tell how Atys, xoild with /ore, 

Roams the mmtnt and haunted ^-ove ;] There 
are many coolradictory stories ff the loves of Cybtle 
and Alys. It is certain that he was mutilated, but 
whether by his oun fury, or Cybeie's jealousy, is a 
point upon which authors are not agreed. 

CybeWs name he howls armind, S,-c.} I Iiave here 
adopted the accentuation which Elias Andreas gives 
to Cybele: — 

In montibus Cybelen 
Maguo Boiiunti boatu. 

Oft too, by Claros'' hallow'd sprinf^^ ^c] This 
fnuntsin was in a grove, consecrated to Apollo, and 
situated between Colonhon and Lebcdos, in louia. 
The god had an oracle inere, Scaliger thus alludes to 
it in his Anacreontica ; 

Semcl ul roncitus opslrn, 

Veliili qui Clarias aquaa 

Ebihere loquaoes, 

Quo plua cauuQt, plura volunt. 

JfTiile floating odoxtrs, Src] Spaletti has quite 
mistaken the import of ko^ktOel^, as applied to the 
poet's mistress — '* Mea fatigatus amicn ; " — thus in- 
terpreting it in a sense which must want either deli- 
cacy or gu.dntry ; if not, perhaps, both. 

1 will, I V 
And I 'il ( 
Cupid has 
Invited m 


ill, the conflict's past, 
onsent to love at last, 
long, with smiling art, 
i to yield my heart ; 

And I have thought that peace of mind 
Should not be for a smile resign'd ; 
And so repeird the tender lure, 
And hopM my heart would sleep secure. 

But, slighted in his boasted charms, 
The angry infant flew to arms j 
He slung his quiver's golden frame. 
He took his how, his shafts of finne, 
And proudly snmmon'd me to yield, 
Or nn^et him on the martial (itld. 
And what did I unthinking do? 
I lonk to anns, undaunted, too ; 
As-um'd the corslet, sliield, :»nd spear, 
And, like I'elides, smil'd al fear. 
Then (hear it, all ve powers above !J 
I fought with Love ! I fought with Love ! 
And now his arrows all were shed, 
And I had jus' in terror fled — 
When, heaving an indignant sigh, 
To see me thus unbounded fly, 
And, having now no other dart, 
He j^hot himself into my heart ! 
Mv heart ~ alas, the luckless day ! 
Keceiv'd the God. and died away. 
Farewell, farewell, my faiihles- shield ! 
Thy lord at length is h.rc'd to yield. 
Vaui, vain, is every outward care. 
The foe's within, and triumphs there. 

And what did I unthinking do ? 

I took to arms, vndan.nted^ tooi'l Longepierre 
has here quoted an epigram fiom the Anlhologia, in 
which the poet assumes Reason as the armour against 

Q.n\i(T{ TTpo^ tpwra K£pi (rrt^vota-t Aoyttr/iov, 
Ovit fic viKi)<ru, (tovoi tcuv npo^ tva' 

Qvaro'i tj' aOuvarui a-vi>f.\EV(rofiaL- t}V 6e fioTjOov 
lianxov exVj ^* P.OVOS jtqos 6v' tyw dvvafiat. ; 

With Reason I cover my breael as n nhieM, 
Anil fearlpssly mt-cl little Lnve in ttic firld ; 
Thus nphliiig hiagod^Iiip. I'll in?Vr hedismnyM; 
ihoulil fver advance to hie aiil, 

cnnibat the (w 
whuttihouM I CjdT 

This idea of the irresistibility of Cupid and Bacchus 
united, is delicately expresi-ed in an Italian poem, 
which is so liuly Anacreontic, that (is introduction 
here may be pardoned. It is an imilation, indeed, ol 
our poet's sixth Ode, 

civetto ml acherza al cnr ititorno. 
che sarel s* lo lo bevessi un glorno, 
ro, nel luo liquore 7 
ei, piu che uon sono ebro d'Amore. 


chin ( 

Wns bathing i 

the bow and quii 


nnp riveo 

Where, as I drank on yente 
(Shepherd-youth. Ilie tale believe.) 
•T wan not a cooling, crystal ilranplit, 
•T was liquid (lame I madly quan'd; 
For Love was in the rippling tide, 
I felt hitn to my bosom plide; 
And now the wily, wanton minion 
rieye round my heart with rcsllesa pinic 

A day ft waa of Tatal star, 
Put ah, 'twi 

If, Bacchus, in thy 
I found this fliitt'n 
Then, then indeed i 
Kv'ii more than evi 

< fatal far. 

, diuuk wiUi love) 

Andy having now no other dart, 
He fihot himself into my heart .'1 Dryden hu 
parodied this thought in Ihe following extravagant 

, Love shot, and shot *o faat. 

elf into my brenul at last. 




Cnunt me, on the summer trees^ 
Every leaf that courts ihe breeze; 
Count me, on ihe Inamy deep, 
Every wave that sinks to sleep ; 

The pnet, in this catalogue of his mistresses, means 
nolhing nuTC, than, by a lively hyperbole, to iuform 
us, that his heart, unfettered by any one object, was 
warm with devotinn towards Ihe sex in general. 
Cowley is indebted to this Ode for the hint of his bul- 
lad, called '•' The Chronicle ; " and the learned Menage 
has imitated it in a Greek Anacreontic, which has &o 
much ease and spirit, Ihal the reader may not be dis* 
pleated at seeing it here : — 

npoz BiaNA. 

El a\(T£ojv ra ^vAA.a, 
Au^Lu3Viovs Tt irota^, 
Et vvKTos aiTTpa Trai'ra, 
UapaKTiovs rt xpaiif^ovSy 
'AAos Tt KVfiaTuCr}, 
Avv7}f Bicuv, aptOfiLLVf 
Kat rovs tfiovs cpturaj 
Avvrj, Biuiv, apidfLciv. 
KoptjVf yvvaitcay Xj^pav, 
ZfjuKp-qVf Micnjv, Mtytorijv, 
AcvKjjv T£ Kat MtAatvav, 
OQtLadaSi NanaiaSf 
'tiTjQij'idas Tt TTOO-oS 
'O tros 0tAoj ^tAj^ct. 

TiaVTUiV KOpOS ft,tV KTTtV, 
AVTT)V VtUiV EpuiriyV, 

Aitrnotvav A(ppodiTr}V, 
Xpiitrv/v, KaAr/v, yAvKtiav, 
Epa(7/i.tav, noQtivqVf 
All fiovTjV (PiXTjcrai. 
Eya>y£ fiTj dovai^iTjV. 

Tell Ihe foliage of the woodi. 
Tell Ihe billows of the flnods. 
number miOnight'B slarry •lore. 
And Ihe fanda ttiat crowd the shore. 
Then, my Bion, thou mayst count 
Of my loves the vast amount. 
I 've been loving, all my days. 
Many nymphe, in many vuys ; 
Virgin, widow, maid, and wife — 
I've been doting all my lire. 
NaiadB. Nereids, nymt^hs of fountainH 
Gotldesses of groves and moiinlama. 
Fair and eable, great and amall, 
Ye-. I Bwear I've lov'd them all! 
Soon was every passion over, 
I wan but the momeut'B lover; 
Oh! I'm Buch a roving elf, 
That the doeen of Love herself, 
Though she practiB'd all her wilea. 
Rosy bluHhes, wreattied fmilea, 
All her beauty's proud ende:iVoiir 
C'juld not rhain ray heart for ever. 

Count me, on the mmmer treeSy 
Every leaf, ^c] This hgure is called, by rhctori- 
cians. Hie Impossible {adwarov,) and is very fre- 
quently made use of in poetry. The amatory writers 
have exhausted a world of imagery by it, to expiess 
Ihe Infinite number of kisses which Ihey require from 
the lips of their mistresses: in this Catullus led ;he 

— Quam sidera multa, cum tacet nox, 

Furtivn? hominum vident amorea; 

Tam te bxeia multa bac^iare 

Ve^no Batia. et auper. Catiilto est: 

Quae nee pernumerare curioRl 

rasaint, nee mala fascinare hngua. Carra. 7. 

As many stellar eves nf liijht, 

Aa through Ihe silent waste of nlght» 

G» upon this world of shade. 

Witness (tome aeeret youth and maid. 

Tlien, when you have number'd thcM 
Billowy tides and leafy trees, 
Count me all the flames ! prove, 
All (lie gentle nymphs I love. 
First, of pure Athenian maids 
Sporting in Iheir olive t^hades, 
You may reckon just a score, 
Nay, J '11 errant you iifieen more. 
In the fam'd Corinihian grove, 
Where such countle>s wantons rove, 
Chains of beauties may be found, 
Chains, by which my heart is bound 
Tbeie, indeed, are nymphs divine, 
Dangerous to a soul like minct 
Many bloom in Lesbos' isle: 
Many in Ionia smile ; 
Rhodes a pietty swarm can boast ; 
Caria ton contains a host. 
Sum Ihem all — of brown and fair 
Yi'U may cnunt two thousand there. 
What, you s are ? I pray you, peace! 
More I'll tind before 1 cease. 
Have I told you all my flames, 
'Mong the amorous Syiian dames? 
Have I numbered eaery one. 
Glowing under E^yp^'s sun ? 
Or the nymphs \vho blushing sweet 
Deck the shrine of Love in Creie ; 
Where the God, with festal play, 
Holds eternal holiday ? 
Still in clusters, still remain 
Gades' warm, desiring train ; 
Slill there lies a myriad more 
On the sable India's shore ; 
These, and many far reniov'd. 
All aie loving — all are lov'd! 

Who fair 

I Iho 

d fnnd aa I, 
In stolen juys ennmoiir'd lie,— 
S-- manv kitses. ere I !.!umber. 
ITpoD those dew-bright lips I'll number; 
8o many kisses we ahnll count, 
Envy can never tell Ihe amount. 
Ho tongue shall hlab the sum, hut mine; 
Nu lipa ."hall faficinate, but thine * 
In the fnm''d Corinthiaji grove, 
Where sitch cotmtlcss wantons rove, ^-c] Coriith 
was very famous for the beauty and number of itf 
couilesans. Venus was the deity principally wor- 
shipped by Ihe people, and their constant prayer was, 
that the gods should increase the number of her wor- 
shippers. We may perceive from the application of 
Ihe verb KopivOin^tLV. in ADstophanes, that ihe lubri- 
city of the Corinthians had become proverbial. 
There, indeed, are nymphs divine^ 
Dangerous to a soul like mine!) *'\Vilh justice 
has the poet attributed beauty lo the women of Greece." 
— Degen. 

M. de Pauw, the author of Dissertations upon the 
Greeks, is of a different opinion ; he thinks, that by a 
capricious partiality of nature, the other sex had all 
the beauly ; and by this supposition endeavours lo ac- 
count for a very singular depravation of instinct among 
thai people. 

Gade-s^ warm, desiring train ;) The Gadltanian 
girjg were like the Raladieres of India, whose dances 
are thus described by a French author : " Les danses 
sont pre-que toutesdes pnn'ominies d amour ; le plan, 
le dessein, les altitudes, les mesurcs. les sons et les 
cadences de ces ballets, tout respire cetfe passion et en 
exprime les vokiptes et les fureurs." — //uioiVe du 
Commerce des Europ. dans les deux Indes. Raynnl. 
The music of the Gaditanian females had afl the 
voluptuous character of their darcing, as appears from 
Martial : — 


Lodovico Ariosto had th^a ode of our bard 
mind, when he wrote his 
bus." See the Anthologia 




Tel. me, why, my jweeUst dove, 
Tliu- yi'ur huiiiid piiioiis move, 
Shedding Ihroi^h ihe ale in showers 
Kssence nf the lialmiest flowers? 
Tell me whither, whence you rove, 
Tell me all, my sweetest dove. 

Curious stranger, I belong 
lo the bird r.f 1 eiao sni-i: ; 
VVi h hi:* iii.indixie now I fly 
To the nymph of izure eye ; — 
iShe. wlit:se e\e has mr^dden'd many, 
Hut the pot-t m Tf than any. 
Venus, tor a hymn of love. 
Warbled in her votive grove, 
('T was in sooth i gentle lay,) 
Gave me to 'he bird away. 
See me now his (h.lhful minion, 
'Ihus with softiy gliding pinion, 
Tohislnveiy girl I he^r 
Songs of I a-^sion tlirnuch ihe air. 
Olt he blandly whispers me, 
"Soon, niy Ijird, I 'il se' yi>u free." 
Rut in vain he'll bid me fty, 
I shalUerw; him (ill Idle. 
Never could my phnnes su^^tain 
Ruliling winds and ctiilling rain, 
O'er Ihe plains, or in the dell, 
On the niouniaiu's >av.iffe swell, 
Seeking in the desert wnod 
Gloomy shelter, rustic food. 
Now I lead a tifeof ense, 
Far from rugged haun's like these. 
From Anacivon'shand I eat 
Food delicious, viands sweet; 

The dnve of Anacreon. bearing a letter from the poet 
to bis mistress, is met by a stranger, with whom this 
dialogue is imagined. 

The ancients made u^e of le'ter-carrying pigeons, 
when they went any dis'ance from hi>me. a^ the most 
cert "in means of convex ing intelligt-nce b.ick. 'J'hat 
tender domestic atiachment. which atliac's this deli- 
caie lilllebird through every danger and difficulty, till 
it set les in its native m-s'. aftbrds to the author of "Tlie 
pleasures of Memory" a tine and interesting exempJi- 
iicatmn of his subject. 

See the poem. Daniel Heinsiu"!, in speaking of 
Dousa, whoadojiled ihis uicthod at the siege of Leydeu, 
expresses a similar sentiment. 

Quo pat: 

uller tells us, that at the siege of Jerusalem, the 
istians intercepted a leiier, tie^ to the legs of a 
e, in which Ihe I'er-lan Emperor promised assist- 
ance to the besieged. —Holy War, ctp. 24, book i. 

ShCf wftose eye has maddened manyt fyc] For 
rvpavvoVf in the <irigrnal, Zeune and Schneider con- 
jec'uie Ihai we should lead Tvpavvov, in allusion to 
Ihe st«ong inriuenre which this obji-ct of his love held 
over Ihe mind of I'olycates. See Degen. 
VcnxLS, (or a hynui oflovcj 

li'arLkd in licr wtivc ^/vc, fyc-l "This pa^sige 
is invaluable, and 1 do not think that any thing so beau- 
kiful or so delica'e has ever been said. What an idei 
does it give of Ihe poetry of the man, from whom Ve- 
nus hf-r^elf, the mother of the Graces and the Pleasures 
urcha-^es a lit le hymn with one of her favourite 
rives I'" — Lo7i^epierrc. 

De Pauw otijects to the authenticity of this ode, he- 
cau-e ii makes Anacreon his own pane^j-rist ; but 
poets have a license for praising ihemselve-, wh-ch. 
witli Bome indeed, may be consdcred as comprised 
I under th^ir general privilege of ficiion. 

Flutter o'er his goblet's brim, 
Sip the fo;»my wine wiih him. 
Then, when I hive wantou'd round 
To his lyie's beguiling sound ; 
Or with gentjy moving wings 
Fann'd the minstrel while he sings: 
On his harp I sink in slun.bcis, 
Dreaming still of dulcet numbers ! 

This Is all — away — away — 
Vou have made me waste the d -y. 
How I 've chaHer'd I prating crow 
Never yet did chatter so. 


Thou, whose soft and rosy huea 
Mimic form and soul infuse, 
Be^t of 1 ain ers, come pttiHay 
1 he Invely maid that 's far away. 
Fat aw;ty, my soul ! thnu art, 
Hut I 've thy beauties all by heart. 
paint herJKity ringlet- playing. 
Silky locks, like tendrils straying ; 

This ode and the next may be called companion- 
pictures ; they are highly liiiished, and give us an ex- 
cellent idea of Ihe lasie of the ancienl> in beau'v. 
Franciscus Junius quotes them in his third book "De 
Piclura VetcTum." 

This cide has been imitated by Ronsard, Giuliano 
Goselini, &c. &c. Scaliger alludes to it thus in his 

Ollm lepore blando. 
Litis vc-ibibuH 
Candidus Anacreon 

The Teian bard of former days, 
Attmi'd Iiin BWtret di-srriptivt; lays, 
And taught llie painter's Itaiid lo trace 

Hia fair l>cliv 

ery i 

In the dialogue of Caspar Barlipus, entitled "An 
formosa sit ducenda,'' the reader will find many cu- 
rious ideas and descriptions of womanly beauty. 

Thou, whose soft and rosy hues 

Mimic foiTii aiid soul ui/uve,] I have followed 
here the reading of (he Vatican M8. flodt?,?. I'ainiing 
is called " ihe rosy arl,'» either m rcterence to colour- 
ing, or as an indefinite epilhei of excellence, from ihe 
association of beauty with ihat flower. Salvini has 
adopted this reading in his hteral translation : — 

Delia rosea arte signore. 

The lovely maid that 's far away.] If this portrait 
if the pot^i'b mistress he not merely ideal, the omi-sion 
if her name i- much to be reeretted. Melea-er, in an 
pigram on Anacreon, mentions "the golden Eury- 
pyle" as his mistress. 

BiCXtiKixiS ^^^pvffcijv ;t;£tpa5 £7r' Ev^vkvXtjv, 

Paint her jetty ringlets flaying. 

Silky locks like toidrils stray m t^ ;] The ancients 
have ijeen very enthusiaslic in their [raises of the 
beauty of hair. Apu'eius, in the second book of his 
"' ' M.ics, savs, that Venus herself, if Uie were bald, 
Iliough surrounded by the Graces and the Loves, could 
ni't he pleasing even lo her husband Vulcan. 

Stesichorus gave the epiihet KaAAtTrAo/ca/toj to the 
Graces, and Sinionides bestowed the same upon Ihe 
" "uses. See Hadri .n Junius's Dissert.iti.m upo-i Hair. 

To this passage of our poet, Selden alluded in a note 
on the Polyolbion of Drayton, Song the second, where 
observing ihat the epithet "black-haired" was given 
by some of the ancients to the goddess Isis, he say*, 
*• Nor will I Bweir, but that Anacteon (a man very 
judicious in the provoking motives of wanton love). 



And, if paitting h»th the skill 
To make the spicy balm disiil, 
Lei every little luck exhale 
A si^h o( perfume nu the gile. 
Where her tresses' curly liow 
Darkles o'er the brow of snow, 
Let her forehead beam to Ii?ht 
Burnish'd as the ivor) bright. 
Let her eyebrows smoothly rise 
In jelly arches o'er her eyes, 
Each, a crescfiit gently eliding, 
Just commiugliDg, jusi dividing. 

But, hast thou any sparkles warm, 
The lightning of her eyes to form ? 

Lei them eftu 

; the a 

: rays 

hat in Minerva'^ glances bin 
Mix'd with the liq-ji.l light that ties 
In Cytherea's lai.guid eyts. 
O'er her nose and cltcek be shed 
Flushirig white aod s 'fteu'd red ; 
Mingling tin's, as when there glows 
In snowy milk the bavhfiil ro.e. 
1 hen her lip, ^ol■ich in bl.sses, 
Sweet petitioner for kisses, 

intending to bestow on his sweet mistress that one of 
the titles of woman's special ornament, well-haired 
{Ka^MnXoKafio^), thought of this when he gave his 
painler direction to make her black-haired." 

^nd if painting hath tfie skill 

To make trie spicy balm distil, <Vc.l Thus Phi- 
lostratus, speaking of a picture; tnaiviu Km rov tv- 
6po(TOVTov podujv, Kai (prjfii y£y(>a4idai avra fiira 
7 7}s 0(TfjL7jS. "I admire the dewiness of lhe^e loscs, 
and could say that their very smell was painted." 

JV/ix'rf with the. liquid light that lies 
In CythLi-etCs languid eyes.] RIaicbetti explains 
thus the vygov of the original : — 
Dipingili uinidt^tli 
QuQt gli ha Ciprt(,-iiu I'ulnia Dea d'Amore* 

Tasso has painted iu the same manner the eyes of 
Armida : — 

Wilhin her humid, melting eyes 
A brilliant ray of laughter lies, 
Soft OS the broken solar bt-am. 
That tremblts in the azure stream. 

The mingled expression of digntiy and tenderness 
which Anacreon requires the painter to infuse imo the 
eyes of his niislress, is more amply described In 
svibsequeut ode. Both descriptions are so exquisitely 
touched, that the artist must have been great indeed, 
if he did not yield in painting to li.e poet. 

Min^lins: tints as when there e^lovjs 
In ^loury milk the bashful roac] Thus Proper* 
tius, eleg. 3. lib. ii. 

Utfjue rosae piiro lacte natant folia. 

And Davenant, in a little poem called "The Mis- 

Catch as it falls the Srythian snow, 
Bring blushing roses Eteep'd in milk. 
Thus too Taygetus : — 

Q,uae lac alque rosas vincis candore rubenti. 

Then htr Zip, so rich in blisses. 

Sweet petitioner for kisses,) The " lip, provoking 
feisses," in the original, is a strong and heauliful ex- 
pression. Achilles' Tatius speaks of _Y£t^« fiaXOaKa 
rrpog ra (fnXijttara, " Lips soft and delica'e for kii^s- 

Rnsy nest, where lurks PersnasioB, 
Mutely courting Love's invpsion. 
Next, oeneaih the velvet chin. 
Whose dimple hides a Love within, 
Mould her neck with grace descending. 
In a lieaven of beauty ending ; 
While countless charms, above, below, 
Sport and flutter rnund its snow. 
Now let a Moating, lucid veil, 
^hadow her firm, but not conceal ; 
A charm may peep, a hue may beam, 
And leave the rest to Fancy's dieam. 
Eiv u::h — 't is she ! 'I is all I seek ; 
it glows, it lives, il soon will speak ! 

ing." A grave old commentator, Dionysius Lambinus, 
in his notes u|ion Lucretius, tells us with the apparent 
authority of experience, that " Suavius virns osculan- 
tur puetlas fatjiosas, quatn qn^ sunt btevibus libris" 
And ^neas Sylvius, in his tedious uninteresting story 
of ihe hives of Eurya'tus and Lucretia, where he par- 
ticularises the heau'ies of the heroine (in a very false 
and laboured style of laliniiy), describes her lips thus: 
— " Os );aivinii decensque. labia corallini coloris ad 
morsum aptissima."— Epist. lU. lib. i. 

Next, beneath the velvet chin, 
IV/iose dimples hide a Love within, fyc."] Madame 
Dacicr has quoted here two pretty lines of Varro: — 

n her chill in a delicate dimple, 
By Cupid*n own finger imprest; 
Peaitty bewitihingly simple, 



Now let a floating, Incid veil, 

Shadow Iter f mm, but nU conceal, ^c] This deli- 
cate art of description, «liich leaves imagination to 
ccmplele Ihe piciure, has been seldom adopted in the 
imitations of this beau'iful poem. Ronwird is excep- 
tionably minule ; and Pclitianus, in his charming por- 
trait of a girl, fiill of rich and exquisite diction, has 
lifted the veil rather too much. The '• questo che ta 
m- intendi" should always be left to fancy. 


And now with all thv pencil's truth, 
Portray BalhyMus, lovely youth 1 
Let his hair, in masses bright, 
Fall rke floating rays of light; 
And there the raven's dye confuse 
With the golden sunbeam's hues. 
Let no wrea'h, with artful twine, 
The flowing of his locks confine ; 

The reader, who wishes to acquire an accurate idea 
of the judgment of the ancients in beauty, will be in- 
dulged by consulting Junius de Pictura Vetemm, lib. 
3. cap. 9. where he will lind a very curious selection 
of descrip'ions 3nd epithets of personal perfections. 
Junius compares this ode with a description of Theo- 
doric, king of the Goths, in the second epistle, first 
book, of Sidonius Apollinaris. 

Let his hnir, in n7asses bright 

Fall like floating rays of light, Sfc] He here de- 
scribes the sunny hair, the '* flava coma," which the 
ancients so much admired. The Romans gave this 
colour artificially to their h:iir. See Stanisl. Kobien- 
zyck. de Luxu Romanorum. 

Let no toreath with artful twine, .^-c.] If the 
original here, which is particularly beautiful, can ad- 
mit of any additional value, that value h conferred by 
Gray's admiration of it. See his letters to West. 

Some annotators have quoted on this passage Ilie 
description of Photis's hiir in Apuleiusj but nothing 



Hut leave lliem loo^e to every breeze, 
'J"o take \vh.T.t sliape and course they please. 
Peiieath the foreluad, fair as snow, 
Hut llush'd with ni.inhond's early glow, 
And guileless as the dews nf dawn. 
Let the majestic brows be driwn, 
Of ebnn hue, enrich'd by gold, 
Such as d^rk, hhii.iug stakes unEoM, 
Mix ill his eyes the power alike, 
With love lo win, with awe to strike; 
Borrow from Mars his look of ire, 
From Venus her soft glaoce of lire ; 
RIeiiJ them in such expression here, 
That we by turns may hope and fear ! 

Now from ihe sunny apple seek 
The velvet d iwn that spre ids his cheek ; 
And there, if an sn fir cm g<i, 
Th' ingenuous blush of boyhood show. 
While, f<ir his mouth — but nn, — in vain 
Would wi>rds iis Witching charm explain. 
Make it Ihe veiy seat, the throne. 
That Eloquence would claim her own; 

can be more distant from the simplicity of our poet's 
manner, than that att'eclafion of richness which distin* 
guishes the slyle of Apuleius. 

Jiniflush'd with manhood's early glaw^ 
And guiltless as the dews of dawn, ^c] Torren- 
tlus, upon the words " insigucm lenui fronte," in 
Horace, Od 33, lib. I, is of opinion, incorrectly, I 
think, that " tenui" here bears the same meaning as 
the word on-aAow. 

Mix in his eyes the power alikej 
With love to loin, with awe to strike^ ^c] Tasso 
gives a similar character lo the eyes of Cloi inda : — 

The poetess Veronica Cambara is more diffuse upon 
this variety of expression : — 
Occhi hicenti e bflli. 

Come ewer piio rh' in un medesmn iHtante 
Wascan de voi ai niiove forme et tatitcl 
I.iett, mesti, KU|ierbi, hiiniil', altieri, 
Vi mo>*tratt' in un piinto, dntlc di epeme. 
El di timor, de empicte, inc. &c 

Oh', tell me, brigtitly-beamiuf; eye» 
Wtieiice in ynur little orliit lie 
80 many different trails of fir«, 
Exprvesiiif; e;icti a new denirc. 
Now with pride or acorn you darkle. 
Now with love, with tiladiiefiB, Bi:arklP, 
While we who view the varying mirror, 
Feel by turns both hope and terror. 

Chevreau, citing the lines of our poet, in his critique 
on the poeuis of Milherbe, produces a I.alln version of 
them from a manuscript which he hsd seen, entitled 
"Joan. Falconis Anacreontici Lusus." 

That Elmfucnce would claim her own ;] In the 
original, as in the preceding Ode, Piiho, the goddess 
of persuasion, or eh/>quence. It v/as worthy of the 
delicate imaeination of the Greeks to deify Persua- 
sion, and give her the lips for her throne. We are 
here reminded of a very interesting fragment of Ana- 
creon. preserved by rhe scholiast npnn Pindar, and 
supposed to Ijelnng to a pnem reflecting with some 
severity on Simonides, wlio was the first, we are told, 
that ever made a hireling of his muse: — 

And let the lips, though si'enl, wear 
A life-look, as if words weie there. 

Next Ihnu his ivory neck must trace, 
Moulded with sott but manly gr-icej 
Fairas ihe neck ofpajihia's boy. 
Where Paphia'sarnis have hung in joy. 
(iive him the winped Heimcs'hand, 
With which he waves his snaky wand ; 
Let Bacchus the broad chest supply, 
And Leda's son the sineuy thisb ; 
While, through his whole transparent frame, 
Thou show'st he stirriigs<f that flame, 
Which kindles, when the first love-sigh 
Steals from the heart, unconscious \^by. 

But sure thy pencil, though so bright, 
Is envious of the eye's delisht, 
Or its enamnur'd touch would shove 
The shoulder, fair ;ts sunless snow, 
Which now in veiling shadow lies, 
Remov'd from all but Fa- cy's eve?. 
Now, for his feet — but hold — forbear — 
1 see tile sun-gnd's portrait there; 
Why paint Batbyllus? when, in truth, 
There, m that god, thou'st skelch'd the youth. 
Enough — lei this brighi form be mine, 
And send the bov to Samos' shrine; 
Phccbus shall then Baihyllus be, 
Baihyllusthen, the deity ! 

And let the lips, thmii^h silent, wear 

A lift'look, as ifwm-ds were thcre.^ In the original 
AaAujv aioiTT). The mistress of Petrarch " parla con 
silenzio." which is perhaps the best method of female 

Give him the wiiiged. Hermes'' hand, Sfc'\ In 
Shakspeare's Cymbeline there is a similar method of 
description: — 

Ihie in tiifl hand, 

His foot mcrcnrinl, his 
The brawns of Herculei 

arlial thigh. 

We find it likewise in Hamlet. Longepierre thinks 
that Ihe hands of Mercury are selected by Anacreon, 
on account of the graceful t;e5tures which were sup- 
posed to characterise the g'>d of eloquence; but Mer- 
cury was also the patron of ihieves, and may perhaps 
be praised as a light-fingered deity 

■ But ftold — forbtar — 

/ see the sun-s^nd^s portrait there;'] The abrupt 
turn here is spirited, but requiies some explanation. 
While the artist is pursuing the portrait of Bathyllus, 
Anacreon, we must suppose, turns round and sees a 
picture of Apollo, which was intended for an attar at 
Samos. He then instmtly tells ihe painter to cease 
his work; that this piciure will serve for RithvUus; 
and that, when he goes to Samos, he may make an 
Apollo of the portrait of the boy which he had 

" Balhyllus (says Madame Dacier) could not be 
more elegantly praised, and this one passage does him 
more honour than the statue, hoxvever beautiful it 
might be, whioh Polycrates raised to htm." 

Now the star of day is high, 
Fly, my girls, in pity fly. 
Bring me wine in brimming urns, 
Cool n.y lip, it burus, it burib! 

An elegant translation of this Ode, says Degrn, 
may be found in Ramler's Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. v, p. 

Bring me wine in brimming urns, ^c) Or?^. 



Siinn'd by the meridian fire, 

panting, languid 1 expire. 

Give nie all those humid llnwers, 

Dro[» them o'er my brow in showers. 

Scarce a breathing chaplet now 

Lives upon my feverish brow ; 

Every dewy rose i wear 

Sheds its tears, and withers there. 

But to you, my burning heart, 

What can now relief impart? 

Can brimming bowl, or tlowret's dew, 

Cool the flame that scorches you? 

TTuiv a/j vo-Ti. The amyatis was a method of drink- 
ing used among ihe 'Ihracians. Thus Horace, 
"Threicia vincat amystide." Mad. Dacier, Lon^e- 
pierre, &c. kc. 

Farrhaaius, in his twenty-sixth epiatle, (Thesaur. 
Critic, vol i.) explains the amyslia as a draught to be 
exbaij^led without drawing breath, *• uno haustu."* A 
note iu the margin of this epistle of Parrhtsius, says, 
"•Politianus vestem ease putabal," but adds uo reler- 

Give me all those humid flowers, S,'C ] AccorJing 
to the original reading of this line, the poet says, 
"Give me the flower otwme"— UMe flosculus Lyaei, 
as it is iu the version of £lias Andreas j and 

as Regnier has it, who supports the reading. The 
word Avdos would undoubtedly bear this application, 
which is s niewhat similar to its import m the epi- 
gram of Simouides upon Sophocles : — 

EoScg-Otjs yspaiE Zo^ckAces, avdos aotiwv, 

and flos in the Latin is frequently applied in the same 

iner — thus Cethegui 
inlibitus populi, suadaeque 
late flower of the people, 
persuasion." See these vcr 
lib. xii., which Cicero pr; 

But in Ihe passage belbre u*, if we ; 
according to Faber's conjecture, the se 
ly clear, without having 

lied by E; 
idulla, "The immacu- 
\d the very manow of 
cited by Auiu^Gellius, 
d, and Seneca thought 

to such refineuienbi. 

Every dewy rose I wear 

Sheds its tears, aiid withers there.'] There are 
some beautiful lines, by Angenanus, upon a garland, 
which I cannot resist quoting here : — 

Ante fores raadidae 

Bic flic penijete enrol! 

Mftne orto impcn 

t Caelia voa capili ; 

Atquum pernivean 

1 cervicem influxeri 

Dicile. non roria 

ed pluvia haec lacn 

By Celia'B arbour all the night 

Hang, humid wreath, the Inver's vow; 

Am), at th*; mnriiing light, 
My love ohall twin? thee rouml ber brow. 

Then, if upr.n her boBom bright 

Some drops of dew shall fall from thee» 

Tell her, they are not dro|i8 of night, 
tt.i tears of sorrow shed by me ! 

It .he poem of Mr. Sheridan's, " Uncouth is this 
nnss-covered groUo of stone," there is an idea very 
lingularly coincident wilh this of Angerianus : — 

And thoa, etony grnt, in thy nrch mny'st preHPrve 

Some lingering drops of the oighl-fallen dew; 
Irft them fall on her bosom of enow, and they '11 eerve 

But to youy my buniins: hearty ^c] The transi- 
tion here is peculiarly delicate ani impassioned ; but 
the commeniaiors have perplexed the sentiment by a 
variety of readings and conjectures. 

Here recline you, gentle maid, 
Sweet is this embnwenng shade ; 
Sweet the young, the modest tree5| 
RufHed by the kissing breeze; 
Sweet the little founts that weep, 
Lulling soft tlie mind to sleep ; 
Hatk ! they whisi er as they roll, 
Calm peisgasion to the soul* 
'JVll me, tell nie,-ilk not this 
All a stilly scene of bliss? 
Who, my sirl, would pass it by? 
Surely neither you nor L 

The description of this bower is so natural and ani- 
mated, we almost feel a degree of coolness and 
fre=hness while we peiuse it, Longepierre has 
quoted from the first book of the Anlhologia, the 
following' epigram, as EOmewhat resembling this 
Ode: — 

Ep^^EO /cat Kar' tfinv l^cv fftrvv, & to fitMxpov 

rifjos fiaXaKovs vx^i- <tK\tyLtva ^E^t/povj. 
IlvicSc /cat KQOVviu p.a fitXtiTTayss, ivUa ficXia-duv 
'Hdvv tpTjpLaiots iJTvov ayui KaXafiois. 
Come, 6it by the shadnwy pine 

That covers my sylvan retreat ; 
And eee how the branches imliue 

The breathing of zephyr to meet. 
See the foiintaln, that, flowing, diffaties 

Around me a glittering spray; 
By Ua briiih, bs the traveller mnsen, 
1 soothe him to sleep wilh my lay. 

Here recline you, gentle maid, ^c] The Vatican 
MS, reads (iaOvWov, which renders the whole poem 
metaphorical. Sume commentator suggests the read- 
ing of /3a^vAAov, which makes a pun upon the name; 
a grace that Plato himself has condescended to in 
writing of his Imy AcTiyp. See the epigram of this 
philosopher, which I quote on the twenty-second 

There is another epigram by this philosopher, pre- 
served in Laertius, which turns upon the same word. 
Ao-T7;p KQiV fjLtv £>a/i7r£S tvt ^luotcriv itooj, 

Nvv di S-aviov XafintLS iantpos tv (pdifxivois. 
In life thou wert my morning star, 

But now that death has btol'u thy light, 


1 tar, 

Like the pale beam thai weeps at Dight. 
In the Veneres Blyenhurgicse, under the head of 

ceits upon i 
die ages. 

finj a number of such frigid con- 
, selected fiom the poets of the mid- 

llliOy my girl, would pass it by ? 

Surely neither you nor 1.] The finish given to the 
picture by this simple exclamation riy av ovv 6pwv 
naptXSoL, is inimitable. Vet a French translator 
says 011 the pas-age, '• This conclusion appeared to me 
too trifling after such a description, and I thought pro- 
per to add somewhat to the strength of the originaL" 


One day the Muses twin'd the hands 
01 infant Lnve with flow'ry bands; 
And to celestial Beauly gave 
The captive infant for her slave. 

The poet appears, in this graceful allegory, to de- 
scribe the softening influence uhich poetry holds over 
the mmd, in making it peculiarly ^usceptible to the 
impressions of beautv. In the following epigram, 
however, by the philosopher Pla'o, (Diog. Laert. lib. 
3.) the Mu^es are represented as disavowing llie in- 
fluence of Love. 



His mother comes, wi'h many a toy, 

To nnsoiii her beloved bny ; 

His niolher sues, but all in vain,— 


'ill I 

i agaii 

linuld I hey take his chain 
he litile captive slili wmild stay. 
If i!ii.,"ht; cries, " a hoi.dage be, 
coi-ld wish t'V !ibcriy i " 


*A KvTTgt^ Mov(ra:ct, Kooaaia, rav A^^odnav 
'i\fiaT\ J] 70V K^<A>Ta hfifnv ef}>onXt(rofiat. 

At Movira'. non Kvrrpiv, Aptt ra (nm^vXa tovto* 
'H/itv ov KCTarai tovto to nat6a(>t.ov. 

" \ ield to my gentle power, Pariiaftsian maids ; '* 

'I'hiis In Iht; Muses spoke the titieen of Ch rina — 
"Or Love shall flutter Ihroueh ynur otassic ah.deB, 

And make your grove ttie camj) ut Paphiaii arms 1 '* 
•• No," said the virgiiis of Hie tuneful bower. 

••We woTa Ihiue own acd all (hy unhiu'a art; 
Though tAarn hau tiembled itt ihe infant's power. 

Jits thatt is poiutlc&ei o*er a Muse's heait : " 

There is a sonnet by Benedeito Guldi, the thought 
of which was suggdsted by ihis Ode. 


E lanlu 

Ulie I 

Inia d 
eia 1 


pi a 

a li. 

11a vit 
ih' ei 


e fore. 


Tni la. I 

ercn ivi 
()cr fnrZB 
altn bet 

eepo crill 



seiite 11 core 

Oiide olTre Id 

e il flg 

el deK 

unl la 



allri '1 Btioulie, cell a legar si riedc. 

jve, wandering thr 
Of my beloved's h 

ound, al each step, 
'J'hat lapt he liiif*. 

ough the golden ma 

Kuch aweel delays, 
r'd there. 

nd hnw, indeed, wu 

9 Love to fly, 

Or how his freedni 
When every ringlet whs a lie, 

A chain, by Beauty twin'd. 
In vain to seek her boy's release, 

Corues Venus from above: 
Fond molher, Ifl Ihy etfnrts cease, 

Love's now the ulave of Love. 
And, should we loose his p<'tden chain. 
The priscuer would leturii again ! 

His mother comcSy with many a toy^ 

To ra7isom Inr Idovtd boy ; SfC.} In the first idyl 
of Moschua, Venus thus proclaims the reward for her 
ngitive child: — 

'O [lavvTas ytga^ ig«, 
Mtff^oj TOi, TO ^iXafia to Kvnptdo^' tjv d\ ayayjjj 

Ov yvfivov TO <}nXafia, tv d\ w Ilve, koi nKcov 

Oo him. who the haunts nf my Cupid can show, 
A kiss uf the teiiderest stamp 1 '11 bestow ; 
But he. who can brinj; back the urchin in chainF, 
Shall receive even something more aweet for hia paina. 
S'll'Joined tn this Ode. we find in the Vaticm MS. 
thefolh)wiii5 lines, which appear to me tn as 
lit le sense as metre, and which are most probably the 
interpolation of the transcriber : — 

Hci'/tfAijy AvnKntwv 
lieviiEXTjs 6t Zait<pui 
XllVCa^)L^cov TO 6i fioL /tcNoj 


Kat Atoi'iiiroj tiazXOujv 
Kat VlatpLt] jrapa^Ypooj 
Kat aVTog Kptuj Kav ettieiv. 


Observe when mother earth is dry, 

She drinks the droppings of *l;e sky; 

And then the dewy coidial ^ives 

'J'o ev'iy thiisty plant that lives. 

Tlie vapours, which at eveiiii e; weep, 

Aie beverage to the hwelli^ g deepj 

And when the rosy sun appears, 

He drinks the octan's misry ears. 

The niooii too quails her palv stream 

Of jus're, from the solar beam. 

'I'hen, hence wiiii all your yober thinking 1 

Since Nature's holy law is diinkingj 

I 'U niake the laws of naluie mine, 

And pledge ihe universe in wine. 

Those critics who have endeavoured to throw the 
chains of piectsion over the siilut of this beautiful 
trifle, require too much from Anacreontic philosophy. 
Among others, Gad veiy sapieotly thinks that the poet 
uses the epithet (izXatvi), because black earth absorbs 
iiioisiure ntore quickly than any o her ; and accord- 
ingly he indulges us with an experimenial disquisition 
uu (lie subject. — See Gail's no'es. 

One of iho Capilupi has imitaied this Ode, in an 
epitaph on a drunkaid : — 

Duin vixi sine fine bibi, aic imbrifer arcua 

Sic tellus pliiviaa sole perusta bibtt. 
Sic bibit assidue fontes et flumir.a Pontup, 

Sk- semper ditiens Sol maris hauiit aquas. 
he le igitur jactes plus me. Sili-ne. bibisse ; 

£t mihi da viclab tu qu que, Bacche, manue. 


While life was mine, Ihe little hour 

In dnr.kint' »till unvaried »ew: 
I drank as earth imbibes the shower. 

Or iia the rainbow drinks the dew; 

And Bacuhiis was outdone by mc '. 
1 cannot omit citing those remarkable lines of Shak- 
speare, where the tli"ughts of the Ode before us are 
preserved with such striking similitude; 

I'll example you with thievery. 
The Bun's a thief, and wilh his great atlrartion 
Robs the vant sen. The moon's au arrant thief. 
And her pale Hre she ai.Htche» from the sun. 
The aea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves 
The mounds into salt tenrs. The earth's a thief. 
Thai feeds, and breeds hy a composture storn 
From general excremenlo. 

Timon of Atkentt act Iv. sc. S. 

The Phiygian rock, that braves the storm, once a weepirg matron's form : 
And Progne, hapless, frantic maid, 
Is now a swallow in the shade. 

a wtrpirtg niafron's form ;] Niobe — Ogilvie, 

in his E^s.•ly on the Lyric Poeliy of the Ancients, in 
remarkini; upon the Odes of Anacreon, savs, "In 
some of his pieces there is exuberance and even wild- 
1 CSS of imagination J in that pnrticularly, which is 
addres-ed to a young giil, where he wishes alternately 
to be transformed to a mirror, a coat, a s'rtam, a 
bracelet, and a pair of shoes, for the different pur- 
poses which he recites; this is mete suort and wan- 

It IS the wantonness, however, of a very graceful 
Muse ; " ludit an.aliiliter." The coniplimeni of this 
Ode is exquisitely delicate, and so singular for Ihe 
period in which Anacieon lived, when (he scale of 
love had not yet been graduated into all its little pro- 
gressive refinements, that if we were inclined to 
question the authenticity of the poem, we should find 




Oh ! Ibat a mirror's f.rm were mine, 
Th>t 1 mii;ht catch (hat smile divine 
Ami like my own fmiii farif-y be, 
Rtflecttni ihee and only iliee; 
Or c »iiiil I be the fbe which holds 

That i at 
Or, turiiM 

u1 Ion 


mo a f uri 

Would I w, 
To breathe my so-il 
Or, better >till, ihes 
Close lo thy breasi, 
Orev'n those enviot 
So faintly round th:i 

> to Ids; 

lie f -r ihy hair, 
11 fragrance there; 
me, tiiat lies 
nd feels lis sighs. 
i pearls thai show 
iifck of snow — 

a mioh more plausible arg-ument in the features of 
u.odern gallantry which il beais, than in any uf those 
fastidious conjecture' tip>n which some commeulalors 
nave presumed so far. Degen thinks it spurious, and 
DePauw pronounces it to be miserable. Longepierre 
and Barnes refer us tn several iuiiiatinns of this Ode, 
from which I shall only select the fjllowing epigram 
of Diouysius : — 

Etd' avifios ytvo}n)v, cv dt ye aTUXovaa Trop' 
T.Trjdta yvfivuiicrais, Kai p.t nvzovra Aa^otj. 

EiGe KQivov yti'oix.r}v Xlvkoxqoov , o<ppa fit ;^£fj(r(i' 
Apa^EVJ/, fiaXXov cqa X9'^'^''VS fCopcCTjs. 

I wish I could likezpphyr steal 

And Ihiiu wnulilbt ope thy 'boHom-vpil, 

And take me paiitinp ro 

Ihy breast! 

I wish I raiglit a r-.8e.t>ii, 

Aiid thou wuuld.,t cull n 

e from (he bow 

To place me in thai breas 

or 9tJOW, 

Where I should blnom, 

a wintry flower. 

I wish I were the 1ily*N Je 


To fade upon (hat boson 


Content lo wilher, pale ai 

d brief. 

The trophy of thy faire 

rorm t 

I may add, that Plalo has expressed as fanci.'ul a 
vish in a distich preserved by Laertius : 

LfTTEpa? iiaaQpELg, Actttjq tfios, uf)t yevotfiijv 
Ovgavos, i^S TToWocs ofifiaiTiV els O's /SAch-uj. 


Why dost thou gaze upon the sliy 7 

Oh*, that 1 Were Ihat spangled sphere^ 
And every star HhDuld be au eye, 


thy I 

Apuleius quotes this epigram of the divine philoso- 
pher, to justify himself for his ve^^es on Critias and 
Chariiius. See his Apology, where he also adduces 
the exnm/ile of Anacreon ; '* Fecere lamen et alii 
talia, el si vos ignoratis, apud Graecos Teius quidam, 
&c. &c." 

Or, better still, the zone, that lies 

Close to thy breast^ and feels its sigTis !] This 
7 aii'tij was a riband, or band, called by the Romans 
f.isoii and strophium. which 'he women wore for the 
purpose of restraining the exuberance of the bosom. 
Vide Polluc. Onomast. Thus Martia! ; — 

Fascia c 

; compeace papillai. 

The women of Greece not only wore this zone, but 
condemned themselve> to fasting, and made use of cer- 
tain drugs and powders for the same purpose. To 
these expedients they were compelled, in consequence 
of their inelegant fashion of compressing the waist 
into a very narrow compass, whic; Aecessanly cau-ed 
an excessive tumidity in the bosom See Dioscorides, 
I lib. V 

What more would thy Anacreon be ? 
Oh, any thing (hat touches thee ; 
Na\ , snndals for those airy feet — 
Kv*u to be trod by them were sweet! 

Nay sandals for those airy feet — 

Ev^n to he trod by thenn mere swe(V.'\ The sopjjist 
Philostraliis, in one of his love-leners, has borrowed 
1hi«- thought , to adtToi nodss, w xaAAos tXrvOepo^, 
u) Tpi<Tiv6aiLLiuv zyui Kai fiaKacw^ tav TraTTyccTe 
fit. — ^' Oh lovely feet! oh excellent beauty! oh! 
thiice hippy and blessed stiomd I be, it you would 
but tread on me I" In Shakspeare, Romeo desires to 

^ upon that hand, 

And, in his Passionate Pilgrim, we meet with an idea 
sumewh:it like that of the thirteenth line : — 

In Burton's Ana'omy of Melancholy, that whimsical 
farrago of '' all such readin? as was never read." we 
(ind a transhtion of this ode made before 1632.— 
" Englished by Mr. B. Holiday, in his Technog. act 


I often wish this languid lyre, 
This warbler of my soul's desire, 
Could raise the brea'h of song sublime, 
To men of f»me, inf rmer time. 
But when (lie soaring iheme I try, 
Along ihe chi>rds my numbers die, 
And whisper, with dissolving tone, 
*• Our sighs are given to love alone !" 
Indignant at the feeble lay, 
I lore the panting chords away, 
Atlun'd Ihrm In a nobler swell, 
And struck again the brea'hing shell: 
In all the glow of epic fire. 
To Hercules r uake the lyre. 
But still is fainting si^hs repeat, 
*• The tale of love alone is sweet I" 

According to the order in which the odes are usu- 
ally placed, this (GtAw Xiyuv ATpudns) forms the 
first of the series ; and is ihouelit to be peculi:irly de- 
signed as an introduction to the rest U however 
characterises the genius of ihe Teian but very inade- 
quately, as wine, the burden of his lays, is not even 
mentioned in it : 


nfiindere i 


The twenty-sixth Ode 2r fijv ^tytig la B-qStK, 
might, w ith just as much propriety, be placed at the 
head of bis song-;. 

We find the sentiments of the ode before us ex- 
pressed by Bion wjtii much simplicity in his fourth 
idyl. The ah )ve transhtion is, perhaps, too para- 
phnslica! ; but the ode has been so frequently trans- 
itte.1, that I could not otherwise avoid triteness and 

M all the glow of epic fire. 

To Herci/its I wake, the lyre!) Mai^ame Dacier 
generally translated AvpTj info a lute, which I believe 
is inaccurate. " D'expliquer la lyrede^^ anciens (vays 
M. Sorel) par un !u(h, c'est igiiorei la ditierence qu'il 
y a enlre ces deux instrumens de musique." — Biblio- 
thequc Frnricoise, 

But still Us fainting sighs reptaty 

" The tale of love almie is swetl .'"J The word «!»• 
Ttff)iu%>ti in Ihe original, miy imply that kind of musi- 
cal dialogue practised by the ancienis, in which the 
Ivre was made to i-espond tn the questions pniposed by 
the singer. This was a method which Sappho used. 



Then fire thee well, seJuctive dream, 
That niati'st me follow Glory's theme ; 
For ihou my lyre, and thou my heart, 
Shall never more in spirit pari ; 
And -xll that one has Tell so well 
The Jlher shall as sweetly lell i 


Tc all iha' breathe the air of heaven, 
Some buon of strength Was Nature ^iven. 
Ill fo'minsthe majestic bull, 
She fenced wi h wreuhed Imrns hi'^ skull ; 
A hoof of srreasth she lent the sleed. 
And winsM thi: timo'ous hare with speed. 
She ^ave the lion fin^ of termr, 
And, o'er the ocean's crystal mirror, 
"■ f^ht the u^numherM scaly ihroug 

J path along; 

•aiieof the^rove^ 
bling world of love. 


While furtlie > 

Slie plum'd the 

To man she gave, in that proud liour, 
The boon of m cllectual power. 
Then, what, oh uoma.., \vh.<t for thee, 
Was left in Nature's treasury ? 
She gave thee beauty — far 
Than all the pump aud puwer of war, 

as we are told by Hermogenes : '* 6rav tijv >vpav 
iouira LaTT(pui, Kut 6rav avTtj o^roxpivyroi." — 

rhpt UCOIV, TU)/i. 6tVT. 

Henry Stephen h.^s imitnted the idea of this ode in 
the following lines of one of his poems ; — 

Proviila dat cuuclia Natura aniruantibua ariaa, 

Et Btia foeraiiieum possidtl arniQ guuua, 
Unguluque ut defeiidil equum, alqua ul coinua taurum, 

Armala est forma rocmina pulclira una. 

And the same tliought occ 
by Corisca in Pastor Fido : 
Ofisi nui la bellczza 



) in those lines, spoken 

I propria. < 

La form dtl 1.- 

K I'ingpgiio de 1* huorao. 

The lion boasts his savage powers, 
And lordly mau his strt-nt'lli i>( mind; 

But beauty's charm is solely ours, boon, by Heav'u assiKu'd. 

"An elegant explication of the beauties of this ode 
(says Degen)may be found in Grimm an den Aumerk. 
ubeo einige Odrn dus An;tkr." 

To man she eave, hi that prmtd hour, 
The bocrn ofinttlUclual yr^icrr.] In my first at- 
temi)t 10 translate this ode, 1 had in erpreted <l-pov7ifia, 
with Baxter and Barnes, as implying Ciuraee and 
military viriue ; but I do not think that the gallantry 
of tlie 'idea suffers Ity ihe import which 1 have now 
given to it. ¥r, why need ue consider! his pfs-e^sion 
of wisdom as excUi-ive ? and in truth, as 'he de-ign of 
Anacreon is to estima'e the treasure of bea 
all the rest which Nature has dis ributed, 
haps even refining upon the delicacy of llie cnmfdi- 
ment, lo prefer the radiance of female charms to the 
C'ld illumination of wisdom and prudence; and to 
think that women's e>e". are 

the books, the academie*, 

From whence doth sprlug the true Pri-mtlhean fire. 

She ^ave thee beauty — mightier far 

Than all the "pump and -power of war.l Thus 
Achilles Tatius : — KaXAo^ olvTipov Tirpwo-Kft (it- 
lov%,Kai 6ia tojv o0^/aA/ia>v ttg ttjv xpvxv^ '^^' 
rap^tt- 0<pOaXp.o<; yup AAoj lotuTiKif} Tpavfiari. 
*•■ Beauty wounds more swiftly tfian the airow, and 

{luses through the eye to the very soul j for the eye is 
tw inlet to the wounds of love.'' 

Nor steel, nor fire itself hath power 
J, ike wo'iian in her coiiqueiing hour, 
Pt: tlioii hut fair, manliiod adore thee, 
Siiiili;, and a woild is weak before thee I 

Be thou but fair, mankind adore thee, 
SmiUy and a world is weak litfure ihic /l Longe- 
pierre's remark here is ingenious : — ** The Romans," 
says he, " were so convinced of the power of beauty, 
that they used a word implving sirength in the phnce 
of the epithet beautiful. Tlius f lautus, act 2, scene 2, 

Scd Bacchia etiam fortis tibi Ti.<a. 
* Fortis, id est fonuosa,' say Servius and Nonius, 


Once in each revolving year, 
(ieiitie bird I w^find thee here. 
When nature wears her summer-vest. 
Thou com'st to ^veave thy simple nest j 
But wht-n the chilling winter lowers, 
Aciin Ihou seek'st the genial bowers 
(»f iMuiJiphis, or the shores of Nile, 
Wiiere sunny hours for ever smile. 
Arid thus thy pmiou resis and roves, — I unlike the swarm of Loves, 
That biood within this hapless breast, 
And never, never change their nest 1 
Still every year, and ail Ihe year, 
Tliey !ix their fated dwelling here ; 
And some their infant pluniage try, 
And on a tei.der winglet fly j 
While in the shell, imprt-go'd with fires, 
Srill lurk a thousand more desires ; 
Some from their tiny prisons peeping. 
And some in formless enibryo sleeping. 
Thus pei'pled, like ihe vernal groves, 
My breast resounds with warbling Loves; 
One uichm inips the other's feather, 
Then Iwin-desires they wjng tosether. 
And fast as Ihty thus take their ilight, 
Still other urchi.s spring to light. ^ 
But is there then no kii.dly art. 
To cha^e these Cupids from my heart? 
Ah, no ! I feai, in sadness, 
They will for ever ueslle here ! 

We have here another ode addressed to the swallow, 
Albert! has imi'afed both in one poem, beginning 

Mas ! iiiilike the swarm of Loves^ 

That bruvd within this hapless breast, 

Jind 7ieutr, never changr. their nest .'] Thus Love 

is represented as a bird, in an epigram cited by Longfr* 

piei I e from the A nthologia ; — 

dvvu tv ovamv 7)Xo? tpwros", 
,ya noOoi^ ro y\vKV daicov (/<£p« 
I, ov ^cyyos (Koifitaiv, aAA' imo d>iA- 

' Kpa^tT} yToiffTo? tvtfTTi Tirn-og. 
pi) Kai TioT^ i(l:in7a<T9at ptv EotoTts 
HTroTTTi/vat d' onO' b<xov i.^x'^^'^* 

' that murmurs in my breast, 
kcB me Nhfd the «fcut ti-or; 
lor niyht my eoul hath rest, 
tit and day hit) voice 1 hear. 

within my heart I find," 

0/i/i-a Ct 
Ov6' i) vvl 

Sul'Ii as within my heart is teen. 
Oh, bird of Lnve'. with aong sn dreai 

Make not mv sniil the nest of pmi 
Bui let the wiiijf which brouirhl thei 

In pity wait ttiee hence aifain 1 




ay sin? of Troy's alarms, 
iletif Tlieb.'.n .uI^^; 

Thy har.i m 
Or tell the t 
With her wars my song i^hall bnrn, 
F'»r o*t;er wounds my harp shall mourn 
' T vv&« not Ihe cre'led warrior's dan, 
That drank Ihe curreiit of my hearl j 
Nnr naval arms, i.or mailed steed, 
Have made this vanquished bosom bleed j 
Nn 'I uaa fn.m iryes of liquid blue, 
A host of quiver'd Cupids riew ; 
And iio^v my heart all bleedniE; lies 
Beneath that army of the eyes 1 

''The German poet Uz has imitated this ode. 
Compare also Weisse Scherz. Lieder, lib. iii., der Sol- 
dM." Gail, Degen. 

No — '( was from eyes of Uauid hint 

A hosl nf qinver'd Cupidijt'.'w :] Loiieepierre has 
f|Uotfd p.irt of an fioni the seventh book of 
Ihe Authologia, which has a fancy something like Ibis. 

Ov fi£ \e\r}daSi 
ToloTU, 74r}vo<f)L\as ofi}ia<rL KpvnroixivoS' 

Arclier Love? thouph slilv crpcping. 

Well I knf>w where thou dobt lie; 
I fiaw Ihei* throiifrh ttie curtom pefping, 

That fuiiges Zenophelia't* eye. 

The poets abonnd with conceits on the archery of 
the eyes, but few have turned the Ihought ^o n.»tur:il!v 
as Anacreon. Ronsard gives to the eycs of his niio- 
Iress '' uu petit camp d'amoui-s." 


We read the flying courser's name 

Upon his side, in marks of flame ; 

And, by their lurban'd brows alone, 

Ths warriors of the Ea-^t nre known. 

Bnl in the lover's fflowing eyes, 

The inlet lo his bosom lies; 

Through them we see the small faint mark, 

Where Love has dropp'd his burning sp<\rk ! 

This ode forms a part of the preceding in the Vati- 
can MS., btit 1 h^ve conformed to the editions in 
translating them separately. 

''Compare with this (says De^en) the poem of 
Raniler W.ihrzeichea der Liebe, in Lyr. Blumenlese, 
lib. iv. p. 313." 

But in the lover^s gloimn^ eyes, 
The inlet to his hos«m lies ;] " We cannot see into 
the htart," says Madame Dacier. But the lover an- 
swers — 

II cor ne gli occhi et ne ta fronte ho scrilto. 
M. Li Fosse has eiven the following lines, as en- 
larging on the thovigiit of Anacreon : — 
Lorscjue je vois: un amant, 
A le traliir tout cnnsptre. 

In vain the lover triep to veil 
The flame that in his bosom lies; 

Hifi cheeks' confn^irn it-lln ihe tale. 
We rend it in his hinguid eyv.H: 

And while his words the heart betrav, 

Hi(» silence sptakKcv'n innre Uian tlity. 


As, by his Lemnian forge's flame, 

1 he hu-band ot the P^phian dame 

Moulded ihe glowing steel, to form 

Arrows for Cupid, thrillin; warmj 

And Venus 3-5 he plied his art. 

Shed hotiev round each new mnde dart, 

While Lo'ye, at hand, to finish all, 

Ti| pM every arrow's poirit with gall ; 

It chanc'd the Lord of Battles came 

To visit ;hat deep cave of flame. 

'T was f om tlie ranks of war he rush'd. 

His spear with many a life-drop blush'd ; 

He saw the fiety darts, and smii'd 

Contemptuous at the archer-child. 

'• What !^' sad tlie urchin, "do^t thou smile/ 

Here, tiold this IitHe dart awhile, 

And thnu wilt fiiid. though 5wilt of flight, 

My bolts are not so feathery li^ht." 

Mars took Ihe shaft — and, oh, thy look. 
Sweet Venus, when the shaft he took! — 
Siehins. he felt ihe urchins ait. 
And cried, in a^ony of heart. 
'* II IS nnt lishi — I sink wilh pain ! 
Take — take thy arrow hick ^gain." 
" No/' said the child. " it musi not be; 
That little dart was made for thee! " 

This ode is referred to bv Li Mothe le Vayer, who, 
I believe, was the author u( curious little work, 
called ■* Ilexameron Rustique." He makes U'^eof ihis, 
as uell as tlie thirty-fifth, in his ingenious but indeli- 
cate explaTialion of Homer's Cave of the Nymphs. — 
Journee Quiineme. 

While Love, at hand, to finish ally 

T'j-'p''d every arrow's point with gall;] Thus 
Claudian: — 

L'lbuniur E^emini fnriteR, hie dulcis, amarua 
AHer, et infusis corrutnpil niflla veneiiis, 
Unde Cupidineas armavit fama sagittas. 

In Cyprus' isle two rippling fountains fall, 
And one with honey flowG, aiid one with gaU; 
In these, if we may take tt:e tale from fame. 
The t»on of Venua dips his darts of Oame. 

See Alciatus, emblem 91, on Ihe close connection 
which sub^iss between sweets and bitterne'»s. '* Apes 
ide- puneunt (says PetrnniuO, quia ubi dulce, ibi el 

The allegorical description of Cupid's employment, 
in Horace, may vie with this before us iu fancy, though 
not in delicacy: — 

ferus et Cupido 

Semper Brdcntee ecuens sai^iitas 
Cote cruenta. 

Secundus has borrowed this, but his somewhat 
oftened the image by Ihe omission of the epithet 
' cruenU." 

Faltur an ardentes acuebat cote sagittaa 7 Kleg. I. 


Yes — lovinr is a painful thrill, 
And not to love more painful still ; 
But oh, it is ihe woist of jwin. 
To love, and not be lov'd again ! 

Ves— loving is a pahifvl thrill^ 

Jind not iu love mure painful still; fyc] The 
followiitg Anacreontrc, addressed l;y Menage to llanie! 
Iluet, enfcrces, with much grace, the " necessity of 



Aifection now his fled from enrtli, 
Nnr fir,! of ^ti.ius, i.olile 
Nor huavenly v.rhie. cin lie'iiile 
From licauly's clreek one favnunng smile. 
Gold is llrr; womnn's only Ihenre, 
Gold is the woman's only 
Oh ! never be Hut wretch foigiven — 
Forgive him no', iiidignairt heaven ! 
Whose grovelling eyes could first idore, 
Wh.ise heart cnuid pant for sordid ore. 
Since (hat devoted ihirst began, 
Mm has forgot to feel for man ; 
'I tie pulse of social life i> de:rd, 
Ar:d all its fonder feelings lied ! 
Vr.xr too has sull ed Njlures charms. 
For gold provokes Ihe world 10 arms ■ 
And oh ! the worst of all its aits, 
li tends a!>under loving hearts, 

ricoi Tov duv ^iXi)<rnt. 
IIpos liiToov Aawi;Xo 'Tjttov. 
Meya ^avfia tuiv aotdtov, 
Xnoir>ov ,9(iAo;, •Y£r-£, 

*l>£r/0-£ (TEHl'OS rtV7?p. 

'i'o TLKVOV TOV 2I(JU0pOVt(r<OV, 

Eo'/icT/S TtaTTjp anaaj)^. 
'Vl6' avtv ytvOiT' EpuoTOj; 

AKOVt] ILCV £0-71 l//UX')S-* 

XlTtitvyEiTaiv £t5 OXViinov 

BpaJfas" TiTijyjitvoidi. 
B£.\££C7C t%ayunH. 
ntipi >.a;irrai!os (pauvut 
PvnaotuTtpov^ KnOatga, 



AotKtus <!e Aoi-Topovi'Ti 
Ayiovs Epwray ^[uuv 
Kaicoi' £i'|o;i«i TO fiovvov, 
*lva [IT) dvvaiT' tKuvo^ 


,lher fin-nJ abM' 

1 to love. 
Loving la a simple lore, 
Gravrr men linvc leDru'd before; 
HBy, Ille bonut of former ages, 
^VJ^e8t of the wisest sapes, 
Sophroniccus' prudent eon. 
■Was by love's illusion won. 
Oh 1 how heavy life would move, 
If we knew nol ho " ' 

Love's ( 
Thus 'I 

WlMII 1 
I.nv,. ra 

Wh,n I 


pd, Ihu 


eps Ihe heart. 
Love ran wake it wilh his d rt ; 
When the mind Is doll and dnrk, 
Love can lighl it with his spark '. 
Come, oh 1 come tllen, lei us hasts 
All the bliss of love to taste; 
Let us love both night and day. 
Let us love our lives away! 
And when hearts, from loving free, 
(If indeed such hearts there be,) 
Frown ujion oor gentle flame. 
And Ihe sweet delusion blame; 
This shall be my only curse, 
(Could I, could I wish tliern worse?) 
Mav they ne'er the rapture prove, 
Of the smile from lips we love ! 


T was In a mocking dream of night — 
I fancied I had wings as light 
As a young bird's, and (lew as fleet ; 
Wliiie Love, around whose be.iuteous fett, 
1 knew not why, hun; chains of lead, 
Pursued me, as I tremhling (led ; 
And, strange to say, as swifl as thought, 
Spite of my pinions, 1 was caught ! 
What does the wanton Fancy mean 
By sttch a s'rauge, illusive scene ? 
I fear she whispers to my breas', 
That you, sweet maid, have stol'n i's rest ; 
That though my fancy, for a while, 
Haih hung on liiany a woman's smile, 
1 soon dissnlv'd each passing vow. 
And ne'er was caught by love till now 1 

Barnes imagines from this allegory, that our port 
nianied very'late in lile. But I see noihme in the 
t)de which alludes 'o ma limony, except it Le Ihe lead 
upon the f,et of ; and I agree in the opinion of 
Madame Dacier, in her life of the poet, thai he wai 
always loo fond of pleasure to marry. 


Arm'd wilh hyacinlhine rod, 

(Arms enough for such a god,) 

Cupid bade trie wing my pace. 

And try wilh him Ihe rapid race. 

O'er many a torrent, wild and deep, 

Bv taiiiled brake and pendent steeji, 

Wilh u eaiy foot I panting Hew, 

Till my blow dropp'd with chilly dew. 

And now my soul, exhausted, dying. 

To my lip was faintly (lying j 
The de-ign of this liitle fiction is to intimate, that 
much greater pain attends in-ensibilitv than can ever 
result fiom the tenderest inipie sionso'f love, Longe- 
pierre has quoted an ancient epigram v\hich bear« 
some similitude to this Ode ; — 

n lentil 


Carpebain, et somno lumins vieta dabarn ; 
Cum me saevus Amor prensum, sursumque capillia 

Excitiit, et laeerum pervigilare jubet. 
Tu famulus nieus, iniiuil, ames cum mille puellaa. 

Solus lo, solus, dole jaeeie putes? 
Exilio et pedihus nudis, liinicaque soluta, 

Omne iter Impedlo, nullum iter expedio, 
Nunepropero nunc irepiget ; rursumque rcdlre 

Poeiiitet; et pudor est stare via media. 
Ecee tacciit voces liominnm, strepilusque ferarum. 

El volurrum eantus turliaque fida canum. 
Solus ego ex runctis paveo aoninumque tonimque. 

El sequor imperium, saeve Cupido, tuum. 

Upon my couch I lay, at night profound. 

iVhen Cupid eame and siiuleh 
\nd lorc'd me many a weary 
■ Whiill (said the god) shall you, 

ny to iread. 

• This line is borrowed from an epigram by Al- 
pTieus of Miivleiie which Menace, I Ihink, says some- 
where he was himself Ihe first to produce to the 
irorld : — 

^vxT,s ES-Tiv Epojs afovs;. 

Who love BO many nymphs, 

1 rise and follow ; all the night I stray, 

Unsheller'd, trembling, doubtful of my way: 

Tracing with naked fool the painful trnek. 

Loth to proieed, yel feorful lo go liack. 

Yes, at that hour, when Nature seems interr 

Nor warbling birds, nor lowing Socks are hea 

I, I alone, a fugitive from rest, 

Passion my guide, and madness in my breast 

Till my brow drcpp'd with chil'y dew.) I have 
followed "these who read rupiv li'pios for irt.pll' 
i'(*oo? ; the former is partly anthorised by Ihe MS, 
wllich reads netQcv Idputs, 

And now my sojil, exhausted^ dyings 

To my lip was faintly Jlying ; S^t^l In the 



And now I thought the spark haJ fled, 
When Cupid hover'd u'er in\ head, 
And fanning li^h' liis breezy pinion, 
Rescued my soul from deatli's dominion j 
Then said, in accents h;*l(-reiirovinp, 
** Why hast ttiou been a foe to loving ?" 

origiDal, he says, his heart flew to his nose ; but our 
inaDner more na urallv t'ansfcis it lo Ihe lips. Such 
is the tflect that Plato tells us he felt from a kiss, in a 
distich quoted by Aulus Gellius ; — 
I^Tivi^vxyv, ;\ya9uiva<l>t\(oV: cm ;\;£tX£(7tv icrxov- 
HA^E yap i) TXrjfiujv ih^ dtaSrjaofLtVTj. 

Whtfiie'er thy nectar'd kiss I sip, 

Aud drink thy bieaih, iu trauce diTiDe* 
My 80ul Iheti tluliem in my lip, 
Ready tu Ity and mix with thine. 
Au!us Gellius subjoins a paraphrase of this epigrnm, 
in which we find a number of ihose mi^Tiardises of 
expression, which luark Ihe etlemination of the Latin 

^7jd fanning lie;ht his breezy pinion^ 
Rescued my suuijrom death's dominion ;] ** The 
facility with which Cupid recovers him, signifies that 
the sweets of love make us easily forget any solici- 
tudes which he may occasion." — La Fosse. 


Strew me a ii2.ejAut bed of leaves, 
Where lotus \\ith Ihe myrtle weaves j 
And while in luxury's dream I sink, 
Let me the b.ilm of Bacchus drink ! 
In this sweet hnur of revelry 
Youni; Love shall my attendant be 
Dresi for the task, wilh tunic round 
His snowy neck aud sliOuMers bound, 
Himself shall ho\er by my side, 
And minister the racy tide ! 

Oh. swift as wheels that kindling roll, 
Our life is hurrying tn ihe goal : 
A scanty dust, to feed the v^ ind, 
Is all the trace 't will leave behind. 
Then wherefore waste the roses bloom 
Upon the cold, insensate tomb ? 
Can flowery breeze, or odour's breath, 
Affect the still, cold sense of death? 
Oh, no : I ask no balm to steep 
With iragtant tears my bed of sleep : 
But now, while every puUe is glowlnp. 
Now let me breathe the balsam flowing; 
Now let the rose, wiih blush of fire, 
Upon my brow in sweets expire ; 
And bring the nymph whose eye halh power 
To brighten even death's cold hour. 
Yes, Cupid ! ere my shade retire, 
Tn join Ihe blest elysian choir, 
With wine, and love, arid social cheer, 
I 'II make my own elysium here! 

We here have the poet, in his true attributes, re- 
clining upon myrtles, with Cupid for his cup-bearer. 
Sonie interpreters have ruined "he picture by making 
Eoios the name of his slave. None but Love should 
liil the goblet of Anacreon. Sappho, in one of her 
fragnienis, has assigned this office lo Venus. EXBt, 
Kvffpt, ;\;pi'0-cmto-iv tv KvXtKto-criv &€poiq crv/i/ie/i- 
lyiievov ^aAtaiCTi vtKrap oivoxovca tovtoici Totj 
iTaiQoti EfioL^ y£ /cat croij. 

Which may be thus paraphrased : — 

Hither. Venua. quepD of ki«n<>8, 

This Hhall be the night of hlisaes ; 

This the night, to friendehip dear, 

Thou Bhnlt be our Hebe here. 

Fill the golden brimmer high. 

Let it sparkle hke thine eye; 

Bid the rosy current goeh. 
Lei it maiKle tike thy blush, 
GoddesM. heat ihou e'er abovo 
Seen a feast sn rich in love I 
N(U a enul that in not mine! 
liot a aoul that is not thine! 

*' Compare with ihis Ode (says the Geraan coai- 
mentator) the beautiful poem in Ramler's Lyr. Bl'«i- 
meultrse, lib. iv. p. 296., * Amor als BieQer.' '> 

ODE xxxnr. 

'T was noon of night, when round the pole 
The su 1 len Bear is seen to rol 1 ; 
And mortals, wearied with the dty, 
Are slunibeiing all their cares away: 
An infant, at that dreary hour, 
Ctme weeping to my silent bower, 
And wak'd me with a piteous prayer, 
To bhield him fiom Ihe midnii;ht air. 
" And who art tlmii," I waking cry, 
*' That bid'st my blissful visions fly ?" 
" Ah, gentle sire ! " the infant said, 
" In pity take me to thy shed ; 
Nor fear deceit : a lonely child 
I wander o'er the gloomy wild. 
Chill drops the rain, and not a ray 
Illumes the drear and misty way 1 " 

1 heard the baby's tale of vpre ; 
I heard the bitter night-winds blow; 
And Sighing for his piteous fa'e, 
I trimm'd riiy lamp and op'd the gate. 
*T was Love ! the little wandering sprite, 
His pinion sparkled through ihe night. 
I knew him by his bow and dart ; 
I knew him by my fluttering heart, 
Fofidlv I t^ke him in. and nre 
The dying embers' cheering blaze ; 
Press frnm his dank and clinging hail 


of Ihe fn 

And in my hai d ar.d b^som hold 
His little hngers thrilling cold. 

And now the embers' genial ray 
Had \\arm'd his anxious fears a«ay , 
*' 1 pray thee," siid Ihe wanion child, 
(My bosom trembled as he smil'd,) 
'■ 1 pray thee lei me try my how, 
For through the lain 1 've wander'd so, 
That much I fear, ihe midnight shower 
Has injur d its elas ic power." 
The fatal bow the urchin drew : 
Swift from the string the arrow flew ; 
As swifily flew as glancing flame, 
And to my inmost spirit caiiie ! 
"Fare thee well," I heard him say, 
As laughing wild he wing'd away j 
*' Fare thee well, for now i know 
The rain has not relax'd my bow; 
It still c-in ^enda thrilling dart. 
As thou shall own wilh all thy heart ! '* 

M. Bernard, the au'hor of L'Art d'aimer, has writ- 
ten a ballet called ' Les Surprises de i'Amour," in 
which the subject of the third entree is Anacreon. and 
the s'ory of this Ode sugges s one of the scenes. — 
(Euvresde Bernard, Anac. scene 4lh. 

The German annotator refers us here to an imita- 
tion by V?., lib. iii., *' Amor und sein Bruder ; " at d a 
poem of Rieist, *'die Heilung." La Fontaine has 
translated, or rather imitated, this Ode. 

" Arid ivho art thottj" I waking cry^ 

'*That bid'st my blissful visitms fly ? "] Ana- 
creon appears to have been a voluptuarj- even in 
dreaming, by the lively regret which he exj resses at 
being disturbed (roni his visionary eujoymen s. See 
the Odes X and xxxvii. 

^Twas Love ! the little waiideriiig sprite.^ ^-c] Sue 
the beautiful description of Cupid, by Moschus, tu hi 
first idyl. 




Oh, thou, nf all creation blest, 
Sweet msec, 'hai dcli^htVt to rest 
Upon the wild woods leafy tops, 
To drink the dew that niomiiig drops, 
And chifp thy song with such a glee, 
That hapiiict kings may envy Ihee. 
Whatever decks the velvet field, 
Whate'er ihe circling seasons yield, 
Whatever buds, whatever blows, 
For Ihee it buds, for thee it grows. 
Nor yet art '.hou ihe peasant's fear, 
To hiin thy friendly noies are dearj 
For thou art mild as matin dew ; 
And slill, when summer's flowery hue 
Begins ID paint the bloomy plain. 
We hear thy sweet prophetic strain ; 
'I hy siveet propheijc str:»in we hear, 
And bless the iioleji and thee revere ! 
The Muses love thv shnlly tone; 
Apollo calls thee all his own ; 
'T was he who gave thai voice to thee, 
'Tis he who tunes thy minstrelsy. 

Unworn by age's dim decline, 
The f.ideless blooms nf youth are thine. 
Melodious insect, child of earth, 
Id wisdom mirthful^ wUe in mirth; 

In a Latin Ode addressed to the grasshopper, RnpiD 
has preserved some of the thoughts of our author: — 

O quae virenti graminis in torn, 
Cioada, dlande sidis, el herbidoa 
8altus oberraa, udcsus 

Oh, thou, ttiat nn (he grassy bed 
Which Nature's vernjil hniid has Bprcad, 
RcL-linfst soft, auLl tun'et Ihy »:)ni;, 
The dewy herba and Itavt^s among I 



Drunk with the balmy morniiig-ohoMers, 
Or, &.C. 

See what Licctus says about grasshoppers, cap. 93. 
and 185. ^ 

And chirp thy song with stuck a glee, ^c.l "Some 
authnis have affirmed (says Madame Dacier), that it 
Is only male grasshoppers which sin^, and that the 
femiles nre silent ; and on this circumstance is found- 
ed a bnn-mot of Xenaichus, the comic poet, who says 

££T' tL<XlV ol T£TTty£5 OVK £V(Jat/tO Vt J, (bv TrttS 

yvvailiv 011(5' in ovv tpuivr}^ tvt ; *are not the 
grasshoppers happy in having dumb wives?' " This 
note isoriginallv Henry Stephen's ; but I chose rather 
to make a lady my authoriiy for it. 

The Muses lave thy shrilly tone, fyc] Phile, de 
Animil calls this insect Movaais ^iXog, 
the darling of the Muses; and Movo-cuv opviv, the 
bird of the Muses; nnd we find Plalo compared for 
his eloquence to Ihe grasshopper, in the following 
punning lines of Tinion, preserved by Diogenes iaer- 

Tov navToiV 6* yyeiTO itXarvtrraTos aXV ayo- 

•H(Jv£jrj?5 TCTrt^tvio-oypat^oj, ol 9' 'Exad-qfiov 
^ivdpu e^t^ofLtvot on a Xitpiotaaav Itia-i. 

This last line is borrowed from Homer's Iliad, y, 
where there occurs Ihe very same simile. 

Melodious insect, child of earth.'] Longeprerre has 
ouotfd the two first lines of .in epigram of Antipaler, 
nom Ihe first book nf the Anthoiogia, where he pre- 
fcn the grasshopper to the swan : 

Exempt from every \veak decay. 
That withers vulgar fr.imes away; 
With not a dn'p ol blood to stain 
The current of thy puier vein ; 
So ble t an age is pass'd by thee, 
Thou seem'st — a little deity ! 

pKci TtTTtyaj yLtOvcFat Spotro^, a>Xa iriovTij 
AiiCav KVKvutv £i<7t yiyujvoTLpoi. 

Id (lew, that drops Trom morning'H win^s^ 

Tlie gay Ciimla sipfung tlnats ; 
And. drunk with dew, hia malin sjQga 

Sweeter Ibaa any cygnet's uoteit. 


Cupid once upon a bed 

Of roses laid his weary head ; 

Luckless uichin, not to see 

Within the leaves a slumbering bee ! 

Theocritus has imitated this beautiful ode in his 
nineteenth idyl ; but is very inferior, I think, to his 
original, in delicacy of point and naivete of expres- 
sion Spenser, in one of his smaller compositions, has 
sported more difl'usely on the ^anie subject. The 
poem to which 1 allude, begins thus : — 

Upon a day, as Love lay aweelly slumbering 

All in his molher's Up; 
A gentle ber, with his loud trumpet murmuring, 

About him Hew by hap, <Scc. ^c. 

In Almeloveen's collection of epigrams, there is one 
by Luxorius, conchpondent somewhat with the turn 
of Anacreon, where Love complains to his molher of 
being wounded by a rose. 

The ode before us is tlie very flower of simplicity. 
The infantine complaiain^s of the little god, and the 
natural and impressive reflec'ions uhich they draw 
from Venus, are beauiies of inimi-able grace. I may 
be pardoned, jierhap-i, fur introducing here another of 
Menage's Anacreontic'*, not fur its similitude to the 
subject of this ode, but for some faint tiaces of the 
same natunl simplicity, which it appears to me to have 
preset ved ; — 

Eouij TTOT^ cv ;t;op£(at5 
T^v napdtvu}v aujrov, 
'Vtjv [loL 0tA7/v KopivvaVf 
'Sis tidtv, (bj TTpo? avTtjv 
lipoaidpafK.- rpaxv^t^ 
^idvfias T£ %£ipa5 anruyv 

^l\tL fJLE, flrjTEp, tiTTl. 

KaXoviiivT) Kopivva, 
MlJTTJp, Epvdpia^Ut 
'S2s 7Tap9ivo^ iLLv ov<ra. 
K' avTos (Tc 6v<Tx^puivttiVf 
"52? Oftfiaa-i nXavqeeis, 
Kpu.s ipvOpm^u. 
Eyuj, (?£ ol nagao-Tas, 
Mj; 6vcrx£pai,vc, ^rj/iu 
livwpiv Tt Kac Kooivvav 

Km ol p\i 

'OVlti 0%V. 

As dancing o'er t 

he enamell'd plain. 

The flow'ret of t 

My souI'h Corinn 

liphtly play'd, 

Young Cupid eaw 

the grarerul maid 

He saw, and in a 

And round her n 

ok liis arm» he th 

Saying, with ami 

es of infant jny. 

*'Oh! ki89me. m 

'.her, ki8» thy boy 

The modest vlrai 

blufh'd with shan 

And angry (^upid 

scarce believing 




The bee awak'd— with an^er wild 
The bt« auak'd, and siung the child, 
Louil and pilenus aiehis cries ; 
'Jo Venus quick he runs, he flies ; 
'•Oh nioiher! — I am wi.unded through — 
I die with pain — iu soo h I do ! 
Stui.g iiy s line lit'le an^iy ihing, 
Some s^ri-ent on a tiny wiiiiC — 
A ^ee it was— r.r once, 1 know 
1 hj<rd a rustic caU il s;«." 
Thus he >pnke, and she ihe while 
Heard him w iih a soothu g soiile ; 
Then sa d, '• My infant, it so much 
Thou fpel the li tie wild-bee's touch, 
How must the heart, ah, Cupid ! be, 
The hipless he.irl that's slung by thee I" 


If hoarded gold pnssessM the power 

To lengthen life's too fleeting hour. 

And purchase from the hand nf death 

A little span, a moment's breaih, 

How I would love the precious ore I 

And eveiy Inur should swell my store; 

That when Death came, with shadowy pinion, 

To waft me to his bleak dominion, 

I might, by bribes, my doom delay, 

And bid him call some distant day. 

But, since, not all earth's gnlden &tore 

Can buy Cor us one brigh' hour more, 

Why should we vainly mourn our fate, 

Or sigh at life's unceriain d^\e ? 

Nor wealth nor grandeur can illume 

The silent midnight of the tumb. 

No — give to others hoarded treasures — 

Mine be the brilliant round of pleasures; 

The g .blet rich, the board of friends 

Whose social souls the goblet blends ; 

And mine, while yel I 've life to live, 

Those joys that love alone can give. 

Fontenelle has translated this ode, in his dialogue 
between Anacreon and Aristotle in the shades, where, 
weighing the merits of both these personages, he 
bestows the prize ' f wisdom upon the poet, 

" The German imi'ators r f this ode are, Lessing, in 
his poem *Ge8(ern Binder,* &c. ; Gleim, in the ode 
*An den Tod ;' and Schmidt, in der I'oet. Blumenl., 
Golliug. 1783, p. l.^' — Degen. 

That when Death camCt with shadow]/ pmton. 
To waft me to his bleak dominion, ^-c] The 
onimeiitator^, who are so fmd of disputing "de lana 
caprini," have been very busy on the auhoiiiy of the 
phrase fi»* av Bavuv tntMT). The reading of iv' 
BavaTos £ki\6i), which de Medetibach proposes 
his Amcenttates iJienrije, was nlieady hinted by 
Le Fevre, » ho seldom suggests any thing worth notice. 

The goblet rich, the board offiHends, 
Whos& social smtjs the s^obld blcudx ;"] This com- 
muniin of fiiendship, which swee'envd the bowl of 
Anacreon, has nnt t)een firgotten by the author of the 
followini; fch'dinm. where the blesMngs of life are 
in'^merated wiiJi proverbial simplicity. 'Xyiaivuv 
«v api^Tov avdpi Svyruj. AtfTEpov Ct, KaXov 
ftvi^v ytveo-Oai TorpiTOV ^e. ttXovthv a6o\itig. 
iat TO TfTaprov awtfiav fiera rmv ^lAoiv, 

or mortal blessings here the ftrst is health. 


'T was night, and many a circling bowl 
Had deeply warm'd my thirsty soul j 
As lull'd in slumber I was laid. 
Bright visions o'er my fancy play'd. 
With maidens, blooming as the dawo, 
I seem'd tn skim llie opening lawn ; 
Light, OD tiploe bath'd in dew, 
We flew, and sported as we flew ! 

Some ruddy stiipliiigs, who lookM on — 
With cheeks, that like the wine-god's shone. 
Saw me chasing, free and wild. 
These Iilooming maids, and slyly smiPd j 
Smil'd indeed with wanton plee, 
Though none could doubt they envied me. 
And still I flew — and now had caught 
The panting nymphs, and fondly thought 
To gather from each rosy lip 
A kiss that Jove himself might sip — 
When sudden all my dream of joys, 
Blushing nymphs and laughing boys, 
All were ^one ! - " Alas l"" I said, 
Sii;hingfor th' tMusion fled, 
"■ Again, sweet sleep, that scene restore, 
Oh 1 let me dream it o'er and o'er ! " 

"Compare with this ode the beautiful poem *der 
Traum' of Uz." — Dtgcii. 

Le Fevre, in a note upon this ode, enters into an 
elaborate and learned justiHcation of drunkenness; 
and this is probably the cau-e of the severe reprehen- 
sion which he appears to have suft'ered for his Ana- 
creon. " Fuit ohm faleor (says he in a note upon 
Longinus), cum Sapphonem amabam. Sed ex quo 
ilia me perditissima focmina pene miserum perdidit 
cum sceleratissimosuocongerrone, (Anacreontem dico, 
si nescis, Lector,) noli sperare, &c. &c.'' He ad- 
luces on this ode the authority of Plalo, who allowed 
briety, at the Dionysian festivals, to men arrived at 
their fortieth year. He likewise quoles the following 
from Alexis, which he says no one, who is not 
totally ignorant of the world, can hesitate to confess 
the truth of; — 

•• No lover of drinking ^ 

IV avOgfjiiro^ KaKO£, 

J^Hien sudden all my dream of jays ^ 
Blushing nymphs and laughing boys, 
Jill were gm'ie !] *• Nonnus siys of Bacchus, almost 
in the same words that Anacreon uses, — 

Eypo^cvoj St 
XlapBevov ovk tKixv*^^^ "*** tjdiXev av9is tavav.'* 

Again to clusp tbe shadowy maid. 


" Again, sweet sleep, that scene restore^ 
Oh! let me dream it o'er a7id o'er I ^^] Doctor 
Johnson, in hia preface to Shakspeare, animadverting 
upon the commentators of that poet, who pretended, 
in every little coincidence of thought, to detect an 
imitation of some ancient poet, alludes Jn the follow- 
ing words to the line of Anacreon before u^ : — "I 
have been told that when Caliban, after a pleasing 
dream, says, ' 1 cried to sleep again,' the author imi- 
tates Anacreon. who had, like any other man, tbe 
same wish on the sime occasion.'* 



ODE xxxvni. 

Let us drain the nectar'd bowl, 
Let us raise ihe snng < f soul 
To him, the p>>d ^\ ho loves so well 
The nectar'd bowl, thL.- choial swell ; 
The god who t.iugln the sons of earth 
To Ihrid the tangled dance of niirlh ; 
Him, who was nursd with infant Love, 
And crndled in the Paphiau grove j 
Him, that the snnwy (^ueen of Charma 
ijo oft has fondled in her arms. 
Oh, M is from him (he transport flows, 
Which sweet int -xicalion knows; 
VVi'h him, Ihe brow forgets its gloom, 
And brilliant graces learn to bloom. 

Kehold ! — my boys a goblet bear, 
Wh"se sparkling foam lights up the air. 
Where are now the tear, the sigh? 
To Ihe winds they fly. they fly ! 
Grasp the bowl ; in nectar sinking, 
Man of sorrow, drown thy thinking ! 
Say, can the tears we lend to thought 
In life's account .ivail us aught? 
Can we discein, with all our lore. 
The pa'h we've yet to journey o'er? 
Alas, alas, in ways so dark, 
'T is only wme can strike a spark. 
Then let me quati" the foamy tide, 
And thr ugh the d.uice meandering glide; 
Let me imbibe the spicy breath 
Of odours chaPd to fr igrant death ; 
Or from the lips of love mbale 
A more ambrosial, richer gale! 
To hearis that court the phantom Care, 
Let him retire and shroud him there ; 
While we exhaust the nectar'd bowl, 
And swell the choral song of soul 
To him, Ihe god who loves so well 
The nectar'd bowl, the choial swell ! 

*' Compare with this beautiful Ode to Bacchus the 
verses of Hagedorn, lib. v., 'das Gesellschaftliche j * 
and of Burger, p. 51, &c. &.C.'* — Degen, 

Him, that the snmoy Queen of Charms, 
So oft has fondled in her amis.] RoboTlellus, 
upon the epitli.ilamium of Catullus, mentions an in- 
genious derivation of Cytheiaea, the name of Venus, 
naga to KtvGtiv tovs tpiara^, which seems to hint 
that " Love's fairy favours are lost, when not con- 

Maa^ alaSy m ways sj daTkf 

^Tis only wine can strike a spark!] The brevity 
of life allows arguments for the voluptuary as well as 
the moralist. Among many parallel passages which 
Longepierre has adduced, I shall content myself with 
this epigram from the Anthologia. 

Aovaafitvott llpodiKrjy TrvKacw/tcffa, Kat rev 

'EXicwfLEV, KvMKa? fiti^ova? apafitvot. 
•Poto5 6 xa'poi'Ttyv EO-Ti ftios. cira to XotTra 

rijpas KfuXvcrtiy Kai to tz\os ^avaTo$. 

Of which the following is a paraphrase : — 

L»*t*s fly, my love, from nonnHay'n beam* 
To pluiiee U8 in ynii onoling slrcam ; 
Tticn, haelening lo the festal bowtr. 
We '11 pass m mirth liie evening hour; 
'T is thus nur ace of bli*.» shall fly. 
A?sw«'el, (hough pqsbhir a* ihat sigh, 
Which eeems tn wliisper oVr your lip, 
" Come, while you may, of raplur*; sip." 
For Bge will steal the graceful form. 
Will ohill the pulBe, while throbhiiig warm; 
ADt death — alas', that h«-artB, which thiill 
Ltk 1 yours aod mine, should e'er be %\i]\ ! 


How I love the festive boy. 
Tripping through the d^nce of joy 1 
How 1 love the mellow sRge, 
Smiling through Ihe veil of age I 
And whene'er this man of years 
In the dance nf joy appears, 
Sno\»s may o'er his head be flung, 
But his heart — his heart is young. 

Snows may o^er his head be ftung^ 

Bui his htart — his heart is ymnif:.'] Saint Pavin 
mnkes the sime dislinctiou in a sonnet to a young 

Je bqIr hieo que lea deslineet 
Out mal compasse nos nnnees 
Ne regardez que mon amour; 

II eat jeuLe el nVst cjue du jour. 

Belle Ins, que je voua al vu. 
Fair and young thou bloomeet now. 

And I full many a year bnve told; 
But read the heart mid iiol the brow, 

Thou tahall mit find my love is old. 
My love'a a child; and thou canst saj 

How much hia little age may be. 
For he was born the very day 

When tirsl I aet my eyes oa thee I 


I know that Heaven hath sent me here, 
To lun this moital life's career; 
The scenes which I h:>ve journeyed o'er, 
Return no moie— alas! no mo*e; 
And all Ihe path I »ve >et logo, 
I neither know nor ask to know. 
Away, then, wizard Care, nor think 
Thy "fetters round this soul to link ; 
Nf ver can heart that feels with me 
De:>cend to be a slave to Ihee I 
And ohl before the vilal hrill, 
Which trembles at mv heart, ,s still, 
1 'II gather Joy's luxuiianl fiov^ers, 
And gild with bli>s my fading hours; 
Bacchus shall bid my winter bloom, 
And Venus d-tnce me to the tomb ! 

Never ca7i heart that ftels with me 

Descend to he a slave to thee !] Lonijepierre quotes 
here an epigtam fiom the Anthologia, on account of 
the similarity of a particular phrase. Though by no 
means Anacreontic, it is marked by an interesting sim- 
plicity which lias induced me to paraphrase it, and 
may atone for its intrusion. 

EXkis Kai cv 7VXV /*«ya ;t'*'P'"' ^"^ Xijitv* 

Ovdtv iiiot x' *;itv, nat^nt rov^ fitr^ tfiu 

At length to Fortune, and lo you, 
Delu?>ive Hope I a last adieu. 
The charm that once beguil'd is o*er. 
And I have reach'd my destin'd short, 
Awny, away, your flattering aria 
May now betray some simpler hearts. 
And you will xmile at their believinir. 
And they Bball weep at your deceiving [ 

Bacchus shall hid my winte: bloom, 

^nd Venus dance »iic to the tomb!] The ?ame 
coninient-ttor luis qtioied an epilapn, writte; upon our 
poet by Julian, in which he makes him promulgate 
the precepts of good fellowship even from the tomb, 

UoXXaKt (isv T0i3' aaaa, KOt £K rvfiCov dt ^oi}CiMj 
nti-cTC, rrptv lavryv ap-t^iCaXricQi xovtv. 

This lesson oft in life I siinR, 

And ffom my grave 1 Btill shall cry. 

** Drink, mortal, drink, while time is yoonc, 
Ere death has made thee cold as I." 




When Spring adorns Ihe dewy scene, 

How sweet lo walk Ihe velvet green, 

And hear the west wind's aentie sighs, 

As n'er the gentle mead it flies ! 

How sweet to mark the pouting vine, 

Ready to burst in tears o| wii.e ; 

And with snnie maid, who breathes but love, 

To walk, at noun ide, thrnu^^h the grove, 

Or sit in some cool, green recess — 

Oh, is not this true happiness? 

And vjitfi some maid, who breathes hut tovCy 
To walk, at nocnttidt, through t/ic grove,] Thus 
Horace : — 

Quid habea illius, ilHua 
Quae Mpiraljat amores. 
Quae me surpuerat mihi. Lib. Iv. Carm.l3. 

And does there tlieo remain but this. 
And haul thou loijt eacti rusy ray 

or tier who brtath'd the soul of bliss, 
Aud Btuie me from myself awuy J 


Yes, be the glorious revel mine. 
Where humour sparkles from the wine. 
Around nie, let the youthful choir 
Respond lo my enlivening lyre ; 
And while the red cup foams along. 
Mingle in soul as well as song. 
Then, while I sit, with fiow'rets crown'd, 
To regulate ihe goblet's round, 
Let but the nymph, our banquet's pride, 
Be seated smiling Ijy my side. 
And earth has not a gift or power 
That I would envy, in that hour. 
Envy ! — oh never let its blight 
Touch Ihe gay he.irls met here tn-night. 
Far hen(f« be slandei's sidelong wounds. 
Nor hirsh dispute, nor discord's s-iuuds 
Di!-turb a scene, uhere all should be 
Attuned to peace and harmony. 

Come, let us hear the harp's gay note 
Upon the breeze inspiring float. 
While round us, kindling into love. 
Young maidens through the light dance move. 
Thus blest with inTih, and love, and peace, 
Sure such a liie should never cease! 

The character of Anacreon is here very strikingly 
depicted. His love of soci^W, harmonised pleasures, is 
expressed with a warmth, amiable and endearing. 
Among the epigrams imputed to Anacreon is the fol- 
lowing; it is the only one worth translation, and it 
breathes the same sentiments with this ode: — 

i)v (^Xo5, d£ K()7)T7}(n Ttaga nXzut otvoTrora^cuv, 
NuKsa Kat noXtpLov 6aKpvo£VTa Xsyu. 

AAA' 6(TTi£ Movo-eojv t£, Kat ay\aa dojp, A<f)go- 

ZviifiuTyuiV, tgaTT}^ fivrja-KETat tv<PQ0<TVV7]$. 

When to the lip the brimming cup ia prest, 
And hearts are all adoal upon its stream. 

Then baiiihh Trom my board th* unpoli-hM guest. 
Who makes the feuls of war hin barbarous theme. 

And bli^nds refine 

With many a cup and many a smile 

The festal moments we beguile. 

And while the harp impa^sionM, flingt 

Tuneful rapture from its strings, 

S 'iiie airy tiymph, with grncetul bound, 

Keeps measure to ihe music's sound ; 

Waving, in hersnowy hand, 

The leaiy Bacchanalian wand, 

Which, as the tripping wanton flies, 

Trembles all over lo her sighs. 

A youth the while, with lobsen'd hair, 

Floa'ingon the listless air, 

Sings, to the wild harp's lender tone, 

A tale of woes, alas, his own ; 

And oh, the sadness in his sigh. 

As o'er his lip the accents die ! 

Never sure on earth has been 

Half so bright, so blest a scene. 

It seems as Love himself had come 

To make this spot his chosen home ; — 

And Venus, too, with all her wJes, 

And B:icchu3, shedding rosy smiles, 

Ail, all are here, to hail with me 

The Genius of Festivity ! 

And while the harp, impassion*dtJiing9 
Tuneful rapture from Us strings^ SfC] Respecting 
the harbittin a host of authorities maybe collected, 
which, afier all, leave us ignorant of the nature of Ihe 
instrument. There is scarcely any point upon which 
we are so totally uninformed as the music of the an- 
cients. The authors* extant upon Ihe subject are, I 
imagine, liille understood ; and certainly if one of 
their moods was a progression by quarter-lones, which 
we are told was Ihe nature of the enharninnic scale, 
simplicity was by no means the ch^iracteristic of their 
melody ; for this is a nicely of progression, of which 
modern music is not susceptible. 

The invention of the barbiton is, by Athenaeus, at- 
tributed to Anacreon. See his fourth book, where it 
is called to £i)p7jfia to AvuKptovros. Neanlhes of 
Cyzicus, as quo'ed by Gyraldus, asserts Ihe same. 
Vide Chibot, in Horat. on the words '* Lesboum bar- 
biton," in the first ode. 

And oh, the sadness in his sigh^ 
As o'ct- his lips the accents die !] Ij^ngeplerre has 
quoted here an epigram from the Aolhologia ; — 

KovpTj Ttj /t'£0iX7^(r£ Tco6t<rJT£ga ;^f£i:>£0-iv {fypotj. 
KtKTaptrjv TO ^tAiy;i.a. to yap a to fia viKrapos 

Nvv fLt9v(a TO (JM-Xtjiiay koXvv tov epmra tti- 


Of wliich the following paraphrase may give some 
idea : — 

The kis9 that she left on my lip. 
Like a dew-drnp ehnll hngertng He; 

•Twas neclar nhe gave me to sip, 
'T wan nectar 1 drank in her sigh. 

From the moment she printed that kfsB, 

It Seems as Love himself had come 

To make this spot his chosen home. ; — ] The intro- 
duction of these deities to the festival is merely allego- 
rical. Mad:>me Dacier thinks that the poet describes 
a masquerade, where these deities were personated by 
the company in masks. The translation will coDform 
with their idea. 

AJU 0.^1 f^re here, to hail with me 

The Genius of Festivity!] Kw/io?, the deily or 
genius of mirth. Philoslratus, in the third of his pic- 
tures, gives a very lively description o' this god. 

Collected by Meibomiv». 




Buds of roses, virgin flowers, 

CuU'd from Cupid's balmy bowers, 

In the bowl ot llacclius steep, 

Till with crimson drops they weep. 

Twine the rose, the garUnd twine, 

Every leaf distilling wine; 

Drink and smile, and learn to tliink 

That we were born to smile and drink. 

Rnse, Ihou art the sweetest (lower 

That ever drank the amber shower; 

Rose, (hou ait the fondest child 

Of dimpled Spring, the wood-nymph wild. 

Even the Gods, who walk the sky, 

Are amorous of thy scented sigh, 

Cnpid, too, in Paphjan shades. 

His hair with rosy fillets braids, 

When, with the blushing, sister Graces, 

The wanton winding dance he traces. 

Then bring me, showers of roses bring, 

And shed them o*er me while I sing, 

Or, while, great Bacchus, round thy shrine, 

Wrea'hing my brow with rose and vine, 

1 lead some bright nymph through the dance, 

Commingling soul with every glance ! 

This spirited poem is a eulogy on the rose; and 
again, iu Ihe fift>-fifih ode, we ^hall find our author 
rich in the praises of thai flower, la a fragment of 
Sappho, in the romance of Achilles Talius, to which 
Barnes refers us, the rose is fancifully styled " the eye 
of flowers;" and Ihe same poetess, in another fiag- 
menl, calls the favours of the Muse " Ihe roses of Fie- 
ri.*." See the notes on the fifty-fifth ode. 

" Compare with Ibis ode (says ihe German annota- 
tor) the beauliful ode of Uz, * die Rose.' " 

JVfieyi with the blvfthing; sister Graces^ 

The loantaii wi7idin§ dance he traces^] "This 

sweet idea of Love dancing with the Graces, is almos! 

peculiar to Anacreon," — Dts:cn, 

I lead snme bright nymph through the dance^ ^c] 
The epithet fiaOvKoKnos-, which he gives lo the 
nymph, is literally "full-bosomed." 


Within this goblet, rich and deep, 

1 cradle all my woes to steep. 

Why should we breathe the sigh of fear, 

Or pour the unavailing tear? 

For death will never heed Ihe sigh, 

Nor soften at the tearful eye ; 

And eyes tliat sparkle, eyes Iliat weep, 

Must all alike be seaJ'd in &leep. 

Then let us never vainly stray, 

In search of thorns, from pleisure*s way; 

But wisely quaff the rosy wave. 

Which Bacchus loves, which Bacchus gave; 

And in Ihe goblet, rich and deep, 

Cradle our crying woes to sleep. 

Then let ua never vainly stray^ 
In search of thurns^ from pleasure's way ; ^c ] I 
have thus endeavoureii to convex the meaning of rt 
6c Toi iSioi' nXaviuftai ; accoiding to Regnier's paia- 
piirase "t the line: — 

Kchi- val. fufir tVlIn etrada 
\)f\ \mvt-Tf alma e sradiia. 

While virgin Graces, warm with May, 
Fling roses o'er her dewy way. 
The murmuring billoivsof tile deep 
H ive languish'd into silent sleep : 
And mark! the flitting sea-birds lave 
Their plumes in Ihe reflecting wave; 
While cranes from hoary winter fly 
To flutter in a kinder sky. 
Now the genial star of day 
Dissolves the nmrky clouds away; 
And cultiir'd field, and winding stream. 
Are freshly glittering in his beam. 

Now the earth prolific swells 
With leafy buds and flov»ery bells; 
Gemming shoots the olive twine, 
Cluslers ripe festoon the vine ; 
All along the bratiche> creeping, 
Through (he velvet foliage peeping. 
Little infant fruits we see, 
Nursing into luxury. 

The fastidious nft'ectalioa of some commentators 
has denounced this ode as spurious. Degen pronoun- 
ces the four last lines to be the patch-work of some 
miserable versificator, and Brunck condemns the 
whole ode. It appears to me, on Ihe contrary, to be 
elegantly graphical ; full of delicate expressions and 
luxuriant imagery. The abruptness of Ms nuiS £Opos 
f^avivTo^ is striking and spirited, and has been imi- 
tated rather languidly by Horace : — 

Vides ul alfn etel nive candidum 

i is infinitely more impressive; — 

The imperat 
as iu Shakspea 

But Inok. the morn, in russet matille riad. 
Walks o'er the dcw of ycu higli cBHtern tiill. 

There is a simple and poetical description of 
Spring, in CaluUuss beautiful farewell to Bithynia. 
Carni. 44. 

Barnes conjectures, in his life of our poet, that this 
ode was written after he had returned from Athens, 
to settle in his paternal seat at Teosj where, in a 
little villa at some distance from the ci'y, command- 
ing a view of the ^gean Sea and the islands, he con- 
templated the beauties of na'ure and enjoyed Ihe 
felicities of retirement. Vide Barnes, in Ana'c. Vita, 
§ XXXV. This supposition, however unauthenticated, 
forms a pleasing association, which renders Ihe poem 
more interesting. 

Chevreau says, that Gregory Nazianzenus has para- 
phnsed somewhere this description of Spring; but 1 
cannot meet wi h it. Sie Chevteau, (Euvres Mtlees. 

'• Compare wiih this Ode (says Uegen) the verses of 
Hagedorn. book fourth, 'derFiuhling,* and book filth, 
*der Mai.' '* 

While virgin Graces, warm with May^ 
Fling roses o'er her dewy way.) Ue Pauw reads, 
XaoLTUS (to^a p^tvovtriv, "the ro?es display their 
graces." This is not uningeninus; but wu lose by it 
the beauty of the | ersonification, to the boldness ol 
which Regnier has rather frivolously objected. 

The murmuring billows of the deep 

Have lansruish'd into silent sleep; Sfc] It has 
been justly remarked, that (he l»quid flow of the line 
arra^vvtraL yaXijvT] is perfectly expressive of the 
tranquillity which it desci.bes. 

And cultured field, and winding stream, <^-c.] By 
/5poraiV epya ** the works of men " (stys R-txter). he 
ms citi.s. temples, and town-, which aie then 
minated by the beams of the sun. 

T is true, my fading yeara decline. 
Yet can I quaflT the brimming wine 




As deep a? any stripling fair, 
Whose chetks the flush of morning wear; 
And if, amidst the wanton crew, 
I'm caird lo wind ine dance's due, 
Then shaK thou see this vijotnus hand, 
Not faltering on Ihe Haccbaul's wand, 
But brandishing a rosy fla^jk. 
The only thyrsus e'er 1 Ml ask I 

Let those, who pant for Glory's charms^ 
Embrace her in the field of arms ; 
While my inglorious, placid soul 
Breathes not a wish be>ond this bowl. 
T hen hll it high, my ruddy slave, 
And bathe me in its brinmiing wave. 
For though my fading yeais decay. 
Though manhood's prime hath passM away, 
Like old Silenus, sire divine, 
With blushes borrow'd Ironi my wine, 
I 'II wanion 'mid ihe dancing train, 
And live my follies o'er again ! 

But brandishing a rosy flashy ^c] A<rKo$ was a 
kind of leathern vessel for wine, very much in use, as 
should seem by Ihe proverb aaicoi; /cat -S-vAaKoj, 
which w,is applied to those who were inlemperate in 
eating and drinking. This proverb is meniioiied in 
some verses quoted by Athenaeus, from the ilesioue of 

The only thyrsus e'er I 'W ask .'1 Phornutus assigns 
as a reason for the consecration of the thyrsus to Bac- 
chus, thai inebriety often renders the support of a 
stick very necessaiy. 


When my thirsty soul 1 steep, 
Every surrow's lulld to sleep. 
T-ilk of monarchs ! I am then 
Richest, happiest, hrst of men ; 
Careless o"er my cup I sing, 
F.*ncy mak'-s nie more than king; 
Gives me wealtliy Cro&sus' store, 
Can I, can I wish for more ? 

On my velvet couch reclining, 
Ivy leaves niy brow eniwining. 
While my soul expands with glee, 
Whai are kinss and crowns to me. 
If before my feei ihey lay, 
I would spurn them all away ! 

Arm ye, arm ye, men of might, 

Ha'^ten to the sanguine fight ; 
But let me, my budding vine ! 
Spill no other blood than thine. 
Yonder brimming goblet see, 
Thit alone shall vanquish me — 
Who think il better, wiser far 
To fall in banquet than Iq war. 

Ivy leaves my hroio aitwinivg^ ^c] " The ivy 
was con-^ecrated to Bicchu-^ fsa\s Montfaucon), be- 
cau<ie he formerly I >y hid under that tree, or, ns others 
will have it, be-ause ifs leaves resen-.hle those of the 
vine." Other reasons for its consecraiion, and the use 
of it in gai lauds at banque s, may be found in Longe- 
pierre, Barnes, &c. &c. 

Jrjn ye, arm ye, mcyi of viisht, 
HasUn to tht sariifuirie fight;] I have adopted 
Ihe interpretation of Regnier and others : — 


When Bicchus, Jove's immortal boy 
The ro*y harbinger of juy, 
Who, wii h the sunshine of the bowl, 
Thaws the winter of our soul — 
When to my inmost core he glides, 
And bathes it with his ruby tides, 
A How ot joy, a lively heat. 
Fires my br^^in, and wings my feet, 
Calling up round me visions known 
To lovers of the bowl alone. 

Sing, sing of love, let music's sound 
In melting cadence float amund, 
While, my young Venus, thou and I 
Responsive to i's murmurs sigh. 
Then, waking from our blisstul tmnce, 
Again we'll sport, again we '11 dance. 

Tins, the preceding ode, and a few more of the 
same chancter, are merely chansons a bojre ; — ihe 
etfusions probably of the moment of conviviality, and 
afterwards sung, we may imagine, with rapture 
throughiiut Greece. But that ineresling associaiiun, 
by which they always recalled Ihe convivial emutions 
thit produce 1 Ihem. can nmv be little felt even by the 
most enthusistic leader; and much less by a phleg- 
matic graninianan, who sees nothing in Ihem but dia- 
lects and i)ariicles. 

WhOy with the sunshiite of the howl, 

Thaws the ivinter of our scful — ^c] Avatoj is 
the title which he gives to B cchus in the original. It 
is a curious circumstance, that Plutarch mislonk the 
name of Levi amon^ the Jews for Atiji (one of (he 
bacchinal ciies),and accordingly supposed that Ihey 
worshipped Bacchus. 


When wine I quaff, before my eyes 
Drenms of poetic glory ri-e ; 
And frevhen'd by the goblet's dews, 
Mv snul invokes the heavenly Muse. 
When wine I drink, all sorrow 's o'er; 
I think of doubts and fears no more ; 
But scatter to the railing wind 
Each glonmy i.hanlom of Ihe mind. 
When" 1 drink wine, th" ethereal boy, 
Bacclius hmisclf, partakes my joy ; 

Faber thinks this Ode spurious; but, I believe, he is 
singular in his opinion. It has all the spirit of our 
author. Like the wreath which he presented in the 
dre^m, " it smells of Anacreon.'* 

The form of Ihe original is remarkable. It is a kind 
of song of seven quatiain stanzas, each beginning with 
the line 

'Or' cycu TTtui tov oivov* 

The first stanza alone is incomplete, consisting' but 
of three lines. 

" Compare with this poem fsays Degen) the versea 
of Hagedorn, lib. v., ' der VVein,' where that divine 
poet has wantoned in the praises of wine." 

ll^en wine I quaff, before my eyes 

Dreams of poetic tloj-yrise;} ' Anaereon is not 
the only one (says Longepierre) wh-m wine has in- 
spired with piefry. We find an in the first 
book of the Anthologia, which begins (bus; — 

Oivos Tot ,Yapt£i'Ti (iiyus niXii Ittoj aoii!^, 

'T(Jajp 6i nivojVf KaXov ov TfKois £toj. 

If \ 

■ you fill uji your eiaw 



And while we dance itirough vena! btwers, 
Who e every bipatti comes fresh from flo» jrs, 
In wine he ni.ikes mj' senses swim, 
Till the gale breathes of nought but him 1 

Again I drink, — and, lo, there seems 
Ac;»lmer light t.. fill niyd-e-n.^; 
The lately rutHed wreath I spread 
Wilh sieadier hand around my head ; 
Then ttke the lyre, and smj? *' how blest 
1 he life nf him who lives at rest !" 
But then cnme3 witching wine again, 
With glanous wnman in its train ; 
And, while rich perfumes round me rise, 
Th.-t seem ihe b.ealh of's sighs, 
Bright shapes, of every hue and form. 
Upon my kindling fancy s^*3^m, 
Till the whole world of beau'y seemi 
To crowd into my dazzled dreams! 
When thus I drink, my heart refines, 
And riMis as the cup declines ; 
Rises in the genial flow^ none but social spirits know, 
When, wi'h young revellers, round the bo a'1, 
The old themselves grow young in soul t 
Oh, when I drink, true joy is mine, 
There -s bliss in every diop (f wjue. 
All other blessings 1 have known, 
] scarcely dar'd to call my own ; 
But lhi^ Ihe Fates can ne er destroy, 
Till deith o'eishadows all my joy. 

jjnrf while we dance throusch vcmal lowers, ^c] 
If s me of the translators had obsc ved Doctor Trapp's 
caution, wiih regard to TioXvavdiciv /*' tv Ofoaig, 
"Cave ne coclum intelli^as." they would not "hive 
spoiled (he siniplicity of Ariacreon's fancy, by such 
extravagant concepiions as the following : — 

Quand je bois mon oeil »'imagine 
Que, dans un lourl)il!oii plciin; de parfums divers, 
Bacchus mVmpartf daiH k-s airs, 

Reinpli de ta liqueur diviae. 

Or this : — 

I'er la vaga aura serena. 

TVhcnj ivith yovn^ revellers, round the luwt^ 
The old themsdvis grew young in soid!\ Sub- 
joined to Gait's edition of Anacrenn, we find some 
curio'js letters upon the Qiavoi of the ancient , which 
appeared in the French Journals. At the npening of 
the Odeon in Paris, the managers of that spec'acle le- 
quested Professor Gail to give them some uncommon 
name for their fetes. Mesui^eested the word "Thiase,'" 
which was ;.dapftd ; but the literati of Paris ques- 
tioned the propiietv of the term, and addre-^sed their 
criticisms to Gail through the medium of the public 


Fly not thus my brow of snow, 
Lovely wanton ! fly not so. 
Thoueh the wane of age is mine, 
Though youh'j. brilliant Hush be thine, 

Alherli has imitated this ode ; and Capilupus, in Ihe 
following epigram, has given a ver^ioii of it : — 

, Lalagp, 


1 piilthra pui-l 
Ne fusias. f»irit ppart-n liii-l int-a t»>inporn caniB, 

Inque liio rusi-u.* fulycal nrc rolor. 
Aspicif ul hitexlafl dect'ant qtioquc ttore coroll: 

C^andiUa purpureis lilia misia rosifi. 

Oh \ why rrpel my boiiI'h impasBino'd vow. 
And fly. liel-ivt-d maid. IheMe loni-ing arma? 

Is it, that wintry tim*- has slrfw'il my brow. 
While Ihine are all Ifc^ Humrner's rose^i'c cl 

Still I 'm dnom*d to sigh for thee, 
files', if thou couldst sigh for uie \ 
See in yonder flowery btaid, 
Cull'rt for thee, niv biu-^hing maid, 
How thero-^e, of6iien! glow. 
Mingles with the lily's sn^w; 
JMaik, how 3u eel Ihiir In. t-* agree, 
Just, my girl, like thee and me ! 

Be«* the rich garland cult'd in vernal weathi 

See, in yonder flowery braids 

CulVdfu)- thic, ray blushing maid !] " In the same 
manner ihat Anacreon pleads for the whiteness of his 
locks, froiii ihp. beauty of the colour in garland*, a 
shepherd, in Theocritus, endeavours to recommend his 
black hair : — 

Kat TO lov fitXav ta-Ti, Kai & yparrra iaxcvfloj, 

AAA' zfircas tv TotS o'TE'Pavoi^ ra rrptuia Xiyov- 

Tar.'* Longepicrrtj BanteSy 3fU 


Away, awav, ye men of rules, 

What have I to do with sch(.ols? 

They 'd make me leam, they 'd make me think, 

But would they make me love and drink? 

Teich me this, and let me swim 

My soul upon the goblet's brim ; 

Teach me this, and let me twine 

Some f('nd, responsive heart to mine. 

Tor, age begins to blanch my brow, 

I 've time for nought but pleasure now. 

Fly, and cool mv goblet's glow 
At yonder fount;.in-s gelid flow ; 
I Ml' quaff", mv bov. and calmly sink 
Thiss ul (orlumberasl d-ii.k. 
Soon, too soon, my jocund sla\e, 
You "11 deck your master's grassy erave j 
And there's an end — for ah. vou know 
They drink butliule «ine below! 

' This is doubtless the work of a more moderii poet 
than Aincrecn; for at the perind when he lived 
rhetoriciins were not known." — Dcgin. 

Though this ode is found in the Vatican manuscript, 
I am much inclined to agiee in this argument against 
its authenticity; for though the dawning^ of the art 
of rhetoric might already have appeared, Ihe firs' 
who gave it any celebrity m as Cornx of Syncuse, and 
he flourished in the centu'y af'er Ai acreon. 
Our pnet aniicipa-ed the ideas of Epicuru-:, in his 
ersion to the labours cf Itaming, 9s well as his 
devotion to voluptuousness. Xiaaav naiitiav 
fiaKapiot 4>cvy£rc, sa:d Ihe philosopher of the garden 
"n a letter to Fythocles, 

Teach me this, and let me twine 

Somcfo7td, resj}onsive hiart lo mme.] By XP^^V? 
A(^po^iT7;? here, 1 tinder*Iand snnie beantiftd girl, in 
same manner Ihit Avato? is often used fur wine. 
"Golden" is frequemly an epi'het of beauty, 'thus 
in Virgil, " Venns aurea;" and in Proper'ji.s. "Cyn- 
thia aurea," Tibullus, however, calls an old woman 


The translation d'Antorj Anonimi, as usial, ivan- 
tons on Ibia pusage of Anicreou : 

Fnnne Bfcorte d'involare 

Ad amab'le hrltadu 

II bel cinio U' onestadc. 

^nd there's an end— for ah, you \now 

They drink but little wine bdou .'J Thus M 





La Morte nous gueOe ; et quaod bcs luia 

Is'ouB oDt eiifermea un« fnis 

Au Mein d'une foase profnnde, 

Adieu bona vins el boa repas; 

Ma science oe trouve pas 

Des cabarets eu I'autre monde. 

From Mainard, GonbauM. and De Cailly. old 
French poets, some of the best eiii^rams of the Eng- 
lish language have been borrowed. 


When I behold the festive train 

Of dancing y"uth, 1 'm yoiin? again ! 

Memory wakes her ma^ic trance, 

And Wings me lijhtly through the dance. 

Come, Cybeba, smihng maid ! 

Cull the flower and twme the braid ; 

Bid the blush of summer's rose 

Burn upon my forehead's snows; 

And let me, while the wild and young 

Trip the m^zy d.ince alone, 

Fling my heap of yeais away, 

And be as u iid, as ynung, as they. 

Hither haste, smne cordial soul I 

Help to my lips Ihe brimming howl; 

And you shall see this hoary sage 

Forget at once his locks and age. 

He still can chant Ihe festive hymn, 

He still can kiss the goblet'b brim ; 

As deeply quatt, as largely fill, 

And play the fool right nobly still. 

Bid the blush of summer's rose 

Burn upon my forehead's snowi ; if-c.'\ Lice'us, 
in his Hieioelyphica, quoting two of our pnei's odes, 
wheie he calls to his attendants for garlands, remarks. 
*' Const.^t i^itur floreas coronas poelis et potantibus m 
symposio convenire, non autem sipientibus el fihiloso- 
phiam affectantibus." — "It appears that wreaths of 
flowers weie adapted fnr poets and revellers at ban 
quets. but by no means became those who bad preten- 
sions to wisdom and philosophy." On ttii-* principle, 
in his I52d chapter, he discovers a refiriement in 
Virgil, describing the garhnd of the poet Silenus, as 
fallen off; which distinguishes, he thinks, the divine 
intoxication of Silenus trom that of common drunk- 
ards, who always wear their crowns while they 
drink. Such is the "labor ineptiarum" of com* 
meotators ! 

He. still can kiss the goblet's brim ; ^c.} Wine is 
prescribed by Galen, as .in excellent medicine for old 
men: *"Quod frigidos et hunioribus expletos cale 
faciat, &c. ; " but Nature was Anacreon's physician. 

There is a proverb in EriphuB, as'quoted by 
Athenzeus, Avhich says, '* that wine makes an old man 
dance, whether be will or not." 

Aoyos EOT' ap;^aio9, ov Ka^wj ex^jv^ 
Olvov \£yov(ri rovs ytpovray, cu narep, 
Ueiduv xoozetv ov ^tkovras. 


Methinks. the pidurM bull we see 
Is aniornus J'we — it must be he ! 
How fiMidly blest he seems io bear 
That fairest of Fhoenici m fair : 
How proud he breasts the f"amy tide, 
Ai:d spurns the billowy >urge aside ! 
Cnii!d any bea.t of vulgu vein. 
Undaunted thus defy 'he main ? 

No: he de-cends from climes above, 
He looks the God, he breathes of Jove ! 

This Ode is writien upon a picture which repr»- 
Bented the lape of Eurnpa." — Madame Daaer. 

It may probably have been a description of one of 
those coins, which the Sidnnians struck off in honour 
of Europa, representing a woman carried across the 
sea by a bull. _ Thus Natalis Comics, lib. viii. cap. 23. 
"Sidonii numbm^tacum fcemiia lauridorso insidente 
ac mare tratisfretante cuderunl in ejus honorem." In 
the little tieatise upon the goddess of Syria, attributed 
very falsely to Lucian, theie is mention of ihis coin, 
and of a temple dedicated by the Sidonians to Astarte, 
whom some, it appears, confounded with Europa. 

The poet Mnschus has left a very beautiful idyl on 
Ihe story of Europa, 

No: he descends from climes above. 
He looks the Gody A« Inxathes of Jove ,'] Thus 
Moschus; — 

Kpv^//£ ^lov Kai TpEtpz dtfias' KOt yiVETo 7avpo$. 

ODE 1,V. 

While we invoke the wreathed spnng, 
Resplendent rose ! to thee we 'II sing ; 
Resplendent rose, the flower of flowers, 
Whose breath i e-fumps ih' 01ym[iian bowerj. 
Whose virgiti bh;sh, of chasten'd dye, 
Enchants sn much our mortal eye. 
When pleasure's spring-tide season glows, 
The Graces love to wreathe the rose ; 
Ai:d Venus, in its ficsliblown leaves, 
An enibleni of herself perceives. 

This Ode is a brilliant panegyric on the rose, " All 
antiquity isiys Barnes) has produced nothing more 

From the idea of peculiar excellence, which Ihe 
ancients a tached to this fl iwer. arose a pre'ly prover- 
bial expression, used by Aristophanes, according to 
Suidas, ^oda fi^ tipT/was, ''You have spoken roses," 
a phrase somewhat similar to the ** dire des fleurettes" 
of the French. In the same idea of excellence 
originated, I doubt not, a very curious application of 
the i\ord ^odov, for which the inquisitive reader may 
consult Gautininus upon the epilhalamium of our 
pf et, where it is introduced in the romance of ThlSo- 
dorus. Murefus, in one of hi» elegies, calls his mis- 
tress his rose: — 
Jam I« igilur rurBue teneo, formnsula, jam te 

, te leoeo. Eleg. 6. 

1 thei 

ng nri 

ntnld the 

AgaiD, my rose, again I hold tliee. 
This, like most of the terms of endearment in (he 
modern Latin poet^;, is taken from Flautus ; they were 
vulgar and collnquial in his time, but are among the 
elegancies of the modern Latinists, 

Passeratius alluile-^ to the ode before us, in the be- 
ginning of his poem on Ihe Rose : — 

Carmine digna roaa ; vellem cancretur ul illara 
Teius ar;ruta cecinil testiidme vatt-B. 

Resplendent rose! to thee we'll sing;] I have 
parsed over the line (tvv iTaintt av^EtfiiXn 7}i', which 
Incorrupt in Ihi-* orii^inal reading, and has been very 
little improved by the anno'.ators. I should hUfipose 
it to be an ii'lerpolati'm, if it were not for a line 
which occurs afterwaids : (psyi 67} <Pvtnv Acyto/itv. 

Jind ^enus, in its fresh- blown leaves, ^c] Belleau, 
in a note up'm an old French poet qu 'ling the origi- 
nal here a4>podL(Tiu)V t' advpfta, translalfS it, 
'* comme les delicea ut mit^nard ises de Venus," 



Oft hath the pne's mnjjic tongue 
The rose's fur luxuriance sung ; 
And ion^ ihe Muses, lieavenly mi'ids. 
Have real VI it m Ihcir luneful shades, 
Wlien. at the enrly glance of morn, 
It sleeps upon the flittering: ihorn, 
'T is sweet to dare (he tangled fence, 
the timid Jloweret thence, 

And wipe < 

iih 1 

iider hand awav 

The tear that on its blushes lay ! 
»T is s\veet to hold the infant stems, 
Yet droppini; with Aurora's ^eiiis, 
And fresh inhale the spicy si^hs 
Thai from the weeping buds arise. 

When revel reiena, when mirth is high, 
And Bacchus beams in every eye, 
Our rosy fillets scent exh^de, 
And fill with balm the fainting fi:ale. 
There's imuaiht in mture bright or gay 
Where roses do not shed their lay. 
When morning paints the orient skies, 
Her fingers bum wiih rnseaie dyes ; 
young nymphs he'ray the rose's hue, 
O'er whi'est arms it kindles through. 
In Cytherea'sfnim it«Io«s, 
And mingles with the livmg snows. 

The rose distils a healing balm, 
The be-ating |'.ulse nf pain to calm; 
Preserves the cold iiurned clay, 
And mocks tlie vestige of decay : 

Oft ha^ the poeVs magic to72^e 

The rose's far luxur once sung; ^c.\ The follow- 
ing ts a fragment of the hesl)ian p')etess It is cited 
in Ihe romance of Achilles Tatius. who appears to 
have resnhed the numbers into prnse. Et rotj av- 
0£<nv r}Ot\£v 6 Ztvs emOeLvat, /3ao-tX£0, to ^o6ov 
av Tttiv avOzujv E/3a<TtX£V£, yjj? tort KoafioSy <f^v- 
TU)V ayXaftT/ia, otjidnXpLo^ avOeioVj Aci^wvoj tpv- 
Ojjfjia^ Ka'KXo<; atTTpaKTOv. EftwToj Trvtt, A0po(5t- 

TTjV TTpollVU, CVuSkTI, (PvWoi^ KOpia, IVKiVr/TOl^ 

ireraAoij Tpi;0a. to mraXov t^ Z£v0vp^ ycXd.* 

If Jove woulil give tht- leafv bowera 
A qu^en for ull their world'of floweri, 
The rose woulj Ik the- clu.iee of Jove, 
And blubh, the queeu of every grove. 
Sweetest child of wet-ping morning, 
Gem, the vest of earth adorning; 
Kye nf (gardens, hghl of lawns, 
Nursling of soft Bumnii>r dawns; 
Love'fi own earliest eich it biealhes. 
Beauty's brow with hJstre wreathes, 
And, to young Zephyr" 

Bprt-adH abroad its \ 


1 tresBcs, 

Till. bluBhinf with 

111- w 

aiiton's play. 

Its check wear» ev' 

n a r 

Cher ray I 

JVhcn ynnmi7is; paints the orient skies. 
Hit finders burn Wfth roseate dyes ; .ycl tn the 
orii;iual here, he enumerates the many epiihels nf 
beiiily, biirrinveti fioin rnscs, which «ere lised by the 
poels. raoa tuh' aoijiuiv. We see thai pnels were 
tligoified in Greece with the title nf sa^es: even the 
careless Anaci'enii, wlio lived bill f ,r Itive and vnlup- 
tuniisness, was called by Plain the wise Anacreoii — 
"full hasc sa[iientia qunndant.'^ 

Preserves the cold iniirned clay, ^e.] He here al- 
ludes In the use of the rose in eiiiliilmin? ; and, per- 
haps (as Barnes thinks), to the rosy niisuent with 
which Vemis anninted Ihe cnrpse nf [lector. — Hn 
iner's Iliad \p. II m.ay likewise regard Ihe ancient 
practice nf pulling garlands of roses on the dead, as in 
Statius, Theh. lib. x. 782. 

hi serlls, hi verla honore noliito 

Arcumulaiit arliin, palriaque io aede repoDunt 
Corpus otloratum. 

And when at length, in pale iJecline, 

lis rinrid beauties fatle and pine, 

Sweet as in you:."!, is balmy breath, 

Dirt'uses odour even in death 1 

Oh ! whence ciuld such a plant hare sprung ? 

Listen, — for thus the tale is sung. 

When, humid, from Ihe silvery sireani, 

Eflusiiig beau y's warmest beam, 

Venus appear'd, in Bushing hues, 

Mellow d by ocean's briiiy dews ; 

When, in the slariy courts above, 

The ptestnant brain of mighty Jove 

DisclosM the nymph of azure glance, 

The nymph who .■.hakes the marl al lance; — 

Then, ilien, in strange eventful hour, 

The earth j.rodi.c'd an infant flo«er, 

Whicli sprung, in blushing glories drest. 

And waiitnn'd o'er its ]) rent bieast. 

The gods beheld this brilliant birlh. 

And h ail'd Ihe Rose, the boon of eai Ih ! 

With neclar drops, a ruby tide. 

The sweetly orient buds they dyed, 

And bade them binnni, the flowers divine 

Of him who gave Ihe gloiious vine; 

And bade them nn the spangled thoin 

Expand Iheir bosoms to the morn. 

Where " veris honor," though it mean every kind of 
flowers, may seem more pirticulaily to refer to Ihe 
rose, which nur poet in aiio her ode calls lapoi ficK- 
i)/to. We read, in the Hieroglyphics of Pieriua. lib. 
Iv. that some of the ancients used to order in their 
wills, Ihal roses should be annually scattered on Iheir 
lombs, and Pieiius has adduced some sepulchral io- 
scriplions to this purpose. 

Jlnd mocks the veslige of decay:'] When he says 
that this flower prevails over lime itself, he still al- 
ludes to i s efficacy in enihalment (teuera pnneiel ossa 
rosa. Properl. lib. i, eleg 17.), or peihaps lo the 
subsequent idea of its fiagrance surviving ils beaulv ; 
for he c;in scaicely lo praise for duration the 
"mmium bieves flnres" of ihe rose. Pliilnslialuo 
compares this flower wi'h love, and says, that they 
both defy Ihe itilluence of lime; xpi^ov iJt otiTt 
Kpius, ovTt (ioiJa Oifcv. Unfortunately the simili- 
tude lies not in Iheir dur.ilion, but Iheir transcieuce. 

Sweet as in yoiilh, ils balmy breath 
Diffuses odmir even in death !] Thus Cisper Bar- 
teus, in his Rilus Nupliarum: 

When all its Hushing beHuIies die; 
Nnr lews ambrosial balm diffuses, 
When wither'd by the solar eye. 

IVith nectar drops, a niby tide, 

The sweetly orient biids they dyed, ij-c] The author 
of Ihe ■' Pervigilium Veneris" (a poem atlriliuled lo 
Catullus, the style of which ap[iears to me lo have 
all Ihe laboured lu.\iiriance of a much hiler period) 
ascribes Ihe linc'ure of Ihe rose lo Ihe blood from the 
wound of Adonis — 

iccording to Ihe emendation of I.ipsins. In t'^e fnl- 
lowing epigram Ihis hue is difTerenlly accounted lor ;— 

Ilia qiiidem stiidioBa sliiim dptpndere Adunim, 

Albaque diviiio pivta t-ruore rt 
While the f ncmnur'd arnn of joy 



In IT 

r blood, and blushes ! 





He, who instructs the ynulhful crew 
To b ithe them in Ihe brimmer's dew, 
And tas'e, uncloy'd by rich exctsses, 
All ihf bliss that « rne possesses; 
He. who inspires Ihe youth to bound 
Elasllc through the dince's round, — 
Bacchus, Ihe gnd again is here, 
And leads along the bluiibing year ; 
The blushing i,ear with vintage teems, 
Ready lo shed those cordiil streams, 
Which, sparkling in the cup of niirlh, 
Illuminate the sons of earth I 

Then, when the ripe and vermii wine — 
Blesl infant of the pregnant vine, 
Which uow in mellow clusters swells, — 
Oh ! \\ hen it bursts its roseate cells, 
Brightly Uie joyous stream shall flow, 
To balsam every mortal woe ! 
None shall be then ca-t down or wealc, 
For health and joy shall light each cheek ; 
No heart will then despnnding sigh. 
For %vine shall bid despondence fly 
Th'13 — till anoiher autumn's glow 
Shall bid another viutage flow, 

"Compare with thii elegant ode the verses of Uz, 
lib. i. *die Weinlese." — i)f^c?i. 

This appears to be one ot ihe hvning which were 
sung at Ihe anniversary fes'iv.ij df the vintage ; one of 
the £-!tiXt]Vioi VfivvL, as our poet himself terms them 
in Ihe fifty-ninth ode. We cannot help feeling a sort 
of reverence for these classic relics of the religion r f 
antiqi:ily. Hoiace may be supp"sed to have written 
the nineeen h ode of h's second bnok, and the twenty- 
fifth of the third, for some bacchanalian celebration of 
this kind. 

IVhich, sfarhling in the cup of rmrtky 
Illuminate the sons of earth!] In the original 
noTov acTTovov /co/ti^tuv. M.idnnie Dacier thinks 
Iha' the poet here had the nepenthe of Homer in his 
mind, Udyssev. lib. iv. This nepenthe was a some- 
thing of exquisite charm, infused by Helen into the 
wine of her guests, which had the power of dispel- 
ling every anxiety. A French writer, De Mere, con- 
jectures that ihia spell, which made the bowl so be- 
guiling, was the charm of Helen's conversation. See 
Bayle, art. Heleue. 

ODE Lvn. 

Whose was the artist hand that spread 
Upon this di.-k the ocean's bed ? 
And, in a flight of fancy, high 
As au^ht on earthly wing can fly, 

This ode is a very animated description of n picture 
of Venus on a discus, which represented the goddess 
in her first emergence from the waves. About two 
centuries after our poet wrote, the pencil of the artist 
Apelles embellished this subject, in his famous paint- 
ing of the Venus Anadyomene, the model of which, 
u Pliny informs us. was the beautiful Campaspe, 
given to him by Alexander; though, according to 
Natalis Comes, lib vii. cap. 16., it was Phryne who 
sat to Apelles for the face and breast of this Venus. 

There are a few blemishes in the reading of the 
ode before us, which have influenced Faber, Heyne, 
Brunck. &c. to den'mnce the whole pnem as spurious. 
But. '-non egr) paucis offendar maculis." 1 think it 
is quitt beautiful enough lo be authentic. 

JVhose was the artist hand that sfread 
Upon this disk the octanes Led P\ The abruptness 
of a()a TiS rogtvo-e '- ^—~* ' ' 

, is finely expressive of 

Depicted Ihus, in semblance warm. 

The Queen of Love's voluptuous form 

Floating the silv'ry sea 

In beauty's naked majesty ! 

Oh ! he hath given th' enamour'd sight 

A witching banquet of delight, 

Wheie, gleaming through the waters clear, 

Glimp es of undreamt ch.ums appear. 

And all Ihat mystery loves to ^creen, 

Fancy, like.Faith, adores unseen. 

Light as a leaf, that on the breeze 
Of summer skims the glassy seas, 
She floats along the ocean's breas', 
Which undula'e^ in sleepy rest j 
While s ealiiig on, she gently pillows 
Her bosom on the heavme billows. 
Her bo^om, like the dew-wash'd rose, 
Her neck, like April's sparkling snows, 
Illume the liquid path she traces, 
And burn within the slieam''^ embraces. 
Thus on she moves, in languid pride, 
Encircled by Ihe azure tide, 
As some fair lily o'er a bed 
Of violets bends its gr.icetui head. 

Beneath their queen's inspiring glance^ 
The dolphins o'er the green sea dance, 
Bearing in triumph young Desire, 
And infant Love with smiles of fire ! 
While, glittering through the silver waves, 
The tenants of the briny caves 
Around the pomp their t^an.bnls play, 
And gleam aluiig the watery way, 

sudden admiration, and is one of Iho^e beauties, which 
we cannot but admire in their source, though, by 
frequent imitation, Ihey are now become fauiihar and 

*3nd all that mystery loves to screen, 

Fanq/y like Faith, adores ujiseni, <^c.l The pic- 
ture here has all the delicate character of the Femi- 
reducta Venus, and ailords a happy specimen of what 
the poetry of passion oui^ht to be — glowing but 
through a veil, and stealing upon the heart from con- 
cealment. Few of the ancienis have att-ined this 
modesty of docription, which, like the golden cloud 
that hung over Jupiter and Juno, is impervious to 
every beam but that of fancy. 

Her bosom, like the dew-washed rosr^ ^-c.] " ' PoJtwv 
(says an anonymous annotator) is a whimsical epithet 
for the bosom.'l Neither Catullus nnr Gray have 
been of his opinion. The former has the expression, 

En hie in roeels latet papillis. 

And the latter, 

Lo! where the ro»y-bosoni*d huurs, &.O. 

Crottus, a modern Latini^t, mi2:ht indeed be cen- 
sure! for too vague a use of the epithet " msy," wheo 
he applies it to the nyts : — " e roseis oculis." 

ymins; Desire, ^c] In the original 'T/icpof, 

who was the same deity with Jocus among t^e Ro- 
mans. Aurelius Augurellus has a poem beginntug — 

Which Parnelt has closely imitated : — 

Gay Bacchus, liking Ertrourt's wine* 

A nobie meal benpoke ua ; 
AtiiJ for the gucets that were lo dinn. 

Brought Comus, Lnve, and Jocne, &ie» 




5 zephyr's prnion, 

When Gold, as fleet : 

Escapes like any taiil 

And flies me (as he li 

Ur> I pursim him? never, never I 

No, let thtif:il-e de<e ter.^n, 

For who would c url h.s direst foe? 

But, when I feel my ligh en'd mind 

No more by ^rovelliii^ t;<»hi coiifi;i'd. 

Then loobc I all such diugine c;ires, 

And cast them lo ihe vaf^iaut airs. 

Then feel I, tO), the Muse's >ne,l, 

And wake to life the dulcet shell, 

Which, ruus"d or.ce nioie, to beauty ?ings, 

While love dissolves along the strings I 

But, scarcely has my heart been taugh* 
How little Gold deserves a thou-ht, 
When, lo ! the slave returns once ntore, 
And wi'h him wafts delcinus s'ore 
Of racy wine, whose genial art 
Id slumber seals the anxious heart. 
Again he tries my soul to sever 
From love and song, perhaps for ever I 

Away, deceiver ! why pursuing 
Ceaseless thus my heiri's undoing? 
Sweet is the Sf-ng o( aniorou- fre. 
Sweet the sighs that ihrill the lyte; 
Oh ! sweeier far (ban all the gold 
Thy wings cm waft, Ihy niiiicscan hold. 
Well do I know thy ar s, thy wiles — 
They wither'd Love's young wieathed smiles; 
And o'er his lyre >uch d irkue^'S t-hed, 
I thought i!s soul of song was fled ! 
They dash'd Ihe wine cup. iha', by him, 
Was tilled with kisses to the brim. 

I have followed Barnes's arrtngement of this ode, 
which, though deviating somewhat from the Vaticau 
MS., appears In me thj more natural order. 

When Gold, as fleet as zephyr^s pinion, 
Escapes like any faithless inini<^i, S,-c) In the 
original 'O doaneTTjg 6 x^vao^. '1 here is a kind of 
pun in these words, as M'.dime Dicier has already 
remarked; for Chrysns, which signifies gold, was 
also a frequent name for a slave. In one of Lucian's 
dialogues, there is, 1 think, a similar play upon the 
word, where the followers of Chrysippus are called 
golden fishes. The puns of the ancients are. in gen- 
eral, even more vapid than our own; some of the 
hest are those recorded of Diogenes, 

^nd flies me (as he flies me ever), ^-c] Att d\ 
act pit <pevyu. This grace of iteraion has already 
been taken notice of. Though sometimes merely a 
playful beauty, it is peculiarly expresive of impas- 
sioned sentiment, and we may easily believe that it 
was one of the many sources of that energetic --ensi- 
bility which breathed through the style of Sappho. 
See Gyrald. Vet. J'oet. Dial. 9. It will not be said 
that this is a mechanical ornament by anyone who 
can feel its charm in those lines of Catullus, where he 
complains of the infidelity of his mistress, Le&bia: — 

;i sic omnia dixisset ! — but the rest does not bear 

They Insh'd the winc-cnp, that, hy him^ 

tVas Jilltd lodh hisses to the bnm.] Oi iginal : — 

9tXqfLaTojv <H ke^vmv, 
Ilo^ujv KvntWa Kipvrjs* 

Go — fly to haunts of sordid men, 

But come n it near the bard ;igain, 

Thygliiterin the Muse's shade, 

Scues frnn her bouerttie tuneful ir.aid; 

And not foi worlds would I forego 

Tliil luoiiieKof poetic kIovv, 

WlHii iriy full soul, in Fancy's streim, 

pNurs o'er Ihe lyre i*s swelling tbeine.' 

Away, away! to wolldling^ hence, 

Who fet-t not this divmer sense ; 

Give gold to those who love that pest,— 

But leave the poet poor and blest. 

Horace has " Desidertque 'emperarc poculum,** not 
hguratively. ho\vever. Itke Anacieon, but importing 
the love-philtres of ihe witches. By "cu|8 of kisses" 
our poet may allude to a favourite gallantry among 
the ancients, of drinkiner when the lips of their mis- 
tiesses touched the brim : — 

And 1 'II not for wine." 

Ls in Ben Jonson's translation from Fhilostratus j and 
-ucian has a conceit upon the same idea, " 'Ivo xai 
■ivi}^ A/itt Kai 0tA?jj," " that you m ly at once both 
rink and kiss." 


Ripen 'd by the solar beim. 
Now Ihe ruddy clusters lecm, 
In osier biskets burue along 
By all the festal viniage throng 
Of rosy youths and virtjns fair. 
Ripe as 'the melting fiuits they bear. 
Now, now they | re-^s the pregranl scrapes, 
And now the captive streim e cape , 
In fervid tide of nectar gu^hini;. 
And for its bondage proi.dly bhishinj! 
While, round the vat's impurpled brim, 
The choral song, the vint <ge hymn 
Of rosy youths and virgins fair, 
Steals on the chaim'd and echoing air. 
Maik, how thev drink, with all ftieireyes, 
The orient tide that sparklinj; flies. 
Tr.e infant Bacchus, born in mnih, 
While Love stands by, to hail the birih. 

When he. whose verging years decline 
As deep into the vale as mine, 
When he inhales the vintage-cup, 
His feet, new-wmg'd, from earth spring up. 
And as he dancfs,'the fiesh air 
Pla\s whispering through his sdvery hair. 
Meanwnile young groups whom Inve invites. 
To jo\s ev'n rivalling wine's delights, 
Seek, arm in arm, the shadowy grove, 
And there, in woids and lor ks of love, 
Such as fond lovers look and say. 
Pass the sweet moonlight hours away.* 

The title ETrtXiyvtoj -fc/ivo?, which Barnes las 
given to this ode, is by no means apprnpriate. We 
have alieidy had one (T those hvmni (ode 56.), hut 
this is a dc-crijdion ot the vintage; and Ihe title cig 
oivov, which i( bears in the Vatican MS., is morecoi- 
recl than anv tliat have been sugeested. 

" f literary scepticism. 

dnubis that this ode is genu 

reason for sich a suspicion ; — '*non amo te, Sabidl, 
nee possum dicere qua e." But this is far from being 
satisfactory cri:ici5m. 

* Those well acquainted wi'h the orisinal need 
hardly be reminded that, in ttese few concluding 
verses, I have thoueht rieht to give cnlv the geneni 
meaning of my author, leaving hu details untouched. 




Al'tit: to life, my -leeping shell. 
To Plidljus let tliy numbers S" ell ; 
AiiJ though no glorious priz;; be thine, 
No I'ylhian wieaih around -bee twine, 
Yet every Imur is ^loiy's hour 
To hiiii whoeatheis wi-ilom's flower. 
Tlien wake thee from ihy voiceless slnnibera. 
And to the sofi anJ Thry^'an nuoibers, 
Which, tremblingly, my lips repeat. 
Send echoes fmm toy chord a^ s\veet, 
'T is llius the swan, wilh fa.bns notes, 
Down the C:i>ster's Ci.rient Hoals, 
While amor lus breezes linger round, 
And sigh responsive sound for sound. 

Muse of ihe Lyre ! illume my dream. 
Thy Phccbus is my fancy's Ihen.e; 
Ani hillow'd is the harp 1 bear. 
And hallow'd is the \v-reith I wear, 
Hallow'd by him, the 501! of lays, 
Who modulates the choral maze. 
1 sin^ Ihe lo-e which Daphne twin'd 
Around Ihe ^odhe;id's yielding mind : 
I siiifc the blushing Daphues flight 
FioiM this eiheieal sun of Lisiy ; 
And hnw Ihe tender, limid m.iid 
Flew trembling to ibe kindly shade, 
Re^igii'd a form, alas, too fai', 
And grew a verdaut laurel there ; 
Whos ha- es. wilh sympathetic Ihrill, 
In lenor -eem'd to Ireiiibie still ! 
The g'd I u su"d, with wins'd desire; 
And when his hopes were ;ill on fire, 
And when to clasp the n\nip!i he thought, 
A lif.le-5 iree wa- all he caught ; 
And, stead of si2;hs that pleasure heaves. 
Heard but the west-wind in the leaves I 

But, pause, my soul, tio more, no more — 
Eu'husiast, wbilber do I soar? 
This sweeily-mad'ning dicm of soul 
Hath hurried me bevond the goal. 
Why should I sing The mighty darts 
Which fly to wound celes lal hearts. 
When ah. the song, wiih sweeter tone, 
Can tell the darts that wound my own ? 

This hymn to Apollo is supposed not to have been 
written by Anacreon ; and it is undoubtedly rather a 
sublimer flight than Ihe Teian wing is accustomed to 
soar. But, in a pnet of whose works so small a pro- 
portion has reached us, diversity of style is by no 
means a safe criterion. If we knew Horace but as a 
satirist, should ^^e easily believe there could dwell 
such animation in his lyre? Suidas 5.iys that our pnet 
wrote hymns, and this peihap^ is one of them. We 
can perceive in what an alleied and imperfect stale 
his works ai-e at present, when we find a scholiast 
upon Horace citing an ode from the third book of 

And how the tender^ timid maid 
Flew trembling to the kvitdly thade, ^c."] Origin- 
al :— 

To /lev EKTTttfilVyS KZVTpOV, 

1 6nd the word kivtoov here has a double force, as 
it also signifies that 'omnium pireutem, quam saiic- 
tus Numa, &c. &c." (.See Martial.) In order to con- 
firm this import of the word here, those who are 
curious in new readings, may place the stop after 
^vfftwj, thus; — 

To fitv tKirE<l)tvyt Ktvrpov 
i'vasuiSj J' apittipe fiop^ptiv. 

Still be Anacreon. still in-pire 

Tbe d scant of the Tean lyre: 

Still lei ihe nec'at'd numbers float, 

Disilling love in eveiy noie 1 

And »i hen some you h, whose g'owing loul 

H.s leh the Pai^hiau star's 
WIeii he tie liquid lay^-h.ll lit 
His lieut will flutter to his ear. 
And drinking there of song (iivi 
Banquet oii'inlellectual wine! 

Still be Anaa-eon, still inxpire 

The dacaiit cf ihe Temu lyrr:^ The original is 
Tov Afa/cp£0V7-a fjitfiov, I Imve translated it under 
Ihe supposition thai Ihe hymn is by Anacreon; though, 
1 fear, fr.-m this very line, that his claim 10 it can 
scarcely be su| poiltd. 

Tov AvaKoiovra fiifiov^ "Imitate Anacreon." 
Such is Ihe lesson given us ly Ihe Ivrist; and if, in 
poetry, a simile elegmce r f sentimeut, eiriched by 
the most pl -yful feliciiies nf fancy, be a charm which 
invi'es or deseives imitation, where shall we find 
such a guide as Aiacieon? In molality, loo, with 
some little reserve, we need iml blush, i think, to 
folbiw in his foolsteps. Kor if his s- ng te ihe lan- 
guage of Ins heart, thi ugh lu.xurmus and relaxed, he 
uas artless and benevolent; and who wou'd no' for- 
give a few irregularities, when atoned fi-r by virtues 
so rare and so endearing? When we think of the 
sentiment in those lines ; — 

Away ! I hate thf Blanderoiis dart. 
Wliicli flieals to wouiid Ih' unwary heart, 

how manv are there in the world, to whom we would 
wish to say, Tov Avaxgiovra /ii/ioti! 

Here ends the last of the odes in the Vatican MS., 
whose authority hei|is to confirm the genuine aniiquily 
of them all. though a few h ve stolen among the 
number, which we mav hesi'a'e in altribuiing to 
Anacreon. In the lit le essay piefi.-«ed m this transla- 
tion. I observed thit H.arnes has quoted this manu- 
script incorrectly, relyiigiipon an impeifeci copy of 
it, which Isa'C Vossius had taken. I shall just men- 
tion two or three instances of this inaccuracy — the 
fir>t which occur to me. In Ihe ode of the Dove, on 
Ihe words nrtoeio-t cvyKa>,v^'^, he says, ''Vatican 
MS. (rtrricm^wv, etiam Pr.siiano invilo:" but the 
MS. reads o-nvxaAvi^iu, with a-vc-Ktaa-ui inleilined. 
Degen too, on the same line, is somewhat in error. In 
the twenty-second ode of this series, line thirteenth, 
the MS. h;is Tii-ti) wi h ai interlined, Jiid Barnes im- 
putes 10 it the reidiiig of iivIt). In the fifly-sevenlh, 
line twelfth, he profi sses to have p.eseived the read- 
ing of the MS. AAa.\»;/ui'i) <!' fa arr?;, while the 
latter has aAaAij/iivos i' £Jr' avru. Almost all the 
other annoiatojs have Iransplan ed these eirojs from 


Youth's eMdeirii_ 

Hoary locks def.nm 

Bloomy graces, dall 

All the flowers of life decay. 

harms a-e fled; 
y bead ; 

The intrusion of this melancholy ode, among tlie 
care'ess levities of cir poef, leminds ";S of the skele- 
tons which the Egyptians used lo hang up in their 
l;anquet-rooms. to inculcate a thought of mortality 
even amids' the dissipations of miilli. It it weie not 
for the beau y of its nunihers the 'I eiaii Muse should 
disown this ode. "Quid habel illius, illius qus spi- 
ratat amores ? ' 

To SInbasus we are indebted for it. 

Bloomy sraces, dalliance ^ay. 

Ml the flowers of life decay.) Horac t often, with 



Witherinsf a^e begins to trace 
Sad lueniorials o'er my (ace : 
Time has >heJ its svvt-etest bloom, 
All the future must lie slnoin. 
This it isth.t sea me sishii.s? : 
Dreary is (he iliought t-f dying I 
Lone and di-mal is ihe rn;ul, 
Down tn I'luii.'s dark abi^de ; 
And, when once llie journey 's o'er, 
Ah ! we cm return nu more i 

feeling and elegance, deplore-^ the fu^acity of humrin 
enjoyments. See hook ii. ode U.; and thus iu the 
sucoud episile, book ii. : — 

Ana w^iliH fr»i 
Tlie baiiquKt'fe 

rlh, Uiti Virgil 

Dreary is the thmts:ht of dyin^ ! Src] Ueznier, a 
libertine Fiench pnet, has written some sonnets on the 
approach of dua'h, full of gloomy and liembling re- 
pentance. Cb.iulieu, however, supports ni' re consist- 
ently the spirit fit the K))icurean pluiosopher. See his 
poem, addre>sed lo the Marquis de Lafare — 

PluB j'apprache du terme et i 

■ je le TcUoute, J:o. 

And, when mice the journey '« o'er^ 

Ah! we can return no more!] Scall^er, upon 
Catullus's well-known lines, "Qui nunc it per iter, 
&c.," remarks, that Acheron, with the same idea, is 
cr.Iled avElo6oS by Theocritus, and ^va-iKd^Ofio^ by 


Fill me, boy, as deep a dransibt, 

As eVr was till'd, as e'er was quaff'd ! 

But let the water amplv finw. 

To cool the grape's inlcn^perate glow ; 

Let not the fiery ^od be single, 

But with Ihe nymphs in uni:.n mingle. 

For though tlie bowl 's the grave of sadness, 

Ne'er let it be (he birth of madness. 

No, banish from our board to-niglU 

The revelries of rude delight j 

This ode consists of two fragments, which are to be 
found iit x., and which Barnes, from 
the similarity of their tendency, has cnmbined into 
one. I (hink tht^ a very jusiihable liberty, and have 
ad' pted i( in some other fragments of our poet. 

Kewn refers us here to veises of Uz, lib. iv., **der 

But let lite water anifly flow^ 

To cool tfie p'ttp'.'i intemperate glow ; ^-c] It was 
Amphictyon who (irst taught the Greeks to mix water 
with their wine ; in commemoration of which circum- 
aarvj* .hey erected altars to Ricchus and the nymphs. 
On this mythological allegory the following epigram 
is founded : 

Ardentem ex u ero Scmelps lavere Lyaeum 

NaiH.U-H, exiinrto fijlmiiiis i[,'ii« fatri; 
Cum nympliis ijritur trB-tabiliH, at sine nymphis 
UaiiUuiili rurHUs fulmine currtpitur. 

Pterins P^ala'iamis, 
Which is, non verbum verbo, — 

While hi-avt-nly fire cnnsum'U hip Thi-bnii ilame, 

A Naiml rauKht young Bacchus from the llnme, 

And Oipp'J him burniuK in ht-r purest lymph ; 

Hence, Htillht? [oven the Naiml's rryslnl iini, 

res loo flrrrely burn, 

I of the fuuntain-iiymph. 

To Scythians leave these wild excesses, 
Ours be the joy th^t sonihes and besses ! 
And while the temperate bowl we wreathe, 
In concert let our vi>ices breathe, 
Bfi^uilirig eveiy h'njr alone 
VViih harmony of soul and song. 


To Love, the snfi and blooming child, 
I touch the harp in desrant WJIJ ; 
To Love, llie liabe of Cyprnn bowers, 
The boy, who breithes and blushes flowers; 
To Love, for heaven and e;irlh adore him, 
And gods and mortals bow before him I 

"This fragment is preserved in Cleniens Alexandri- 
Dus. Sinun. lib. vi. atid in Arsenius, Collect. Grtec." 
— Jiaj^nts. 

It appears to have been (he opening of a hymo in 
praise of Love. 


Haste thee, nymph, uhose well-aimed spear 

Wounds Ihe fleeting moi ntain-deer! 

Dian. Jove's immnr a! child. 

Huntress of Ihe savage wild ! 

Godde-s with the sun bright hair! 

Listen to a people's |ira\cr. 

Turn, to Lethe's river turn, 

Tht-re thy v.uKiuish'd people mourn! 

Come to Lethe's «avy shore, 

Tell ibem thev shall mourn no more. 

Thine th-ir hearts, their altars thine; 

Must they, Dian — must ihey pine? 

Thishynm lo Diana is extant in Hepha-sfion. There 
is an antTilnte of our poet, which has led souie to 
doubt whether he ever wmle any odes of this kind. 
It is related by the Scholiast upon Pindar {Isfhminnic. 
od. ii. v. I. as cited by RarnesJ that Anacreon being 
a-ked, wtiy he addressed all his hymns to women, and 
none to the deities? answered, "Because womeu aie 
my dei'ies." 

I have assumed, it will be seen, in reporting this 
anecdote, the smie liberty which 1 have thought it 
iit;ht to take in transl.ilint; some of the odes ; and it 
were to be wished that Ihe-e little inhdelities were 
always allowable in mterpreting the writings of the 
ancients; thus, when nature i-. forgotten in theoiiginal, 
in the translation " tamen usque recurret." 

Turn, tn Lelhe\i river titrvj 

There thy vanqiiish''d people monrti !] Lethe, a 
river of Ionia, according to Strabo, falling into the 
Meander. In its neighbourhood was the city called 
Magnesia, in favour of whose inhabitan's our poet is 
supposed to have addressed this supplication to Diana. 
It was written (as M.idame Dacier conjectures) on (he 
occasion of some battle, in which the Magnesiaiis bad 
been defeated. 

Like some wanton fillv sporting. 

Maid of Thnce, thmiflySf my courting, 

W.ntonhlly: lelln.euhy ^ 

think mvdoitii 

1 the bri.lhi 

And s. 

Is nnv 

Believe me, sjirl. it is not so; 

Thou 'it bud ihisskiHul band car 

The reins around that fender fori 

However wild, however warm. 



Yes — trust me I cm lame thy force, 
And luin and "ind tliee in Ihe course, 
Thrv,i-h, ua.tiii^ now thy carelf>.b hours, 
Thou spun amid the herbs aud liowers, 
Soon bhall thou feel the rein's continl. 
And tiemble at the wished fur goal ! 

""his nde, which is addre^sc-d to some Thrnci^n ?irl, 
s's in Hemchdes, and been iniita'ed very fre- 
quently by Horace, as all Ilie aunoiators liave re- 
maiked. Madame U.icier rejects the nllegnry, which 
s sn obviously through the poem, and supposes ii to 
have bt^eii addi'es&ed to a youn? nure heluneing to 

"'lerius, in the fourth bonk of his Hieroglyphics, 
cires this ode, and informs us that the horse was the 
hieiogl)phical emblem of pride. 


To thee, the Queen of nymphs divine, 
Fairest uf all thai fairest slime i 
To thee, who rul'st with darts nf fire 
This world of mortal?, ynui g Desire! 
Ami oh ! Ihou riupliHl Tower, to thee 
Who beai'sl ol life the guard .an key, 
Breathing my soul in fervent pr^iise, 
And weaving wild my voiive lays, 
Tor Ihee, O Queen ! i wake the lyre, 
For ihee, ihou blushing young Desire, 
And oh ! fur thee, thou miplial Power, 
Come, and illume this genial hour. 

Look on thy bride, too happy bojr. 
And while thy lambent glance of joy 
Plays over all her blushine: chirms, 
Delay not, smtch her to thine arms, 
Before the lovely, trembling prey, 
Like a young birdling, wing av\ ay ! 
Turn, Stiatocles, too happy youth, 
Dear to Ihe Queen of amorous trulh. 
And dear to her, whose yielding zone 
Will sonn resign her all thine own. 
Turn to Myrdt.^. turn thine eye, 
Breaihe to Myrtlla, brea'he ihy sigh. 
To those beuiichmg bean'ies turn ; 
For l)iee Ihey blujh, for Ihee they burn. 

Not more the rose, the queen of flowers, 
Oulblushes all the bloom of bovvers, 
Than ^he unrivall'd grace discloses. 
The sweetest mse. where all aie roses. 
Oh ! may the sun. benignant, shed 
His blandest influence o'er Ihy bed ; 
And foster there an infant tree, 
To bloom like her, and tower like thee! 

This ode is introduced in the Romance of Theod'Tus 
Prodrnnms and is Ihat kind of epithalaniium which 
Wrts sung like a scolium at the nuptial banquet. 

Among the many wotks of Ihe impassioned Sappho, 
of which limeand ignorant superslilion have dep^'ived 
us, the loss of her epihalamiums is not one of the 
east that we deplore. The following lines are cited 
s a relic of one of those poems : — 

0A/3tc ya^cfioe. (rot (lev 6t] yauog wj apaOf 

EKT£T£\tcrT\ ex^t-S 5^ Tra(id£Vov av apao. 

See Scaliger, in his Poetics, on the Epilhalamium. 

Jind fofittr there an infant tree. 
To bloom like her, andto%oer like thee!] Original 
ivnaatTTo^ ic nc<pvKot tmi cvt Ki}nu). Passeratius. 
upon the words "cumcastum amisit florem," in the 
Nuptial Song of Ca'ulhis. after explaining "fins'' in 
eomewh.»t a similar s^ense to that which Gaulminus 
iitril)ute8 to (SoiJov, says, " Hor um qu- que vocani in 
*luo flos ille carpitur, et Graecis K7]t:ov tort to iiPt)- 
I 0aiov yv 

I may here remrvrk, in pa-^sing, that the author of the 
Greek version of ihis ctiaiming ode of Catullu-, has 
neglected a m* s' striking and anacieontic be.iuty in 
those verses " Ut flos in seplis, &c.." which is the 
repeliti(rn of the line, " IVtuIti ilium pueri, mui'ie rp- 
tavere pueli^,' wilh the slight aiter.tion of nuili and 
iiullae. Criiuliu-i him elf, however, has been equally 
injudicious in his version of the funous ode of Sappho ; 
havint; transited yEAtutraS IfiepOLV, but omitted al] 
notice of the accnnq-anying charm, itju <ptuVov(7aS. 
Horace has caught Ihe tpirit of it mme failhlully : 




Rich m bliss, I proudly scorn 
The ueal h of Amalthea's horn; 
Noi should I ask to call the ihrone 
Of Ihe Tartessian prii.ce my own : 
To lotter through liis train of years, 
The vic'im cf decliniig fears. 
One little hour ot joy to me 
Is worth a dull eternity ! 

Of the Tartessian prince my cnon ;1 He here al- 
ludes to Aiganthon:us, who lived, according to Lucian. 
an hundred and fifly years ; and reigned, according to 
Herodotus, eighty. See Baraes. 


Now Neptune's mrnth our sky deforms. 

The angry night-cloud leems wiih stormsj 

And s-ivage winds, infuriate driven, 

Fiy howling in the face of heaven ! 

Now, now, my friends, the gathering gloom 

Wilh lo-e.ite rays of wine illume: 

And while our wreaths of par^ley spread 

Their fadeless foliage round our head. 

Let's hymn Ih' alm'iuhly jiouerof wine, 

And shed libations on his shrine ! 

This is composed of two fragments; the seventieth 
and eiehiy-firat in Barnes. They are both fouud lo 


They wove the lotus band to deck 
And fan with pensile wrealheach neck; 
Ar d every guest, to shade his head. 
Three little fragrant ch.iplets spread j 

Three fragments form this lillle ode, all of which 
are preserved in A'hcnapus. They are the eighty 
second, seventy-fifth, and eightythiid, in Barnes. 

^7irf every :^cst, to shade his head. 

Three little frag ra7it chajilets spread;"] Longc- 
pierre, lo give an idea of the luxurio s esiimatinn in 
which garlands were held by ilie ancients, relaies an 
anecdote of a cour"e-;an, who in ordt-r to ^raufy thiee 
lovers, wiihoul leaving cause for jealnu-y with any of 

them, gave a kis? to 

, let the other di ink after he 

and put 3 garland on the brow of Ihe third ; 


each was satisHed 

>elt with the prefe 

This circiimstar 

ject of one of the 

his favour, and flattered hi) 

[nbles very much the sub- 
rf Savnri' de Maiileon, a 
troubadour. See L'Histoire Litteraire des Trouba- 
dours. The recital is a curiuus picture of the puenle 
gallantries of chivalry. 



And one was of Ih' Egyptian leaf, 

The rest weie r ses, fair and brief; 

While frnni a g'lden vase profound, 

To nil on (lowcry beds around, 

A Hfbe, of celeslinUhape, 

Puut'd tJie rich drop^jings of Ihe grape I 


A broken cake, \vith honey sweet, 
Is all my spare and simple treat : 
And H hlle a generous bowl I crown 
To float my litile banquet down, 
I take the soft, ihe amorous lyre, 
And sing of love's delicious lire : 
In mirthful measures warm and free, 
I sing, dear maid, and slug for Ihee ! 

Complied by Barnes, from Atheuseus, Hepbaestion, 

and Ar<>eniu3. See Barnes, SOtb. 


With twenty chords my lyre is hung, 
And while 1 wake them all for thee, 

Thou, O maiden, wild and young, 
Disporl'sl in airy levity. 

The nursling fawn, that in some shade 
Its aniler'd mother leaves behind, 

Is not more wantonly afraid, 
More timid of the rustling wind ! 

This I have formed from the eighty-fourth and 
eighty-filth of Rarues'd edition. The two fragments 
are found in AthensT'Us. 

The nursling faioii^ that in some shade 
Its aniler'd inothtr leav&s behind^ ^-c] In the 
original : — 

*0j IV i\T} KCpOEO-fTT/S 

AKoXtitpOits iino iJ-tjTgo^, 

" Horned" here, undoubtedly, seems a strange epi- 
thet; Madame Dacier however observes, ihat Sopho- 
cles, Callimachus, &c. have all applied it in the very 
same manner, and vhe seems to agree in the ci'njec- 
tui-e of Ihe scholiast upon Pindar, ihat perhaps horn? 
are not always peculiar to the males. I think we may 
with more ease conclude it to be a license of the poet, 
*'jussit habere puellam coruua." 


Fnre thee well, perfidious maid, 

My soul, too long on eirlh delayed, 

Delay'd, perfidious girl, by thee, 

Is on the wing for liberty. 

I fly to seek a Kindlier sphere. 

Since thou liast ceas'd to love me here! 

This frasnient is preserved by the scholiast upon 
Aristophanes, and is tlie eighty-seveuib in Barnes. 


Awhile 1 bloonrd, a happy flower, 
Till Love appro.ich'd one f:^tal hour, 
And made niv leiider branches feel 
The wounds of his avenging s'eel. 
Then lost I fell, like some poor willow 
That falls across the wintry billow ! 

This Is to be found in Hepha£s:ion, and is Ihe eighty. 
ninth of Larms's edition. 

1 have omitted, from among the e scraps, a very 
consiileratile fragment imputed to our poet, "Eavdrj d''VnvXr} fieXtt, &.C. which is pieserved In the 
twelfth bnok of Aiht naeus, and is the ninety-lirsl in 
B.irnes. If it was really Anncrenn who wroie it, 
" nil full unquam sic impar sibi." It is In a style of 
gross -atire, and ab. unds with expressions th;it never 
could be gracefully translated. 

Monarch Love, resistless boy. 

of Jov, 

Heaven's hue, 

With whom the ro-y Q 

And nymphs, whose eyes liai 

Disporting ireid ihe m^untai: 

rrnpitious, oh! receive my sit^hs. ' 

Which, glowing wi'h entreaty, rise, 

Tl'at rhou wilt whis; er to the bieasl 

Of her I love thy soft behest ; 

And counsel her to It-arn from thee, 

That lesson th^u hast liu^ht to me. 

Ah! if my heart no flattery tell, 

Thou Ml own I Ve ieaiu'd that lesson well I 

A fragment preserved bv Dion Chrysostom, Orat 
il. de Regno. See Barnes, "93. 


Spirit of Love, whose Incks unroIPd, 
Stream on the breeze like flnaiing gold ; 
Come, within a fragrant cloud 
Blushing wi;|) light, thy votaiy shroud ; 
And, on those win^s that sparkling play. 
Waft, nh, waftmehei.ceauayj 
L've ! my soul is full of thee. 
Alive to all thy luxury. 
But she. the nymph for whom I glow, 
The lovely Lesbi.m mocks my woe; 
Smiles at the chill and hoaiy hues. 
That (ime up^o my forehead strews. 
Alas ! I fear she keeps her charms. 
In stnre for younger, happ-ier arms ! 

This fragment, which is extant in Aihf naeus fli^rnes, 
101. 1, is supposed, on the au-hority of Chamaileon, to 
h.ive been .iddres-ed to S.^ppho. We have also a 
stanza attnbutfd to her. which snme romancers have 
supposed to be her answer tn Anacreon. *' Mais par 
malheur (as B.iyle says), Sappho vint au monde envi- 
ron cent nu >ix ans avai.t Anacreon." — JVou- 
vtlles de la Jiep, des Lett. tom. ii. de Novembre, I6S4 
The f.>IIowing is her fragment the compliment of 
which is finely imagined ; she supposes that the Muse 
has dictated the verges of Anacreon : — 

Kttvov, to xpv<roOpo 
'TfivoVf EK Ttjq KaAAiyv 

ll(itcCv<; ayavos- 


I hymn of 

But, O-KJdi-ss from 

•Ihe nw.flvHl lijmn 

Ue lately learu'U i 

on efMen ttironi', 
wjtohine •"O'* 

laitchl liy Ihep; 

hv ihroiif of gold. 


Hither, gentle Mu<e of mine, 
Come and teich thy vo<ary old 

M^ny a golden hymn divine. 
For the nymph u iih vest of gold. 



Pretiy nvmph,of tender age, 

Fair tiiy silky locks unfold ; 
Lisien to a ho.iry s.i2;e, 

Svveete* maid with vest of gold 1 

Formed nf the 121th and llOih fiasrments in Barnes, 
both of which are to be found in Sc Niger's Poeiics. 

De Pauvv thinks that those delaclied lines and 
couplets, which Scali^er has adduced :'8 examples in 
his Poetic?, are by uu uieaus au.hentic, but of bis own 


Would that I were a tuneful lyre, 

Of buriiish'd ivory fair, 
Which, in the Dinnysian choir, 

Some blooming boy should bear! 

Would that I were a golden, 
That some bright nymph might hold 

My spotless frame, with blushing grace, 
Herself as pure as gold ! 

This is genenlly inserted among the remains of 
Alcseus. Some, however, have attributed it to Ana- 
creon. See our poet's twenty-iecond ode, aad the 


When Cupid sees how thickly now, 

The snows of Time fall o'er my biow, 

Upon his win? of g-lden lis^ht. 

He passes with an eaglet's flight, 

And iiiftiiig onward seems to say, 

" Fare thee well, thou 'st had thy day ! " 

See Barnes, 173d. This fragment, to which I have 
taken the liberty of adding a turn not to be found in 
the origini., is ci'ed by Lucian in bib short essay on 
the Gallic Heicules. 

Cupid, whose lamp has lent the ray, 
That lights our life's meandering way, 
That God, within this bosom stealing. 
Hath waken'd a strange, mingled feeling, 
Which pleases, though so sadly teasing, 
And teases, though so sweetly pleasing I 

Barnes, I25th. Thia is in Scali;er's Poetics. Gail 
has omitted it in his collection of fragments. 

Let me resign this wretched breath, 

Since now remains to ine 
No other balm than kindly death, 

To soothe my misery 1 

This frasment is extant in Arsenius and Hephaes- 
tion. See Barnes (69th), who has arranged the metre 
of il very skilfully. 

I know thiu lov'st a brimming measure. 

And art a kindly, cordial host; 
But let me fill and drink at pleasure — 

Thus 1 enjoy tlie goblet most. 

Barnes, 72d. This fragment, which is found in 
Athenseus, contains an excellent lesson for the vota- 
riea of Jupiter Hospitalis. 

I fear thr^t love disturbs my rest. 
Vet feel not love's impasiou'd caie; 

I think there's madness in my breast, 
Vel cannot liud that madness there ! 

jnd in Hepha?slion (see Barnes, 65th), and re- 
s one somewhat of the following : — 
ill et amo; qnare id faciHOi fortase*; requiris; 
ItBtio: Bfd fieri scntio. et excrucior. Carm. 63. 

, but cauQut tell why. 

Fmm dre;id Leucidia's frowning steep, 
] 'II plunge into the whitening deep ; 
And there lie cold, to death res;gii'd, 
Since Love intoxicates my mind ! 

This is also in Hephasstion, and perhaps is a frag- 
ment of some poem, in which Anacreon had coni- 
memoraled the fate of Sappho. It is the I23d of 

Mix me, child, a cup divine, 
Crys'al water, ruby wine : 
Weave the frontlet, richlv flushing, 
O'er my wintry temples blushing. 
Mix the brimmer— Love and I 
Shill no more the contest try. 
Here — ujion this hdly bowl. 
1 surrender all my soul ! 

Collected by Barnes, from Demetrius Phalareus a 
Eustathius, and subjoined in his edition to (he e attributed to our p' et. And here is the last 
those litile scattered (loweis, which i though; I mi; 
venture with any grace to transplant; — happy i{ 
could be Slid of the garland which they form. To 

CU^' AvaKp£OVTOS. 

Among the Epis:rams of the Anthniogia, are found 
some paneg} rics on Anacreon, which I had tramla'ed 
and originally intended as a sort of Coronts to this 
work. But I found upon consideration, that they 
wanted variety ; and that a frequerit recurrence, in 
them, of the same thought, would render a collection 
of such poems uninteresting. I shall take the liberty, 
however, of subjoining a few, selected from the num- 
ber, that I may nnt appear to have totally neglected 
those ancient tributes to the fame of Anacreon. The 
four Epigrams which I give are imputed to Antipater 
Sidonius. They are rendered, perh.ips, with too much 
freedom ; but designing originally a translation of all 
that are extant on the subject, I endeavoured to enliven 
their uniformity by sometimes indulging in the liber- 
ties of paraphrase. 



eAAAOI TtTpa/copv/i&of, Ava/cptov, a^0t di 

&Spa rt XzLfiinviDv nopfftvpcutv ffcraXa" 
nijyai 6* anyivoivTO^ ava9Xt6oLVTo ya^aKTOJ, 

cvoj^i^ d' ano y:;? i)dv X^Otro {if-Gv, 
oi^pa Kt TOi (T-noHTj it Kai ocrrza rto-'piv ap£Tat, 

u ^t riq (pOifiEvoi^ ;^pt^ffT£Tat £tj0foo-vvo, 
0) TO i^tXov arsplas, 4>ikt, fiap6i.Tov, w cvv ootffa 

iravTa 6ian-Acoo-«s Kai<rvv tpmrt (3iov. 



Around the "omb, oh, bard divine 1 

Where' snfi thy hallow'd brow reposes, 

Long may the de.ithtess ivy twine, 

And buiiiuier s|irea(l her waste uf ruses ! 

And ihere sliall nianv a fnunt disUl, 

And many a rill refresh the liowera; 
But wine sliall be each pmple lilU 

And every Tount be milky showers. 

Thus, shade of him, whom Nature taught 

To tune his lyre and soul to pleasure. 
Who give to love his lenderesi Ihought, 

Who give to love bis fondest measure,— 

Thus after death, if shides can feel, 

Thou miy'si, from odours round thee streaming, 
A pulse of pisi enjoyment steal, 

And live again m blissful dieammg! 

Antipa er Sidouius, the author of this epigram, 

lived, according to Vos-iius, de Poetis Gracis, iu the 
second year of the 169th Olympiad. Heappears, from 
what Cicero and Quintilim have said of htm, lo have 
bet-n a kind of improvisatore. See Institut. Orat. lib. 
X. cap. 7. There is nothing more known respecting 
this poet, except some particulars alwut his illness and 
death, which are menilnned as curinus by Pliny and 
olhers;— and there remain of his works but a few 
epigrams in the Anlholusiai an^'*"? v^hich are feu nd 
Ihese inscriptions upon Anacrenn. These remains 
have been sometimes imputed to another poeti of the 
same nmie, of whom Vossms gives us the following 
account :—Antiparer Thes-alonicensis vixit tempore 
Augusii Caesari", ut qui saltantem viderit Pyladem, 
sicut constat ex quodam CjUS e[*igrammate Av9oXo- 
ytas, lib. IV. tit. Eiq ogx^-^'^P'-^'^S- At eum ac Ba- 
ihyllum primos fuis e pmtommtns ac sub Augusto 
claruisse, satis rjoluni ex Dioue, &c. &c." 

The reader, who ihinks ir worth observing, miy 
find a strange oversight in Hotlman's quopaiiou of Ihis 
article from Vo^grus, Lexic.Univers. By the omission 
of a sentence he has ina.Ie Vossius as^eri that the poet 
Antipaler was one of the tirst panioiuime dancers in 

Barnes, upon the epigram before us, men'ions a ver- 
sion of it by Brodsus, which is not to be found in 
that commentator; but he more than once coi. founds 
Brodaeus with another annolatnr on the An'holngia 
Vinceniius Obsopccus, who has given a translation of 
tlie epigram. 


TYMBOE Ava<pt.iovTos- f> Ttjio? ivOadt kvkvos 

AxfiTiv Xlloloivti /ttAc^ETQi afKpL ]iaOv\\<a 

"l^cpa* Kai KKTcrov AevKog odwdt XtOos- 
Ovd' Ai67}iarot tQutras a-!: i(t6c<t^v,£V 6* Ax^povT os 

Here steeps Anacreon, in this ivied shade ; 
Here mute in death the Teian sxvan is laid. 
Cold, cold that heait, which while on earth it dwelt 
All the sweet frenzy of love's passion felt. 

the Teimi swan is laid.} Thus Horace of 

Pindar : — 

MuItQ Dirraeum levat aura cycnum. 

A swan was the hieroajlyphical emblem of a poet. 
Anacreon has been called the swan of Teos by an- 
other of his eulogists. 

EV TOiJ [ItXiXpOl^ ']fltpOl(Tt O-VVTOO^OV 

Avato5 AvaKQiovTa, Tijtov kvktov, 
Kff^ijAas iiypij vcfcrapoj fiEXTjfovTf. 

EvytvovSt AvOoXoy. 

And yet, oh. Bard I thou art not mute in death, 
Still do we catch thy lyre's luxurious breath j 
And still thy songs of soft Haihylla bloom, 
Green as ihe ivy round thy nmuldering tonib. 
N'lr yet has death obscui'd thy tire of love, 
For ptill it lights thee through the Elysian grove; 
Where dreams are thine, that bless th' elect alone, 
And Veuu!) calls thee even 4n death her own 1 

Gnd of the grape*, thou hast belray'd 

III wiriL-'a bt-'wildencig tlrt^am, 

The fairesl swan that ever play'd 

Aluiig Ihe Muse's slream 1 — 

The Teian, nurs'cl with all those boney'd boys, 

The yuuug Deoires. Itglit Loveti, and ruse-lipp'd Joytl 

Still do we catch thy lyre*s htxitrioits brtath;} 
Thus Simonides, speaking of our poet : — 

MoXinjg 6^ ov Xtj^tj /iEAtTcpTreo? aXX' tTt Keivo 
UapjStrov ov6t ^■avuiV ivvacrtv tiv atdr}. 

LifiovidoVf AvOoXoy. 

Not yet are all hia numbers mule, 

Though Unik within the tomb he lies; 

But liviiiK Nlill. hiN amoruus lule 
With blet-plesy animation sighs! 

This is the famous Simonides, whom Plato styled 
*' divine." though Le Fevre, in l»is Poetes Grecs, sup- 
poses that the epig ams under his name are all falsely 
impuled. T he most considerable of his remains is a 
satirical pnini upon women, preserved by Stobxus, 
xpoyos yvvaiKuiV. 

VVe mayjudie from the lines I have just quoted, 
and the import of the epigram before us, that the 
works of Anacreon were perfect in Ihe limes of Simo- 
nides and Anlipa'er, Obsopceus, the commentator 
here, ajpears to exult in their desiruction, and telling 
us they were burned by Vie bishops and patriarchs, he 
adds, "nee iane id nec«iuicciuam feceiunt," attnbuiinj 
to this outrage an eiiect which it could not possibly 
have produced. 


s.FJS E, ra(f)ov napaXiTov AvuKptiovTos aXupuiV^ 

El Tt Tot tK (iipiXuv TiSeev tixwv otpaos, 
T.nua-ov tfit] (jno6n}t (ttiektov yavoj, o0pa Ktv 

Oo-TEa y't]Ot}aE ra/ia voTt^oftsvat 
'Sl<; b Atovuo-ov ii£iu\7]fiEvos ovaa-t Kujfios^ 

'52 6 (piSaKprjTov avvTpv<l)og A,piiovtT)S, 
Mrjdt. KaTa0(Jt/t£Vos IJaK;\;ov ^ixa tovtov i/Tzota-ui 

'VOV yiVtJj //CpOTTUJV X'^po'^ o(l>Et.\oit,ivov. 

Oh, stranger! if Anacrenn's shell 
Have ever taught thy heart to suell 
With passion's throb or pleasure's sigh, 
In pity turn, as wandering nigh. 

The spirit of Anacreon is supposed to utier these 
verses from Ihe tonib, — somew hat " niutatus ab illo," 
at least in simplicity of expression. 

if AnacreorCs shell 

Has ever taught thy heart to swell, ^c] We may 
guess fn ni the wor.Is £K /3i/Mu*v tfimVy that Anacreon 
was not meiely a writer of billets-doux, as some 
French critics have called him. Amongst these Mr, 
(,e Fevre, wiih all his piofessed admiration, has 
given our poet a character by no means of an elevated 
cast : — 

AushI c'eal pour cela que la posterile 
L*a toujoura justenienl d'age en age chanle 
Comme un franc gogueiinrd. ami de &oiiifrerie» 
Ami Uc billets-doux et de badinerie. 

' 52 


And drop thv goblet's richest tear 
In lettdeiest'libaticn here! 
So si all my sleening ashes thrill 
\Vi:h visions of enjoyment still. 
Not even in dea'h can I resign 
The fest.l joys that once were mine, 
When Harmony pursu'd my ways, 
And Bacchus wmtnu'd to my lays. 
Oh ! If lieli^jht could charm no more, 
If all the goblet*^ bliss were o'er, 
When faie had once our doom decreed. 
Then dying unuld be death indeed j 
Nor coulc I think, unblest by wine, 
Divinity itself divine 1 

See the verses prefixed to his Poetes Grecs. This is 
unlike the language ol Theocritus, to whom Anacreon 
is indebted for the following simple eulogium : — 


£5 VIK.OV tvQri%- 

Qacrai tov avdfuavTa 
cnovSa, kul Aty', ti 

It^oaStisSt ;^;cuTt rots 
tgtLS aTQiKeui^ o\ov tov avd^a* 

Upon the Statue of Anacreon. 

Stranger '. who near (his etalue chance to roam. 
Let it awhile your ttludmus eyeu engage; 

That you may say, returning to yniir home, 
" I 've seen the image of the Teian sage, 
Best of the bariJii who deck the Muse'o page.'* 

Then, if you add, "That Htnplmgs lov'il him well," 

You tell them all he waa, and aptly telt. 

I have endeavoured to dn justice to the simplicity of 
this inscription by rendering it as literally, 1 believe, 
ts a verse translation will allow. 

jSnrf drop thy gobleVs richest tear, ^c] Thus 
Simonides, in another of his epitaphs on our poet: — 

Kat fitv atL Tcyyoi vorto-q 5f)ocroj, 1)5 6 ycpatoj 
AapoTEpov fiaXaKuiv tirvtzv zk o-To/iaTujj;. 

Lei vinee, in rluslering beauly wreath'd. 
Drop all their treasures on his head. 

Whose lips a dew of eweetiiess brealh'd, 
Richer than viue hath ever fltieU \ 

And Bacchus wantmVd to my lays^ 8,-c.] The 
original here is corrupted, the line di^ 6 Aiovvcov. 
&.C. is unintelligible. 

Brunck's emend it ion improves the sense, but I 
doubt if it can l)e conimenieJ for elegance. He reads 
the line thus: — 

&S 6 AiuiVV<Toio X£Xrt(j;tcvoj ovrrort jccu/toit 

See Brunck, Analecta Veter. Poet, Graec. vol. ii. 


EYAEIE tv (f)difi£voi.(nVt AvaKpsov, ca-QXa irovij- 

tidti (5' ^ yXvKEpr} vvKTiXaXo^ KtOapa, 
tidtt Kat Zpt£p6LS^ TO UoOov tap, u> uv ficXt<rd(aVt 

(iap(it.T\ avaKpovov veKrng tvapfioviov. 
riiOfsiv yap KpwToj c^vs (tkouo';- £$ Ci at fiowov 

Tola Tt Kat. ffKoAtaj £(,\'£v iKijfioXias. 

At length thy golden hours have wing'd their flight, 
And drowsy death that eyelid steepeth; 

Thy harp, fliat whisper'd (hrough each liogering 
Now mutely in oblivion sleepeth 1 

Thy harpy that whispered through each Imstring 
night, t^c.J in another of these poems, '* the nightly' 

She too, for wnom that harp profusely shed 

The purest neclarof its numbers, 
She, the young spring of thy desires, hath fled, 

And wilh her blest Anacreon slumbers ! 

Farewell ! Ihnu hadVapulse for every dart 
That mighty Love could scatter from his quiver ; 

And each new beauiy found in thee a heart. 

Which thou, with all thy he.trt atid soul, didst give 
her ! 

(1)5 (5 <pL\aKp7}To^ Tt Kai oivopapT}^ ^iXoKw/ioy 
navvvxtos Kpovoi ^ ttjv 0tAorrat^rt x^^''^'^' 

Ziiiuivtdov, us AvaKptovTU, 

To beauty's smile and wine'o delight. 
To joys he Inv'd on earth so well. 

Still hthnll his Hi^irit. all (he night, 
Attune the wild, aerial shell 1 

She, the young spring of thy desires, .^c] The 
original, to no9uiV tap, is beau'ifut. We regret that 
!>uch praise should be l.vished so preposterously, and 
feel th.i! the poefs mislress Eurypyle would have de- 
served it bet'er. Her name has been lold us by Melea- 
ger, as already quoted, and in another epigram by 

tjypa (?£ StpKOfiEvoia-tv tv ofLfiao-iv ovXov atidoiSj 

at9vc<Tujv Xiiraprfs av9os i'TTtpOt KOfiTj^f 
7}C TTpos EvpvKvXijv TtTpafifitvoi . , • . 

Long may the nymph around thee play, 

Eurypyle, thy kouI's deeire, 
Backing her beautiea in the ray 

That lighta thine eyes' dissolving fire' 

The expression here, av9os Kofirjg, " the flower of 
the hair," is borrowed from Anacreon himself, as 
appears by a fragment of the poet preserved in Sto* 
basus : A7r£K£ipas d' &iTaXT]S afio^ov avOoj. 

The purest nectar of its numlers, Sfc] Thus, says 
Brunck, in the prologue to the S itires of Persius : — 

Caiitare credaa Pegaeelum nectar. 

" Melns" is the u?ual reading in this line, and Causa- 
bf)n has defended it j but "nectar" js, I think, much 
more spirited. 

Farewell ! thou had^st a pulse for every dart, <5-c.] 
tr}>V£ o-Konos, "scopu-erasn.ttura," not "speculator," 
as Barnes very falsely interprels it. 

Viiicentius Obsnpceus, upon Ibis passage, contrives 
to indulge us with .1 little a^trnlogical wisdom, and 
talks in a style of learned scandal about Venus, ** m:ile 
posila cum Marte in domo Saturni." 

And each new heavty found in thee a heart, ^c] 
This couplet is not otherwise wnrranied by the origi- 
nal, ihan as it dilates the thought which Antipater has 
figuratively expres'^ed. 

Criijas, of Athens, pays a tribute to the legitimate 
gallantry of Anacreon, calling him, with elegant con- 
ciseness, yvvuLKUiV Tjntpontviia. 

Tov dc yvvuKtidiV fitXtaiv irXilavra ttot' tuflag, 
'H6vv AvaKpttovra^, Tfujj £ts 'EAAaJ* avr/ycv, 
T>Vfinoo-iov tpiOtu (la , yvvaiKuiV rjntporrzvfjLa, 

t Brunck has Kpoviuv ; hut Kpovoi, the common 
reading, better suits a detached quotation. 

^ Thus Scaliger, in his dedicalory verses to Ron- 

Blandus, BuavilnquuB, dulciA Anacreon. 

jtave to Greece her trcnsure, 
Ua^e Aiiacreon, Huge in loving; 
FuiiJly weaving lays of [ileasuie 

For the niaiils who blut:h'd ai>[>roTing. 

When ill nightly hanqueta flrorting, 

Where's Ihe guent could ever fly him' 

Whfu with love'a Beilui-tion courting, 
Where 'b the n> inph could e'er deny hln 



The Poems which 1 take the liberty of publishing, 
weie never iiileiideJ tiy Ihe author to pass beyond Ihe 
c.rcle of his I'neiidt. He thought, wiih some justice, 
Ihal what .ire called Occasiojial Poems must be always 
insipid and uninteresting to the greater pari of their 
leaders. The particular ^ituitions in which they were 
wrilte;i ; the chiracler of Ihe author and of his asso- 
ciates ; all these peculiarities must be known and lelt 
before we can enter into the jpirit of such composi- 
II .ns. This consideration would hive always, 1 be- 
lieve, preveuiel Ihe author himself Irom submitting 
these trifles to Ihe eye iif dispassionate crilicism : and 
if their posthumous iniroduciion to the world be ' 

Ihe advantage of the latitude vvbich the moralj of those 
times so criminally allowed to Ihe paesioDs, All this 
depraved his imagination, and m.ide it ihe slave of his 
senses. But still a native sensibility is oflea very 
warmly perceptible; and when he touches the chord 
of pathos, he reaches iminedialely the hiarl. They 
who have fell the sweets of retuin to a home from 
which they have long been absent will couless Ihe 
beauty of those simple uuatVecled lines ; — 
O quid Bolulin est beatius rurist 
Cum mens onus re|>oi>iI, ac peregrine 
Labore renal veuimiis Lfirem ad Dostruio 
Desidernloque act{ui«sciiDiis Icctn. 


1 the death of his brntlier are Ihe very 

tice to his memory, or intrusion on the public, the ,ears of poesy ; and when he complains of the i.igrat 
be imputed to the injudicious pailiality of ^^^^ ^f mankind, eien the inenperienced cannot but 


Mr. I.ittle died in his one-and-twentieth year; and 
most of these Poems were written at so eariy a period 
that their eirors may lay claim to some indulgence 
from the critic. 'I heir author, as unambitious as in- 
dolent, scarce ever looked beyond Ihe moment of com- 
position ; but, in general, wrote as he ple.ised, careless 
whether he pleased as he wrote, li may likewise be 
remembeied, that they were all the productions of an 
age when ihe passions very ofen give a colouring too 
warm to the imagination ; and this may pilliate, if it 
cannot excuse, thai air of levity which pervades so 
many of them. The " aurea legge s'ei piace ei lice," 
he too much pursued, and too much inculcates. Few 
can regiel this more sincerely than myself; and if my 
friend had lived. Ihe judgment of riper years would 
have cluslened his mind, and tempeied the luxuriance 
of his fancy. 

Mr. Little gnve much of his time to the study of the 
amatory wrileis. If ever he expected to find in the 
ancients that delicacy of sentiment, and variety of 
fancy, which are so necessary to refine and animate 
the poelry of Love, he was much disappointed. I know 
not any one of them who can be regarded as a model 
in that style ; Ovid made love like a rake, and Proper- 
lius like a schoolmaster. The iiiythological allusions 
of the latter are called erudition by his commentators ; 
but such ostentatious displav, upon a subject so simple 
as love, would be now eseemed vague and puerile, 
and was even in his own times pedantic. It is astonish- 
ing that so many critics should have pieferred him to 
the genlle and touching Tibullus ; but those defects, 1 
believe, which a common reader condemns, have been 
regarded rather as beauties by th'ise erudite men, the 
commentators; who find a field for their ingenui'y 
and research, in his Grecian learning and quaint ob- 

Tibullus abounds with touches of fine and natural 
feeling. ') he idea of his unexpected return to Delia, 
"Tunc veniani subito,"^ &c. is imagined with all Ihe 
oelicate ardour of a lover ; and the sentiment of " nee 
te posse carere velim," however colloquial Iheexpres. 
Bion may have been, is natural, and from the heart. 
But t'-le poet of Verona, in my opinion, possessed more 
genuine feeling than any of them. His life « as, I be- 
lieve, unfortunate ; his associates were wild and aban- 
doned ; and Ihe warmth of his nature took too much 


1 endeavou 
those beauties 

ere a poet ; I should 
to catch, by tianslation, the spirit of 
vhich 1 have alnays so warmly ad- 

seems to have been peculiarly the fate of Calul- 
that the better and more valuable nail of his poe- 
try has not reached us; for there is confessedly nothing 
in his extant works to authorise the epithet " doctus," 
so univeisilly bestowed unon him by the ancien's. If 
time had sutfered his otiiei vvriiings lo escape, we 
perhaps should have found among them some more 
purely amatory ; but of those we possess, can there 
be a sweeter specimen of warm, yet chastened de- 
scription than his loves of Acme and Septiniius ? and 
the few little songs of dallinnce to Lesbia are distin- 
guished by such an exquisite playfulness, that they 
haye always been assunud as models by the most ele- 
gant modern Litini^ts. Still, it must be confessed, iu 
the midst of all these beauties, 

— — — Medio de fonte lepornm 
Surgit amari aliquid, quod in ipsis lloribue aDeat.4 

It has often been remarked, that Ihe ancients knew 
nothing of gallantry; and we are sometimes told 
there was loo much sincerity in their loye to allow 
them to trifle thus with the semblance of passion. 
But I cannot perceive that ihey were any thing more 
constant than Ihe moderns : they felt all the same dis- 
sipation of the heart, though ihey knew not those 
seductive graces by which gallantry almost teaches it 
to be .imiable. Wotton, the learned advocate for the 
moderns, deserts them in considering this point of 
comparison, and praises Ihe ancients for their ignor- 
ance of such refinements. But he seems lo have col- 
lected his notions of g.illantry from Ihe insipid 
fadeurs of the French roniances, which have no. 
thing with the graceful levity, the "grata 
prolervitas," of a Rochester or a Sedley. 

As far as I can judge, Ihe early poels of our own 
languase were the models which Mr. Little selecteil 
for imitation. To attain their simplicity ("aevo 
rarisbima nosiro simplicitas ") was his fondest amlii- 
lion. He could not have aimed at a grace more dif- 
ficult of attainment ; » and his life was of too short a 

1 A portion of the Poems included in this and Ihe 
succeeding volume were published originally as the 
works of '' the late Thomas Little," with the Preface 
here given prefixed to them. 

■» Lib. i. Eleg. 3. 

» In the folloiving Poems, will be found a trai 
tion of one of his finest Carmina ; but 1 fancy it is 
only a mere schoolboy's es-ay, and deserves to be 
praised for little more than the attempt. 

* Lucretius. 

» It is a curious illustration of the labour which 
simplicity requires, that the Ramblers of Johnson, 




date to allow liim tf> perfect such a taste ; but how far 
I'as likely to have succeeded, the critic may judge 
from his productions. 

1 have found among his papers a novel, in rather 
an imperfect slate, w hich, as snoti as 1 have arranged 
and collected it, shall be submitted to the public eye. 

Where Mr. Little was born, or what is the gene- 
alogy of his parents, a'e points in which very few 
readers can he interested. His life was one of those 
humble streams which have scarcely a name in the 
map of life, and the traveller may pass it by without 
inquiring its source or direction. His char.»cter was 
well known to all who were acquainted with him; 
for he had loo much vanity to hide its virtues, and 
not enough of art to conceal its defects. The lighter 
traits of his mind miy be traced perhaps in his vvrit- 
tings ; but the few for which he was valued live only 
in the remembrance of his friends. T. M. 


My dear Sir, — I feel a very sincere pleasure in 
dedicating to you the Second Ediuim of our tnend 
Little's Pitems. I am noi unconscious thtt there are 
many in the collection which perhaps it would be 
prudent to have altered or omitted ; and, to say the 
truth, I more than once revised them for that pu 
pose; but, I know not why, I distrusted either m 
heart or my judgment; and the consequence is, you 
have them in their original form : 

ultae, Fan 

I am convinced, however, that, though not quite a 
casuiste re/oc/ic, you h^ve charity enough to forgive 
such inoftensive follies: you know that the pious 
Beza was not the less revered for those sportive Juve- 
7tilia which he published under a fictitious name ; nor 
did the levity of Rembo'^s poems prevent him from 
making a \ery good cardinal. 

Believe me, my dear friend, 

With the truest esteem, 

T. M. 



Mobilitas sola est atque unica virtus. Juv. 

Mark those proud boasters of a splendid line. 
Like gilded rufiis, mouldering while they shine, 
How heavy sits that weight of alien show, 
Like martial helm upon an infant's brow ; 
Those borrow d splendours, whose contrasting light 
Throws tack the native shades in deeper night. 

Ask the proud train who glory's shade pursue, 
Where are the arts by which that glory grew ? 
The genuine virtues thst with eagle-gize 
Sought young Renown in all her orient blaze! 
Where is the heart by chymic truth retin'd, 
Th* exploring soul, whose eve hath read ni <nkind ? 
Where are the links that twin'd, with heavenly art, 
His country's interest round the patriot's heart ? 

elaborate as they appear, were written with fluency, 
and seldom required revision ; while the simple hn- 
Euage of Rousseau, which seems to come flowing 
frnm the heart, was the slow production of painful 
labour, pausing on every word, and balancing every 

Is there no call, no consecrating cause, 
Approv'd by Heav*n, ordain'd by nature's laws, 
Where justice Hies the nerald of our w.iy. 
And truth's pure beams upon the banners play ? 

Yes, there 's a call sweet as an angel's breath 
To slumb'ring babes, or innocence in death ; 
And urgent as the tongue of Heav'n within, 
When the mind's balance trembles upon sin. 

Oh ! 'lis our country's voice,whnse claim should meet 
An echo in the soul's mos' deep retreat ; 
Along the he:irl's responding chords should run, 
Nor let a tone there vibrate — but the one ! 


Ask what prevailing pleising power 
Allures the sportive, wandering bee 

To roam, untired, from flower to flower, 
He 'II tell you, 't is variety. 

Look Nature round, her features trace, 
Her seasons, all her changes see j 

And ov\ n, upon Creation's face. 
The greatest charm 'a variety. 

For me. ye gracious powers above ! 

Still let nie roam, unfix'd and free; 
In all things,— but the nymph I love, 

I'll change, and taste variety. 

But, Patty, not a world of charms 

Could e'er estrange my heart from thee ; 

No, let me ever ^eek those arms, 
There still I '11 find variety. 


Is it not sweet, beloverl youth, 

To rove through Erurlition's bowers, 

And cull the golden fruits of tru»n. 
And gatherFaiicys brilliant flowers? 

And is it not more sweet than this. 
To feel Ihy p irents' hearts approving. 

And pay them back in sums of bliss 
The dear, the endless debt of loving ? 

It must be so to thee, my youth ; 

With this idea, toil is lighter: 
This swee'ens all the fruiis of truth, 

And makes the flowers of fancy brighter. 

The little gift we send thee, boy, 
May sometimes leach (by soul to ponder, 

If indolence or siren joy 
Should ever tempt that soul to wander, 

»T will tell thee that the winged day 

Can ne'er be chain'd bv man's endeavour; 

That life and time shall fade away. 

While heav'n and virtue bloom for ever I 


If I swear by that eye, you 'H allow, 
Its look is BO shifting and new, 

That the oath I might take on it now 
The very next glance v^ould undo. 



Those babies that nestle so sly 

Such thousands of arrows have e^ot, 

That aTi oath, od (he trlance of an eye 
Such as yours, may be off" id a shot. 

Should I sweir by Ihe dew on your lip, 
ThoUifh each niomeiit the treasure renews, 

If my cnstaiicy ivi>hes to trip, 

1 may kiss off the oath when I choose. 

Or a si^h may disperse from that flow'r 
Bnth the dew and the oath th-it are there; 

And I 'd m ike a new vow ev'ry hour, 
To lose thein ao sweetly in air. 

But clear up the heav'n of your brow 
Nor lanijy my failh h a feaiher; 

On my heart I will pledge you my vow, 
And they both niust be broken together 1 

Remember Mm thou leav'st behind, 
Whose heart is warmly bound tn thee, 

Close as the teiid'rest links can bind 
A heart as warm as heart can be. 

Oh ! I had long: in freedom rovM, 

Though many seemd my soul to share; 

»T was f.assion when I thought I lov'd, 
'T was fancy when 1 thought l!iem fair. 

Ev'n she, my muse's early theme, 
Beguil'd me only while she warm'd ; 

'T was youn^ desire Ihii fed the dream, 
And reason broke what passion form'd. 

But thou — ah ! better had it been 
If I h»d still in ficedom rov'd, 

If I had ne'er thy beauiies seen, 
For then 1 never sliould have lov'd. 

Then all ihe pain which lovere feel 
Had never to this beirt been known ; 

But then, the joys that lovers steal, 
Should they have ever been my own? 

Oh ! trust me, when I swear thee this, 
Dearest ! the pain of lo\ in^ ihee, 

The very pain is sweeter bhss 
Thau p.ission's wildest ecs agy^ 

That little cage I would not part, 
In which my soul is prison'd now, 

For the most light and winged heart 
That wantons on the passing vow. 

Still, my belov'd! still keep in mind, 
However far remnv'd from me, 

That there Is one thou leav'st behind, 
Whose heart respires for only theel 

And thnugh ungenial ties have bound 

Thy fatt unto another's care, 
That arn', which clasps tliy bosom round, 

Cancot contiae the heart that's there. 

No, no! that heart is only mina 

By ties all other ties above, 
For 1 have wed it at a shrine 

Where we have had no priest but Love, 


When Time, vcho s'eals our years away. 

Shall s'ea! our pleasures 'oo, 
The mem'ry of the past will stay, 

And half our joys renew. 

Then, Julia, when thy beauty's flow'r 

Shall feel the wintry air. 
Remembrance will recall the hoir 

When thou alone wert fair. 
Then talk no more of future gloom; 

Our jr>\s shall always last ; 
For Hope sh"II brighten days to come, 

And Meni'ry gild the past. 

Come, Chine, fill the genial bowl, 

I drink to Love and thee: 
Thou never can-t decay in soul. 

Thou Ml sill be young for me. 
And as thy lips ihe tearnlrop chase, 

Which on my cheek they find, 
So hope shall steal away the trace 

That sorrow leaves behind. 
Then fill Hie bowl — away with gloom I 

Our joys shall always last ; 
For Hope 5hall briehfen days to come, 

And Meni'ry gild the j;asl. 

But mark, at thoueht of future years 

When love shall lose its soul, 
My Chloe drops her tinjid tears, 

They mingle v^ith my bowl. 
How like this bowl of wiue, my fair, 

Our lovnig life thall fleet; 
Though tears may sometimes mingle there, 

The draught will still be sweet. 
Then fill the cup — awav with gloom I 

Our joys shall always hist; 
For Hiipe will brighten days to come. 

And Alem'ry gild the past. 


Have you not *een the timid tear, 

Steal trembling fn>m mine eye? 
Have you nrt mark'd ihe flush of fear. 

Or c.iught the murmurM sigh ? 
And Ciin }0u think my \c\e is chill, 

Nor fix'd on jou alone ? 
And can you rend, by dnuMing still, 

A heart so much your own ? 

To you my bouI's affections move, 

iJevotitly, warnilv tiue; 
My life has been a task of love. 

One long, long thought of you 
If all your tender faith be o'er, 

If still my truth you'll try; 
Alas, I know but oiie pioof more — 

1 '11 bless your name, and die ! 


The darkness that hung upon Wilhimberg's walls 
Had long lieen remembcr'd with awe and dismay; 

For years not a sunbeam had play'd in its halls, 
And it aeem'd as shut out from the regions of day. 

Though the valleys were hriph'en'd by many a beam, 

Yet none could Ihe wo. ds of that castle illume ; 
And the lightning, which flash'd on the neighbouring 

Flew back, as if fearing to enter the gloom I 

"Oh ! when shall this horrible darkness disperse!** 
Said Willumberg's lord lo the Seer of the Cave; — 

" It can never dispel," said the wi7;ird of verse, 
"Till the bright star of chivalry sinks in the wave!" 



And who was the bright star of chivalrv then ? 

\VhrtCt/M/(ibe but Reulien, thefl.w'r of the age? 
For Reuben first in the cninbst of men, 

Though Youth had bcarce ^vriiten his name on her 

For \Villumberff*s daughter his young heart had 
For R se, who was bii^-ht as the spirit nf dawn, 
When v\ith wanl drcppingdiamouds, and silveiy feet. 

It 1 

alks o'er ihe flo 

of the mountain a.ud 1 

Must Rose, then, from Reuben sn fatally sever? 

Std, 'ad were the words rf the Seer of the Cave, 
Thit d:iikness ahouli cover thai c:isile for ever, 

Or Reuben be 5uuk iu tiie merciless wave ! 

To the wizard ^he flow, saying, " Tell me, oh, tell ! 

Shall my Reuben iin m re be res'or'd to my eyes?" 
"Yes, yes— when a spirit shall toll the great bell 

Of ttic mouldering aobey, your Reuben shall rise ! " 

Twice, thrice he repeated *' Your Reuben shall rise ! " 
And RfJ-e felt a mnmeni's release from her pain ; 

And wip'd, while she listen'd, the tears from her eyes, 
And hop'd iihe might yet see her heio again. 

That hero could smile at the terrors of death, 

When he felt that he died for Ihe sire of his Rose ; 

To the Oder he Hew, and there, piuneine; beneath, 
In the depth oi the billows soon found his repose.— 

How -strangely 'he order of destiny falls ! — 
Not long in the waters the warrinr lay, 

WhtTi a suiil)eam w >s seen to glance over the walls, 
And the castle of Willumbe.g bask'd ia the ray 1 

All, all but the soul nf the maid was in light. 

There sorrow and terror Uy elf»omy and blank : 
Two dav^ did she wander, and all the long night, 

Id quest of her love, on the wide river's bank. 
Oft, oft did she pause for the toll of Ihe bell. 

And heard but the breathings of night in the air; 
Long, long did she Kaze on the wateiy swell, 

And saw but Ihe foam oi the white billow there. 

And oflen a^ midnight its veil would undraw, 

As she lookM at the light of the moon in the stream, 
She ihnu^jht M W3S his helmet of silver she saw. 

As the curl of the surge glillerd high in the beam. 
And now the third ni^ht w,is begemming the sky; 

Poor Ro'iC, on ihe cold dewy margenl reclin'd. 
There wept till tlie tearalnio:,! froze in her eye, 

When — hark ! — 't was the bell that came deep in 



Shes'artled, and saw, tliroujh the glimmering shade, 
A form o'er the wa'eis in majesty glide; 

She knew 't wa> her love, though his cheek was de- 
cay 'd, 
And his helmet of silver was washM by the tide, 

Wa-* this whit the Seer of the Cave had foretold? — 
Dim, dim through the phantom the moon shot a 
gleam ; 

n wss Reuben, but, ah ! he wa« deathly and cold, 
And fleeted away like the spell of a dieam 1 

Twice, thrice did he rUe, and as often she thought 
From the bank to embrace him, but vain her en- 
deavour ! 

Then, plunging beneath, at a billow she caught, 
And sunk to repose ou its bosom for ever ! 

'T n a« a new feeling — B->mething more 
Than we had dared to own before, 

Which then we hid not j 
We saw if in each other's eye, 
And wtsh'd, in every hilf-breath*d aigh| 

T'xpeak, but did not. 

She felt my lips' inipassion'd touch — 
*T was Ihe first lime I dared so much, 

And yet she chid not; 
But whi^pei d o'er my burning brow, 
•' Oh ! do you doubt 1 love you now ?* 

Sweet soul ! I did not. 

Warmly I felt her bosom thrill, 
1 press'd it closer, closer still. 

Though gently bid not; 
Till — oh I the world hath seldom heard 
Of lovers, who so nearly err'd, 

And yet, who did not. 

That wrinkle, when first I espied it, 
At once put my heart out of pain : 

Till the eye, that was glowing beside it, 
Disturb'd my ideas again. 

When, fading from all tliat is pleasant, 
She bids a good night to her sins. 

Yet thou still art so lovely to me, 

I would S'Oner, my exquisite mother I 

Repuse in (he sunset of ihee, 
Thau bask in Ihe noon of another. 


Is not thy mind a eentle mind ? 
Is not that heart a heart refin'd ? 
Hast thou not every gentle grace, 
We love in woman's mind and face ? 
And. oh ! art thou a shrine for Sin 
To hold her hateful worship iu? 

No, no, be happy — dry that tear — 
Though some thy heart hath harbour'd near 
May now repay its love vvilh blame ; 
Though man, who ought to shield thy fame. 
Ungenerous man, be first to shun thee ; 
though all the world look cold upon ihee, 
Yet shall thy pureness keep thee siill 
Uiiharm'd by ihat surrouiiding chill ; 
Like the famed drop, in crystal found,* 
Floating, while all was froz'n around — 
UnchilPd, unchanging shalt thou be, 
Sate in thy own sweet purity. 


"— Iu tacJirymas verterat omne merum. 

Tib., Ub. i. e)eg. ft. 

Press the grape, and let it pour 
Around the biwl its purple show'r; 
And, while the drops my g"blet sleep, 
I '11 think in woe the clusters weep. 

» This alludes to a curious gem, upon which Clau- 
dian has left us some very elaborate epigrams. It was 
a drop of pure water enclosed within a piece of crys- 
tal. See Claudian. Epigram. "deCrvslallo cni .<qua 
inerat." Addison meniions a curiosity of this kind at 
Milan; and adds, 'Ml is such a rarity a> this that I 
saw at Vendome in France, which they there pretend 
is a tear that our Saviour shed over Laza'us, and was 
gathered up by an angel, who put it itito a little crystal 
vial, and made a i)resent of it to Mary Magdalen." — 
Addison-s Ucmarks on several Parts oj Italy. 



Weep on, weep on, my pouting vine ! 
Heavn israiit na tears, but teais of wii 
Weep on ; and, as lliy sorrows flow, 
I'li taste the luxuiy ofwoe. 


When I lov'd you, I canM but allow 
I hail many an eicqulsie minute ; 

put the scoru that [ teel tor you now 
H.ith even muie luxury m it. 

Thus, whether we Ve on or we 're off, 
Some witchery seenia to await you ; 

To love you was pleasmt enoi;gh, 
Aiidj oh ! t IS delicious to hate you 



Whv, let the stintless critic chide 
With all that fume of vacant pride 
Which miiitle> o'er the pedant fool, 
Like vapour on a sfagnant pool. 
Oh ! if l!ie sone, to feeling true, 
Can plea e th' elect, the sacred few, 
Whose souls, by T.i-te and Nature taneht, 
Thrill with the Keiiuine puUe of thought — 
If some fond feeling maid lilte thee, 
The warmey'd child of Sympathy, 
Shall say, while o'er my simple theme 
She languishes in Passion's dream, 
" He was, indeed, a lender ^oul — 
•* No critic law, no chill control, 
*' Should ever freeze, by timid art, 
** 1 he flowlngs of so find a heart • " 
Vcs, soul of Nature ! soul of L'lve ! 
That, hov'ring like a snow-wing'd dove, 
Brcath'd o'er my crndle warbhngs wild, 
And haii'd me Passion's warmest child,— 
Grant me the tear from Reauty'a eye, 
From Feeling's breast the votive sigh ; 
Oh ! let my sotig, my mem'iy, find 
A shrine within the 'lender mind: 
And f will smile when critics chide, 
And 1 will scorn the fume of pride 
Which mantles o'er the pedant fool. 
Like vapour round some Elagiiaut pool t 


Mock me no more with Love's beguiling dreanii 

A dream, 1 find, illusory as s^eet : 
One sniile of friend-hip, nay, of cold esteem. 

Far dearer were than passion's bland deceit I 

I've heard you oft eternal truth declare; 

Your heart was only mine, I once believ'd. 
Ah; shall I say that a'll your vows weie air? 

And must I say, my hopes were all dectiv'd ? 

Vow, then, no longer that our souls are twin'd, 
That all our joys are felt with muiua! zeal: 

Julia ! — 't Is pity, pity makes yon kind ; 

You know i lo've, and you would seem to feel. 

But shall I still go seek wphin those arms 
k joy in which affectior uikes no part? 

No. n?, farewell ! you ^ive me bu' your charms, 
WtfkZ 1 had fondly thought you gave your heart. 


My fates had destin'd me to rove 
A long, long pilgrimage of love; 
And many an aitar on my v\ay 
Has lur'd my pious steps to stay ; 
For, if the saint uas young and fair, 
I turn'd and sung my vespeis lhe:e. 
This, fiom a youihful pilgrim's fiie, 
Is « hat your pretty saints require: 
To pa's, nor tell a single bead, 
With them would be profane indeed I 
But, trust me, ail this young devotion 
Was but lo keep my zeai in motion j 
And, ev'rv humblet altar past, 
I now have leach'd the shrijic at last t 


When, casting many a look behind, 

I leave the triends I cherish here — 

Pe'Chance some other friends to find, 

But burely finding none so dear — 

Hapiv the little simple page, 

Which votive thus I 've trac'd for thee. 
May now and then a look engage. 

And steal one moment's thought for me. 

But. oh ! in pity let not those 

Whose hearts are not of gentle mould, 
Let not the eye that seldom Hows 

With feeling's tear, my song behold. 
For, trust me, they who never melt 

With pity, never melt with love; 
And such will frown at all I 've felt, 

And alt my loving lays reprove. 

But if. perhaps, some gentler mind, 

Which ritlier loves to praise than Maine, 

Should in my pa^e an interest find. 
And linger kmdly on my name ; 

Tell him— or, oh! if, gentler still, 
Rv female lips my n:ime be blest : 

For, where do all afleciions thrill 
So sweetly as in woman's breast ? — 

Tell her, that he whose loving themes 

Her eye indulgent wanders o'er, 
Could t-nmetinies wake from idle dreams, 

And bolder flights of fancy soar j 

That Glory oft would claim the lay. 
And Friendship off his numt)ers move ; 

But whi-'per then, that, " sooth to say, 
*' His sweetest song was giv'n to Love I*' 


Though Fate, my girl, may bid us part. 

Our souls it cannot, shall not sever ; 
The heait will seek i's kindred heart, 
And cling to it as close as ever. 

But must we. must we part indeed ? 

Is all our dream of rapture over? 
And does not Julia's bosom bleed 

To leave so dear, so fond a lover? 

Does she too mourn ? — Perhaps she may ; 
Perhaps she mourns our bliss so fleelinj. 

! is beating? 



I oft have lov'd thait sunny glow 
Oi 5l;idness in her blue eye ^It-aming — 

But cm Ihe tosom bleed wiih woe, 
While joy IS in the glances beaming? 

No, no ! —Yet, love, I will not chide ; 

Allhough your heart were f.-nJ of loving, 
Nor ihal, iror all the word beside 

Could keep your fairhful boy from loviny. 

Yuu 'II soon be di ta'it from his eye. 

And, With ynu, a!l that 's worth possessing. 

Oh : then il will be hweet to die. 
When life has lost its only blessing I 


Sweet lady, look not thus affain : 
Those bright deluding smiles recall 

A maid runieruber'd now with pain. 
Who was my love, my life, my all ! 

Oh ! while this heart bewilder'd took 
S'.veet poison from her ihiiMiugeye, 

Thus would she smile, And lisp, and look, 
And I would hear, and gaze, and sigh 1 

Yes, I did love her— wildly love — 

She was her sex's best dfceiver! 
And oft she swoie she 'd never rove — 

And I was destin'd to believe her I 

Then, lady, do not wear the smile 

Of one whose smile could thus betray: 

Alas I I think the lovely wile 
Again could steal my heart away. 

For, when those spells that charm'd my mindi 

On lips so pure as thine I see, 
I fear the heart which she resign'd 

Will err again^ and fly to thee I 



In vain we fondly strive to trace 

The soul's rertecilon in the face; 

In vain we dwell on lines and crosses, 

Crooked mouth, or short proboscis ; 

Boobies have look'd as wise and bright 

As PI I to or the St.igi rite: 

And many a s^ge and learned sknil 

Has peep'd through windows dark and dull. 

Since then, though art do all it c:in, 

We ne'er can reach the inward man, 

Nor (howsoe'er *' learn'd Thebans" doubt) 

The inward woman, from without, 

Methmks 'I were well if Nature could 

(And Nature cmild, if Nature would) 

Some pilhy, short descriptions write, 

On tablets large, in black and while, 

Which she might ban? about our throttles, 

Like labels upon physic-bottles ; 

And where all men might read — but stay — 

As dialectic 


The argument most apt and ? 
For common use is the example. 
For instance, then, if Nature's care 
Had not portray'd. in lines so fair. 
The inward s^u! of Lucy I/-nd-n, 
This is the label she'd have pinn'd on. 


Within this form there lie? enshrin'd 
The purest, brightest gem of niind. 

Though Feeling's band may sometimes throw 
Upon its chirms Ihe shade of woe, 
The lustre of the gem, when veiPd, 
Stiall be butmellow'd, not concealed. 

Now, sirs, imagine, if you're able, 
That Nature wrote a second label, 
They're her own word>— at least supp 
And boldly pin it on Pouiposo. 


When I compos'd the fustian brain 
Of this redoubled Captain Vain, 
I had at hand bu( few ingredient':, 
And so was forc'd to use expedients, 
1 put therein some small discerning, 
A gram of sense, a grain of learning; 
And when I saw (he void behind, 
I fiird it up with — froth and wind I 


When Time was entwining the garland of years, 
Which to crown my beloved was given, 

Though some of the leaves might be sullied with tears, 
Yet the flow'rs were all gather'd in heaven. 

And long may this g:irland be sweet to the eye, 

May its veiduie Ibr ever be new ; 
Young Love shall enrich it with many a sigh, 

And Sympathy nurse it with dew. 


See how, benea'h the moonbeam's smile, 
Yon little billow heaves i's breast, 

And foams and sparkles for awhile, — 
Then murmuring subsides to rest. 

Thus man, the sport of bliss and care, 
Rises on time's eventful sea; 

And, having swell'd a moment there, 
Thus melts into eterniiy ! 


Cloris! if I were Persia's king, 
1 'd make my graceful queen of thee; 

While Fanny, wild and artless thing. 
Should but thy humble handmaid be. 

There is but one objection in it — 
That, verily, I'm much afraid 

I should, in some unlucky minu'e, 
Forsake the mistress for the maid. 


Say. did you not hear a voice of death ! 

And did you not maik the paly form 
Which rode on the silvery mist of the heatb. 

And sung a ghostly dirge in the stoim ? 

Was it Ihe wailing bird of the gloom. 
That shrieks on' the house of woe all night ? 

Or a shivering fiend that i\cw to a tomb. 
To howl and to feed till Ihe glance of light ? 



T was iwt the denth-bird's cry from Ihe wood, 
Nor shivering tiend ilial hung on Ihe blast ; 

T was the shade of Helderic — man of blnod — 
It screams for the guilt of days that are past. 

See, how the red, red ligjhtntng strays, 

And ^cares the gliding ghosts of the heath I 

Now on rhe leide^s yew it plays, 

Where hangs the shield of this son of death. 

That shield is blushing with murderous stains; 

Long has it hung from the cold yew's spray j 
It is bIo\vn tjy storms and wash'd by taius, 

But ueither cao take the btood away 1 

Oft by that yew, on the blasted field. 
Demons dance to the red moon's light ; 

While the damp boughs creak, and the swinging 
Sings to (he raving spirit of night I 


Oh ! if your tears are giv'n to care, 
If real woe disturbs your peace. 

Come to my bosom, weeping fair! 
And I will bid your weeping cease. 

But if with Fancy's vision'd fears. 

With dre.ims of woe your bosom thrill ; 

You look so lovely in your tears. 
That I must bid you drop them still. 

In slumber, I prithee how is it 

That souls are oft taking the air, 
And paying each other a visit, 

while bodies are heaven knows where ? 

Last night, H is in vain to deny it, 

Yonr Soul look a fancy to mam, 
For 1 heard her, nn tiptoe so quiet. 

Come ask, whether inine was at boiiie. 

And mine let her in with delight. 

And tliey talk'd and they bughd the time through; 
For, when souls come together at night. 

There is no saying what Ibey niayn^t do I 

And your little Soul, heaven bless herl 

Had much to complain and to say, 
Of how sadly you wrong and oppress her 

By keeping her prison'd all day. 

** If I hapi>en," said she, " but to steal 
*' For a peep now and then to her eye, 

"Or, to quiet the fever I feel, 
" Just venture abroad on a sigh ; 

•* In an instant she frightens me in 
" With some phantom of prudence or terror, 

**For fear I should stray into sin, 
**0r, what is still worse, into error 1 

" So, instead of displaying my graces, 
*• By daylight, in language and mien, 

•* I am shut up in corners and places, 
** Where truly I blush to be seen ! " 

Upon hearing this piteous confession, 

My Soul, looking tenderly at her, 
DeclarM, as for grace and discretion. 

He did not know much of the matter ; 

" But, to-mnrrow. sweet Spirit ! " he said, 
" Be at home after midnight, and then 

'*I win C">nie when your lady's iu bed, 
*' And we'll talk o'er the subject again." 

So she whisper'd a word in his ear, 
1 sup[K)se to her d lor to direct him, 

And, just after midnight, my dear, 
Your polite little Soul may expect him. 


The wisest soul, by anguish torn, 
Will soon unlearn the lore it knew; 

And when the shrining casket's worn, 
The gem within will tarnish too. 

But love 's an essence of Ihe soul. 

Which sinks not with this chain of clay 

Which throbs beyond the chill control 
Of with'ring pain or pale decay. 

And surely, when the touch of Death 
Dissolves the spiril's earihly lies. 

Love still attends th' breath. 
And makes it purer for the skies ! 

Oh, Rosa, when, to seek its sphere, 
My soul shall leave Ihi'^ orb of men, 

That love which form'd its treasure here, 
Shall be its best of treasures then ! 

And as. in fabled dreams of old, 
Some air-born genius, child of time, 

presided o'er each star that roli'd, 
And track'd it through its path sublime; 

So thou, fair planet, not unled, 
Shait through (hy mortal orbit stray; 

Thy lover's shade, to thee still wed. 
Shall linger round thy earthly way. 

Let other spirits range the sky, 

And play around each starry gem j 

I'll bask beneath fhar lucid eye, 
Nor envy worlds of &uns to ihem. 

And when that heart shall cease to beat. 
And when that breath at length is free, 

Theu. Rosa, soul to s^ul we Ml meet, 
And mingle to eternity 1 


The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove 

Is fair — but oh, how fair, 
If Pity's hand had stoPn from Love 

One leaf to mingle there ! 

If every rose with gold wete tied. 

Did gems for dewdrnps fall. 
One faded leaf where Love had sigh'd 

Were sweetly worth them all. 

The wreath you wove, the wreath you wovo 

Our emblem well may be ; 
Its bloom is yours, but hopeless Love 

Must keep its tears fur me. 


I dreamt that, in the Paphiari groves, 
My nets by moonlrght laying, 

I caught a night of wanton Loves, 
Among Ihe rose-buds playing. 


Some just had left their silvVy shell, 

I could have lov'd you — oh, so well ! — 

While some were full in feather ; 

The dream, ihat wishing boyhood knowi, 

So nre'ty a lot of Loves to sell. 
Were never yet strung logether 

Is but a bright, beguiling spell, 

That only lives while'patsion glows: 

Come buy my Loves, 

Come buy niy Loves, 

But, when this early flu^h declines, 

Ye dames and r'se-lip, 'd misses! 

When the heart's sunny morning fleets, 

They 're new aud bright, 

You know not then how close il twines 

The cost is light, 

Round (he first kindred soul it meets. 

For the coiu of this isle is kisses. 

Yes, yes, I could have lov'd, as one 

First Cloris came, with looks sedate. 

Who, while his youth's enchantments fall, 

The coin on her lips was rmdy ; 

Finds something dear to rest upon, 

" I buy," quolh she, ■• my Love by weight, 
" Full giowu, if you please, and steady." 

Which pays him for the lo=s of all. 

" Let mine be light," said Fanny, "pray — 

*'i=uch lasling toys undo one; 
"A little light Love that will last to-day,— 

*' To-morrow 1 Ml sport a new one." 
Come buy my Loves, 
Come buy my Loves, 


Ve dames and rose-lipp'd misses '. — 

Never mind how the pedagogue proses, 

There's some will keep. 

You want not aniiquity'ss amp ; 

Some light and clieap. 

A lip, that such fragrance discloses. 

At from ten to twenty kissus. 

Oh ! never should smell of the lamp. 

The learned Prue took a pert young thing. 
To divert her virgin Muse with, 

And pluck sometimes a quill from his wing 
To indite her billet doux wiih. 

Old Cloe, whose wilherin? kiss 

Hath Ions set the Loves at defiance. 

Now, done with the science of bliss. 
May take lo the blisses of science. 

Poor Cloe would give for a well-fledg'd pair 

But for you to be buried in books — 

Her only eye, if you 'd ask it ; 
And Tabiiha begg'J, old toothless fair. 

Ah, Fanny, they 're pitiful sages, 
Wtio could not in one of your looks 

For the youngesi Love in the basket. 
Come buy uiy t/3ves, &c. &c. 

Read more than iu millions of pages. 

Astronomy finds in those eyes 

But one was left, when Susan came, 

Better light than she studies above ; 

One worth them all toi^eiher ; 

And Music would tiorrow your sighs 

At sight of her dear looks of shame. 

As the melody fittest for Love. 

He smilM, and pruned his feather. 

She wish'd the hoy — 't was moie than whim — 

Your Arithmetic only can trip 

Her looks, her sighs betray'd it; 

If to count your own charms you endeavour: 
And Eloquence glows on your lip 

But kisses were not enough for him. 

1 ask'd a heart, and she paid it ! 

When you swear, that you 'U love me for ever. 

Good-by, my Loxes, 

Good by, my Loves, 

Thus you see, what a brilliant alliance 

'T would make you smile to 've seen us 

Of arts is assembled in you ;— 

First trade for this 

A course of more exquisite science 

Sweet child of bliss. 

JIan never need wish to pursue. 

And then nurse the boy between us. 

And, oh !— if a Fellow like me 

May confer a diploma of hearts, 

With my lip thus I send \our degree. 

My divine little Mistress of Arts ! 



The world had just begun to steal 

Each hope Ihal led me lightly on ; 

I fell not, as I us'd to feel. 

And life grew dark and love was gone. 


No eye to mingle sorrow's tear. 
No lip lo mingle pleasure's lireath. 

Sweet spirit 1 if thy airy sleep 

Nor sees my tears nor hears my sighs, 

Ko circling arms to draw me near — 
'T was gloomy, and 1 wish'd for death. 

Then will 1 weep, in anguish weep. 
Till the last hearl's drop fills mine eyes. 

But when I saw that gentle eye. 

But if thy sainted soul can feel. 

Oh ! sonielhing seeni'd lo tell me then, 

And mingles in our misery ; 

That I was yet too young to die. 

Then, then my breaking heart I '11 seal — 

And hope and bliss might bloom again. 

Thou Shalt not hear one sigh from me. 

With every gentle smile Ihat crost 

The beam of morn was on the stream. 

Your kindlint: cheek, you lighted home 

Rut sullen clouds the day deform : 

Some feeling, which my'heart had lost, 

Like ihee was Ihat young.orient beam, 

And peace, which far had leurn'd lo roam, 

Like death, alas, ihat sullen storm 1 

•T was then indeed so sweet lo live. 

Thou wert not form'd for livine here, 

Hope look'd so new and F^ove so kind. 

So link'd ihv soul was with Ihe sky ; 

Thai, Ihnujh 1 mourn, 1 yet forgive 

Yet, ah, we held lliee all so dear, 

Th'; ruin ihey have left behind. 

We thought Ihou wert not form'd to die. 




Aod do 1 ihen woiider tliat Julia deceives me, 

When surely tlieic's uothiug iu nature ui ore com- 
mon ? 

She vows In be true and while vowing she leaves me— 
Aud could I expect any nioie from a woman ? 

Oh, woman ! your heart is a pitiful treasure; 

And Mahomet's d clrine was not too severe, 
When he held that you were but materials of pie; 

And reason aud thinking were out of your sphere 

By your heart, when the fond sighing lover can win i 
He thinks ih -t an ige o*" anxiety 's paid ; 

But. oh, while he's bt'est, let hmi die at the minute- 
If he live but a day^ he '11 be surety betray 'd. 



TO , 


In witching slumbers of the night, 
I dreanit I was the airy sprite 

That on thy natal moment smil'd; 
And thought I wafted on my wing 
Those HowVg wliich in Elysium spring. 

To crown my lovely mortal child. 

With olive-branch I bound thy head, 
Heart's-ease alnng thy pa'h I shed, 

Which was to bloom through all thy years ; 
Nor yet did I forget to birjd 
love's roses, with his myrtle t« in'd, 

Aud dew'd by &ympathe;ic tears. 

Such was the wild but precious boon 
Which Fancy, at her ma^ic noon, 

Bade me to Noi.a's imaje payj 
And were it thus my fate to be 
Thy little guardian deity, 

How blest around thy steps I 'd play I 

Thy life should glide in peace along, 
Calm as some lonely shei)herd'8 song 

That's heard at distance in the grove; 
No cloud should ever dim thy sky, 
No thorns along thy pathway lie, 

But all be beauty, peace, and love. 

Indulgent Time should never bring 
To thee one blight upon his wing, 

So eeutly o'er thy brow he 'd tly ; 
And death itself should but be felt 
Like that of daybeams, when they melt, 

Bright to the last, in evening'^ &ky 1 



Though sorrow long !ias worn my heirt ; 

Though every day I 've counted o'er 
Hath brought a new and quirk'nin^ smart 

To wounds that rankled fresh before ; 

Though in my earliest life bereft 

Of tender links by nature tied ; 
Though hope deceiv'd, and pleasure left ; 

Though friends betray'd and foes belied ; 

I still had hopes — for hope will stay 

After (he sunset of delight; 
So li.e s'ar which ushers day. 

We scarce can ihiuk it heralds night ! — 

X hop'd that, after all its strife, 

My weary heart at length should rest, 

And, fainting from the wa\es of life, 
Find harbuur in a brottjcr's breast. 

That brother's breis* was warm with truth, 
Was bright v\ith honour's purest ray j 

He was the de.ires', gentlest youih — 
Ah, why then was he torn away ? 

He should havestay'd, have linger'd here 
To soothe his Julia's every woe i 

He shoi.Id have chas'd each biiier tear, 
And not have caus'd those tears lo flow. 

We saw within his soul expand 

The fruits of genius, nur&'d by taste. 

While Science, wilh a fo^t'ring hand, 
Upon his brow her chiplet plac'd. 

We saw, by bright degrees, his mind 
Grow rich in all that m)ke> men dear; 

Enlighten'd. social, hi d retir.'d, 
In friendship fi.m, in love sincere. 

Such was the youth we lov'd so well, 
And such the hopes that fate dented ; 

We lov'd, but ah ! could scarcely tell 
How deep, how dearly, till he' died ! 

Close as the fondest links could strain, 
Twjn'd wilh mv very heart he grew ; 

And by that f^Ie which breaks the chain, 
The heart is almost broken too. 



In allnsicm to some Partnership in a Lottery Share 

— Ego para Virt, 

In wedlock a species of lottery lies, 
Where in blanks and in pnzes we deal ; 

But how cnmes it that you. such a capr-al prize, 
Should so long have remain'd iu the wheel? 

If ever, by Fortune's indulgent decree, 

To me ouch a ticket should roll, 
A sixieenth, Heav'n knows ! were sufficient for me] 

For what could / do with the whole? 


I thought this heart enkindled lay 
On Cupid's burning shrine : 

I though' he stole thy heart away, 
And placM it near to mine. 

I saw thy heart begin lo melt, 
Like ice before the sun ; 

Till both a glow congenial felt, 
Aud mingled into one ! 


With all my soul, then, let us part, 
Since botr. are anxious to be free ; 

And I xviil send you home your heart. 
If you will send back mine to me. 



We 'v/» had snrae happy hours together, 
But joy must often change its wing ; 

And sprin» would be bijt glnnmjf utalher. 
If we hai nothing else but spring. 

*T is not thai I exp^ct to find 
A njnre develed, fund, and true one, 

With rosier chetk '>r sweeter mind — 
Enougli for me that she's a new one. 

Thus let us leave the bower of love, 
Where we have loilei'd long in bliss; 

Ant you may down that pathway rove, 
While I shall take my way tlirough thii. 


•* She never look'd so kind before — 
" Yet wliy the wanton's smile recall ? 

•* I 've seen this w itchery o'er and o'er, 
** 'T is hollow, V.Tin, and heartlcLS all !" 

Thus I said and, sighing, drainM 

The cup which she so late had tasted j 

Upon whose rim sill fresh remained 
The bieath, so oft in falsehood wasted. 

I took the harp, and would have sung 

As if n were not of her I sang ; 
But still the notes (m Lanii:i hung — 

On whom but Lamia cuuld they hang? 

Those eyes of hers, that floating shine. 
Like diamonds in snme Eas.eru river ; 

That kiss, for which, if worlds were mine, 
A world for every kiss I 'd give her. 

That frame so delicate, yet warmM 
Wiih (lushes of love's genial hue ;— 

A mould liansparent, as if lorm'd 

To let the spirit's light shine through. 

Of these I sung, and notes and words 

Were sweet, as if the very air 
From Lamia's lip hung e'er the chords. 

And Lamia's voice still warbled there 1 

But when, alas, 1 turn'd the theme. 
And when of vows and oaths I spoke, 

Of ti-ulh and hope's seducing dream — 
The chord beneath my hn^er bioke. 

False harp \ false woman ! — such, oh. such 
Are lutes too frail and hearis too willing: 

Any hand, whatever its touch. 

Can set their chords or pulses thrilling. 

And when that thrill is most awake, 

And when you think Heaven's joys await you, 

The nvmph will change. Hie chord will break — 
Oh Love, oh Music, how I hate you 1 

I saw the peasant's hand unkind 
From yonder oak the ivy sever; 

They seem'd in very being twin'd ; 
Yet now the oak is fresh as ever I 

Not 80 the widowM ivy shines : 
Torn from its dear and only stay, 

Id drooping; widowhood il pines. 
And scatters all its bloom away. 

Thus, Julia, did our hearis entwine, 
Till Fate disturbed their tender lies : 

Thus 8fay indifference blooms in Ihine, 
While mine, deserted, droops and dies! 


Oh. lost, for ever lost — no more 

Shall Vesper light our dewy way 
Alon^ the mcks o| Cnssa's shoie, 

Th hymn the fading Hreaofday; 
No mo: e to Tenipe's distant vale 

In holy musings shall we roam, 
Thiough summer's glow and winter's gala, 

To bear the mystic cbaplets home.* 
'T was then my soul's expanding zeal, 

By nature warm'd ai d led by ihee, 
In every breeze was laught to feel 

The breathings of a Ueity. 
Guide of my heart I still hovering round. 

Thy looks, thy words are slill my own 
I see thee raislnt; from the gmund 

Some laui'e', by the winds o'c thrown. 
And hear Iheesay, "This humble bough 

" Was plan-ed for a doom divine j 
"And, though it droop in languor now, 

" Shall fluurisb on the Delptiic shrine I 
'» Thus, in the vale of e^rrhiy sen-e, 

*' Though sunk awhile the spirit lies, 
"A viewless hand shall cull il thence. 

** To bloom immortal in the skies 1** 

All that the young should feel and know, 

liy Ihee v\a. laught sosv^eetly well. 
Thy words fell s(,ft as vernal snow. 

And all was brightness where they felU 
Fond soother of my infant tear. 

Fond sharer of my infant joy, 
Is not thy shade still lingering here? 

Am I not still thy soul's employ ? 
Oh } es — and, as in former days. 

When, meeting on the sacred mount, 
Our nymphs awak'd their choral lays 

And danc'd around Cassotis' fount ; 
As then, 't was all thy wish and care, 

That mine should be the simplest mien. 
My lyre and voice the sweetest there, 

My foot the lightest o'er the green ; 
So >>till, each look and step to mould, 

Thy care is round me spread, 
Arranging every snowy fold, 

And guiding every mazy tread. 
And, when I lead the hymning choir, 

Thy spirit still, unseen and free, 
Hovers netween my lip and lyre. 

And weds them into harmony. 
Flow^ Plistus, flow, thy murmuring wive 

Shall never drop its silv'ry tear 
Upon 80 pure, so blest a grave. 

To meBiot y so entirely dear 1 


—sloe me sit nulla Venu9. Sv, 

Onr hearts, my love, were forir. 'd to be 
The genuine twins of Sympathy, 
They live with one sensation : 

1 The laurel, for the common uses rif the temple, for 
adorning the altars and sweeping the pavement, was 
supplied by a tree near the fountain nf Castalia; 
upon all important occasions, they sent to Tempe for 
their laurel. We find, in Pausanius, that this valley 
supplied the biaixhes of which the temple was origi- 
nally constructed ; and Plutarch says, in his Dialogue 
on Music, **'rhe youth who biings the Tempic laurel 
to Delphi is always attended hya player on the flute." 
AXSa fiTjV Kai rto KaraKOfu^ovTi TTn:.di rt/v 'Vifi- 
niKi}v 6a(PvT)V tis AtA^oug napofiapru av\7}T'i)$, 



lu jny or ^rief, but most in love, 

Like chords in uiiiscm tlify move, 

And thrill wilh like vibraliou. 

How oft I 've fieard Ihee fondly jay, 
'Jhy viial imlsi^ sliill cease lo play 

When niifieni. more is moving; 
Since, no^jf, to feel ;i jny almie 
Were worse to ihee than feeling none, 

So twiuii'd are we in loving. 


On beds of snow the moonbeam slept, 
And chilly was the midnight gloom, 

When by the damp grave Ellen wept — 
Fond maid ! it wa» her Lindor's tomb 1 

A warm tear guahM, the wintry air 
Coiigeal'd It :is it flow'd awa\ : 

All night it lay an ice-drop thure, 
At niurn it glitter'd in the ray. 

An angel, wandVing from her sphere. 
Who saw this brighl, this frozen gem, 

To duw-ey'J Pily biouaht the tear, 
And hung it on her di.idem i 


My love and I, the other day, 
Within a myrtle arbour lay. 
When near us, frnm a rosy bed, 
A little Snake put forth iis head. 

"See,'" said the maid with thoughtful eyes — 
" Yonder the fatal emblem lies ! 
*' Who could expect such hidden harm 
*' Beneath the rose's smiling charm ? " 

Never did grave remark occur 
Less a-propvs than this from her, 

I rose to kill the snake, but she. 
Half-smiling, pray'd it might not be. 
*' No," said the mnideu — and. alas, 

Her eyes spoke volumes, while she said it — 
*' Long as the snake is in tlie grass, 

" One may^ perhaps. ha\ e cause to dread it : 
" But, when its wicked eyes api 

''And when we know for wh; 
** One must be very siniph 

** To let it wound one — duu't you ihink 80 ? " 

\hat they wink so, 


Is the son? of Rosa mute ? 
Once such lays inspired her lute I 
Never doth a sweeter snng 
hte:\\ the breezy lyre along. 
When the wind, in odours dying. 
Wooes it with enamour'd sighing. 

Is my Rosa's lute imstrung? 
Once a tale of peace it sutig 
To her lover's ;hrobI)ing breast — 
Then was he divinely blest ! 
Ah ! but R'lsa loves no more. 
Therefore Rosa's sonp is o*er; 
And her lute negleded lies ; 
And her boy forgotten sighs. 
Silent lute — forgotten lover- 
Rosa's love and song are over I 


Vhcn wearied wretches sink to f-leep, 
Ilnw hcaierily soft iheir slumbers lii 

low sweet is death tu thnse u ho wiej 
To those who weep and long to die! 

Saw you the soft and grassy bed, 

Where llowreis dtck the green earth'a brewt? 
'T is there I wish to l.iy my head, 

^T is there 1 wish to slei-p at rest. 

Oh, let not tears embalm my tonib, — 
None but the dews at twilight given I 

Oh, let not sighs disluib the gloom,— 
None but the whispering winds of beaveni 


Squo brevi verbo fcrre perenne malum* 

Htcundus, cieg. vii. 

Still the question I must parry. 
Still a wayward truant prove: 

Where 1 love, I must not marry ; 
Where I marry, cannot love. 

Were she fairest of creation, 
Willi the least presummg mind ; 

Learned wi-hout atfectalion; 
Not deceitful, yet rehn'd ; 

Wise enough, but never rigid ; 

Gay, but not too ligliily free; 
Clia!,te as snow, and yel not frigid , 

Foud, yet satisfied with me : 

Were she all this ten times over, 
All that heav'n to eailh allows, 

I should be ttjo much her lover 
Ever lo become her spouse. 

Love will never hear ensbving; 

Sumnier g rmei.ts suit him best ; 
Bliss itself is not worth having, 

If we 're by compulsion blest. 


I filled to thee, lo thee I drank, 
I nf.thin^.Iid bnl ilriiik and till; 

The bowl bv turns uas bn^lil and blank, 
'T was drinking, filling, drinking still. 

At length I bid an artist paint 
Thy ini ige in this ample cup. 

Thai I might see the dimpled saint, 
To whom I quafi'd my nectar up. 

Behold, how bright that purple lip 
Now blushes through the wave at me; 

Every rosrate droji I'^ip 
Is just like kissing wine from thee. 

And still ! drink the more for this ; 

For. ever when the draught 1 diain, 
Thy lip invites another ki-s, 

And — in the nectar flmvs again. 

So, liere 's to thee, my gentle dear, 
And may that eyelid never shine 

Beneath a darker, bitterer tear 
Thau bathes it in this bowl of mino: 




Chloris, I wear, by all 1 ever swore, 
Th.1t from this hour I shall noi love thee more.— 
*' Whal ! love no iiime? Oh! why thisaher'd vow?" 
Because I caimot love tliee more — Ihau now I 


I'll ask the sylph who round thee flies, 
And in thy breath hi& pinion dips, 

Who suns him in thy radiant eyes, 
And faints upon Ihy sighing lips : 

I'll ask him where 's the veil of sleep 
That us'd to shade ihy looks of light; 

And why those eyes their vii^il keep, 
When other suns art sunk in night? 

And I will S3V — her an^el breast 
Has never fhmbbd with guilty sting; 

Her bosom is ilie sweete>t nest 

Where Slumber could repose hia wing ! 

And I will say — her cheeks ihat flush, 

Like vernal roses in the sun, 
Have ne'er by shame been taught lo blush, 

Except for what her eyes have done I 

Then tell me, why, thnu child of air! 

Does slumber from her eyelids rove ? 
What is her heart's impassiou'd caie ? — 

Perhaps, oh syiph 1 perhaps, 't U Icve. 


Come, tell me where the maid is found, 
Whose heart can love wiihout deceit, 

And I will ranne the world around, 
To sigh one moment at her teet. 

Ohl tell me where 's her sainted home, 
V/hat air receives her blessed sigh, 

A pilgrimage of years I 'il roam 
To catch one sparkle of her eye ! 

And if her cheek be smooth and bright, 
While truth within her bosom lies, 

I 'II z^ze upon her morn and night, 

Till my heart leave me through my eyet. 

Show me on earth a thing so rare, 
I 'II own all miracles are true ; 

To mike one maid sincere and fair, 
Oh, 't is the utmost Heav'n can do ! 

He con le lor bugie p^on divini. Mauro d*Arcai 

I do confess, in many a sigh, 
My lips have breath'd you many a lie; 
And who, with such delights in view, 
Would lose them, for a lie or two? 

Nay, — look not thu«, with brow reproving 
Lies are, my dear, the --oul of loving, 
If hilf we tell the girls were true, 
If half we swear to think and do, 
Were aught but lying's bright illusion, 
This world would be in strange confusion. 
If ladies' eyes were, every one, 
A*^ lovers swear, a radiant sun. 
Astronomy must leave the skies, 
To learn her lore in ladies' eyes. 

Oh, no — believe me, lovely gir!, 
VVhen nature tunis your teeth to pearl, 
Your neck to snow, your eyes to Jire, 
Your amt'cr locks to golden wire, 
Then, only then, can Heaven decree 
That you should live for only me. 
Or I fur you, as night and morn, 
We 've swearing kist, and kissing sworn. 

And now, my gentle hints to clear, 
For once I'll tell you truth, my dear. 
Whenever yru may chance to meet 
Some loving youth, whose love is sweet. 
Long as you 're false and lie believes you, 
Long as you trust and he deceives you, 
So Ion? the blis-ful bond endures, 
And while he lies, his heart is yours : 
But, oh ! you 've wholly lost the youth 
The instant that he teUs you truth. 


Friend of my soul, this goblet sip, 

'T will chase that pensive tear; 

*T is not so sweet as woman's lip, 

Bu', oh I 't is more sincere. 

Like her delusive beam, 

'T will steal away (hy mind 
But, truer than love's dream. 
It leaves no sting behind. 

Come, twine the wreath, thy brows to shade ; 

These flovv'rs were cnll'd at noon ;— 
Like woman's love the rose will fade, 
But, ah ! not half so soon. 
For though the flower's decay'd. 

Its fragrance i-v not o'er; 
But once when love 's betray'd, 
lis sweet life blooms no more. 



The Poems suseesled to me by my visit to Bermuda, 
inthe \e-ir lS03,as well as bythe tour which I made 
subsequently, through some parts of North America, 
have been hitherto very injudiciously arranged ;— any 
distinctive character they may possess having been 
disturbed and confused by their being mixed up not 
only with trifles of a much eailier date, but also with 
some portions of a classical story, in ihe form of Lel- 
te'S. which I ban rnade some progress in before my 
departure finm England. In the pres^ent edition, this 
a\vkward jumble has been remedied ; and all the 
Poems relating to my Transatlantic voyage will be 
found classed by th^niselves. As, in like manner, the 
line of route by which I proceeded through some parts 
of the Sta'es and the Caiiadas. has been left hitherto lo 
be traced confusedly through a few detached notes, I 
have thought that, to future readers of these poems, 
some clearer account of the course of that journey 
might nol be unacceptable, — toge'her with such ves- 
tiges as miy still linger in my memory of events now 
fast fading Into 'he back-ground of time. 

For the precise date of my departure from Ene^land, 
in the Phaeton frigate, I am indebted to (he Naval Re- 
collections of Captain Scott, then a midshipman of that 
ship. "We were soon ready," says this gentleman, 
"for sea, and a few days saw Mr. Merry and suite 
embarked on board. Mr. Moore likewise took his 
passage with us on his wav to Bermuda. We (;uitted 
Spithead on Ihe 2r»th of September (1803), and in a 
•hort week lay becalmed under the lofty peak of Pico. 
!h this situation, the Phaeton is depicted in the frontis- 
piece of Moore's Poems.'* 



During Ihe voyn^e, I dined verv frequently 
the officers of th(j giin-r<>oin ; and it was no' a 
ffralityin? tn me i" le.xrn, from ih s geiileni.tiri 

lume, Ihat llie cnrtiial regan 

Ihrsc social and o 

heartfil liu-Ti in-pirrd in ii 

e was no; «lllly <i 

lur.ieil. on their pan. Af!tT 

ii.eiilionin!; our an 

a' Norlolk in Vii-ima, Clap' 

\\n Sc >ll savs, " Mr. 

Mrs. .Merry letl the P ;aetnn 

un.k-r the usual ja 

acconipaiiit-d b\ Mr. .Mooie ; 

• tlii-n addiui some 1 


Willi a senieiice which it gave me tenfold mnie plea 
tuie to read,— "'Ihe guii-iooui mess witnessed tlie day 
of his departu;e with genuine soirow." Frcm Nor- 
folk, after a stay of about leu davs, unde- ihe hospi- 
table lonf of the Kritish Consul. Colt-nel Hamilioti, I 
piocetded in the Driver slnup of uar. to Bermuda 

'Iheie was iheQ on thai siatioti another youthful 
saihir, u hn h.i^ sitice earned fur himself adistiii'uihed 
name amon;; EMglish writers ( f t?-avels, Captain Basil 
Hall -then a midshipman on bonrd the Le<nder. In 
his Frainien's oi Voy-iges and Tiavela, this writer has 
called up some agreeable reminiscences of that perioJ ; 
in perusing which,— sj full of life and rt-a it\ are his 
sketches.— I found all my cwn naval recUections 
hronght freshly o my mmd. The xery names of ihe 
diHVreiit ships, then so familiar to my e-us.— the l^-an- 
der. the Boston, the,— traisported me hack 
to Ihe season of youth and those Sunimer Isles once 

The testimony borne by so competent a witness a; Hall to the truth bl my sketches of ihe tteau 
tiful sceiieiy of Bermu-ia is of far too mnch vluetf 
me. m mv capacity of traveller, to be here omitted by 
me, hov^ever cnnscious I mu>t feel of but ill deserving 
the praie he lavishes on me. as a pnet. Not that 1 
pretend lo be at all indilierent to such kind tributes, 
—on the coiiir.iry, th «e are always he m '^i ;ilive to 
paise. who feel inward y least cnnhdence in the 
soundness of their own dlle to it. In the i resent in- 
Bt-nce. however, my vanity (for so thib unt-asv feel* 
ine; is aU^ay^ called) seeksits fond in .» different direc- 
tion. It is not as a poet I invoke the a.d c^f Capt 
Hall's opinion, but as a traveller and observer ; ii is i 
10 my invention I ask bim to bear te.-timony, but to 
my matter cf-fict. 

"The most pleasing and mnst exact description 
which 1 know of Beimud>," says Ihi- gentleman, *• is 
lobe found in iMoore's Odes and Epistles, a work pub- 
lished many years ago. The reason why his account 
excels in beau'y as well as in piecisinn that of other 
men prohably is, that the scenes de ciibtd lie so much 
beyond the scope of ordinaiy observaion in colder 
climates, and the feelings which ihey exci'e in the 
beholder aie so much higher than tli' se produced by 
the scenery we have been accustomed to look at, that, 
unless the iniaginarion be deeply drawn upon, and ihe 
diction sustained at a cnI^l•^p ndent pitch, ihe words 
alone strike ihe ear. while the listeners fancy remains 
where it was. In Moore's account there is not only 
no exaggeration, but. on the contrary, a wonderful 
drgreeof temperance in the midst of a feast which to 
his rich fancy, niu^i have been peculiarly templing. 
He has C'-intrived by a m^gic peculiarly his i)Wii, yet 
without departing from ihe truth, lo .sketch what was 
before him with a fervnur which those who have 
never been on the !;po( might well be excused for set- 
ling doivn as the sport of ihe poet's invention.'"* 

How truly politic it is in a poet to conm ct his verse 
with well-known and interesting loci lities.— to wed 
his'ong to scenes ahetdy invested with fame, and thus 
lend it a chance <•{ sharing Ihe chirm which encircles 
•hem,— I hive my-elf, in more dian one instance, very 
jgreeably experienced. Among Ihe meni'irialsnf this 
description, which, as earn with pie isure at d pride, 
ittill keep Tie reraenKe-red in some of tho^e beautiful 
regi":is of the West which I visited, I r-hall mention 
bu' one slight ii. stance, as showiig how potently the 
Genius of ttie Place may lend to song a life ana im- 

perishableness lo which, in itself, it boasts no claiBi 
or pfeiensi'in. J he fultowing lines, in one of my I'oenis, 

With a (c\ 

still live in memory, 1 am told, rn thr-se fairy shores, 
coijiecling my lame with Ihe picturesque spot the» 
dc cube, and the noble old tree wi.ich i believe still 
^d MIS ii.'i One of Ihe few lre;*sin es (of any kind) 1 
P'ssfss, is a goblet formed ofoi.e of the frun-shoiis of 
this remarkable tiee, which was brought firm Ber- 
muda, a few years since, by Mr. Uud ey Cos'ello, and 
which that gentleman, Inving had it lastefully mriini- 
ed as a goldel, very kindly [iiescnied t • me ; tfu fol- 
lowing woids beii g part of the iiisciipt.on winch it 
bears : — '* To Thomas Moore, Ksq., this cup, formed 
of a calabash which giewon the tree thai beai^ his 
name, near VVaNingliam, Bermuda, is msciibed Ly 
one who.'' &c, &c. 

From Berniud.1 I proceeded in the Boston, with my 
friend C;ipiain {now Admiral) J E. Dougl-s. lo New 
Vork. from w hence, after a shoit >iay, we sailed for 
Nnrtulk. in Vngima; and about ihe beginning of 
June, 1^04, I sei oul fnni that city on a tour through 
part of the Sia'es. At Washington, I passed snme 
d.ys with the Knglish mini.ier, Mr. Meny ; and w;is, 
by him, [.resented at the levee of Ihe President, Jef- 
feison, «hoin 1 found si ting wilh General Dearborn 
and one ot two oi|,er ofi'.cer,, and in the same homely 
costume, coinp'isini; slippers and Connemara stock- 
ings, in which Mr. Meny had been received by him 
—much to ilut imnisier's honor-when wait- 
ing upon him, in full dress, to deliver his credentials. 
My single inleivicw wiih this remaikable person w-.s 
of ver) sin Tl duration; but to have seen and spoken 
with the man uho drew up the declaration of Ameri- 
can Indejendei.ce vvas an eveiii n il to be forgotten. 

At Philadelphia, Ihe society I was chietly made 
acqu tinted wiih, and to which (as the versts address- 
ed to '-Dehuare's green banks" 3 sufficiently te»tiiy) 
1 was indebted for some ol my most agiee;«ble recol* 
lecli">is of the United Slates con isted entirety of per- 
sons uf -he Ffdeialist or An'i-IJeniOcratic parly. Few 
and lian-^ienl, loo. .'S had been my 0| poituiiities, of 
judging for myself of (he political or social stale of 
ihe country, niy mind w;is left o(^eu too much to the 
influence of the feelings ai;d prejudices of those I 
chieily con-oned widi; and, ceri.iinly, in no (juarler 
was I sO jureto hnd decided hostility, both lo the men 
and Ihe principles ihen dominant throughout the 
Union, as am ng officers of the Biitish navy, and in 
Ihe ranks of an angry Federalist npp-ailion. For any 
bias, Iherefore, ihat, under such cncuiiistance-, my 
opmii^ns and feelings may be thocnht to have receiv- 
ed, full aliowaiicc. of c 'Oise, h to be made in api-iais- 
ing 'he weight due to m> authority on the subject. 
AM I can answ.--: fwr, u the .;.fect sin.erily and 
carne-tness of Ihe i-^iuif Impics'ons, \vhether true or 
ertoneous, under w '"^ r-.} Kpislles froni the United 
St.ites were written; and si s'rong, at the time, I 
confess w'ere those impres.^ions, that it was the only 
period of my past life during which I have found 
m^'self at all sceptic il as lo the soundness of that 
Liberal creed of politics, in the profe^Mon and advo- 
cacy of which I may he almo^^t literally said to have 
begun life, ;ind shall most probablv end it. 

Reachine, for the second lime, New Yoik, I set out 
from thence on the now fimiliar ai.d easy enterprise 
of visiting the Falls of Niagaia. It is but too true, of 
all grand objects, whether in nature or art, that 
facility of .iccess to them much diniinishes Ihe feeling 
of reverence they ought to inspire. Of this faul', 

* Fragments of Voyages and Travels, vol. 11. chap. 

^A representation of this calabash, taken from a 
drawing of rt made, on the spot, by Pr. Savage, of 
the Royal ArtiHery, has been introduced in the vig- 
nette prefixed tc ihis volume, 

3 See Epistle lo Mr. W. R. Spencer, p. 110 of thif 



however, the rout* to Nia;ira, at that period — at 
least ihe potlioa of ;t ivhich led through tlie Genesee 
country — could not justly be accused. 'Ihe latter 
part of the journey, which lay chieliy through jet 
but half-cleared wood, we were obliged to perform on 
foot; and a slight accident 1 met inth, in Ihe course 
of our rugged walk, laid me up lor ^onie days at 
liutfalo. In the rapid ^rowlh, in that wonderful 
region, of, at least, the iiiateri.ils if civillzaiion, — 
however ultinia'e y they may be turned lo account, — 
this (lourishing to«n, which stands on Lake Erie, 
be.irs nio-t ample testimony. Though little belter, at 
the lime ulieii 1 visi.ed it, a mere village, con- 
sisting chietly of huts and wigwams, it is now, by all 
accounts, a populous and splendid city, with five or 
six churches, town-hall, theatre, and other such ap- 
purtenances of a aipital. 

In adverting to the compiratively rude state of 
Buffalo at that period, I should be ungrateful were I 
to omit mentioning, that, even then, on ihe shores of 
those far lakes, the title of " Poet,"— however un- 
worthily in that instance bestowed, — bespoke ;i kind 
and distinguishing welcome for its wearer; and tha' 
the Captain who commanded the packet in which I 
crossed Lake Ontario,* in addition lo other marks of 
courtesy, begged, on parting vvith me, to be allowed 
to decline payment for my passage. 

Wtien we arrived, at length at the inn, in the 
neighbourhood of ihe Falls, it was too late to think of 
visiting them ihat evening ; and 1 lay awake .ilinost 
the whole night wiih the sound of the cataiact in my 
ears. The day following I consider as a sort of era 
in my life; and the first glimpse 1 caught of that 
wonderful calaiact gave me a feeling which nolhiug 
in tilts worid can ever awaken again.* It was 
through an opening among the trees, as we approach- 
ed the spot where the full view of the Falls was to 
burst upon us, that I caii'ht this glimpse of the 
mighty mass of waters folding smoothly over the edge 
of the precipice; and so overwhelming was the 
notion it gave me of ttie awful spectacle I was ap- 
proaching, that, during the short interval that follow- 
ed, imagination had far outrun the reality ; and, vast 
and wonderful as w as the scene that then opened upon 
me, my first feeling was that of disappointment. It 
would have been impossible, indeed, for any thing 
real to come up to the vision I had, in these few 
seconds, formed of it; and th' se awful scriptural 
words, "The fountains of the great deep were broken 
up," can alone give any notion of the vague wonders 
for which I was prepared. 

But, in spite of the start thus got by imagination, 
the triumph of reality was, in the end, but the 
greater; for the gradual glory of the scene that open- 
ed upon me soon took possession of my whole mind ; 
presenting, from day to day, some new beauty or 
wonder, and, like all that is most sublime in nature or 
art, awakening sad as well as elevating thoughts. I 
retain in my memory but one other dream — for such 
do events so long past appear — which can in any re- 
spect be associated with the grand vision I have just 
been describing; and, however difleient the nature of 
their appeals to the imagination, I should find it dif- 
ficult to say on which occasion I felt most deeply 
afiected, when looking on the Falls of Niagara, or 
when standing by moonlight among the ruins of the 

Some changes. I understand, injurious to the beau'y 
of the scene, have taken place in the s! ape of Ihe 
Falls since the time of my visit to them ; and among 
these is the total disa| nearance, by the gradual cium- 
bling away of the rock, of the' small leafy island 
which then stood near the edge of the Great Fall, and 
whose tranquillity and unapproachableness, in Ihe 
midst of so much turmoil, lent it an inerest which I 

t The Commodore of the Lakes, as he is styled. 

^ The two first sentences of the above paragraph, 
as well as a passage that occurs near the foot of this 
column, stood originally as part of the Notes on one 
of the American Poems. 

thus tried to avail myself of, in a Song of Ihe Spirit 
of that region : a — 

There, amid tlie Islaod-sedBe, 
Just atjove llie cat itai-tN eilKe. 
Wtiere the foot of living man 
Wfver trod since time IjpRaii, 
Lone I Bit at dune of clay, Ac. &c. 

Another characteristic feature of the vicinity of the 
Falls, which, 1 undeisand, no longer exists, the 
interesting selllenient of the Tuscarora Indians. With 
the gallant Brock * who then commanded at Fort 
George, I passed the grea'er part of mv time during 
the few weeks I lemained at Niag.ira; and a visit I 
paid to these Indians, in company with him and his 
brother oflrcers, on his going to distribute among them 
the customary presents and prizes, was not the least 
curious of the many new scenes 1 witnessed. These 
people received us in all their ancient costume. The 
young men exhibited for our amusement in the race, 
the bat-game, and other sports, while the old and the 
women sat in groups under Ihe suirounding trees; 
and the whole scene was as picturesque and beautiful 
as it was new to me. It is said that West, the Ameri- 
can painter, when he first saw ihe Apollo, at Rome, 
exclaimed instantly, "A young Indian warrior ! " — 
and, however stirtling ihe association may appear, 
some of the graceful and agile forms which I saw that 
day among the Tnscaioras were such as would account 
for its arising in the young painter's mind. 

After crossing "Ihe fiesh-waler ocean "of Ontario, 
I passed down Ihe St. Lawrence to Montreal and 
Quebec, slaying for a sh'rt time at e;ich of these 
places; and this part of my journey, as well as niv 
voyage on from Quebec to Halif.x, is sufficiently 
traceable through ihe tew pieces of poetry ih it were 
suggested to me by scenes and events on the way. 
And here I must again venture to avail myself of the 
valuable testimony of Captain Hall to the t ulh of my 
descriptions of some if those scenes tbtcugh which 
his more practised eye followed me; — taking the 
iiberly to omit in my extracts, as far as may te done 
without injury to the style or context, some of that 
generous sur|ilusage of praise in which friendly criti- 
cism delights to indulge. 

In speaking of an excursion he had made up the 
river Ottawa.— "a stream," he adds, "which has a 
classical p'ace in every one's imagination from Moore's 
Canadian Boat Song," Cap ain Hall proceeds as fol- 
lows :—" While the poet above alluded lo has re- 
tained all that is essentially characteristic and pleas- 
ing in these boat songs, and rejec'ed all that is not so, 
he has contiived to borrow his inspiration from 
numerous surrounding circums'ances, presenting no- 
thing to the dull senses of ordinary travel- 
lers. Vet these highly poetical images, drawn in 
this way, as it were carelessly and from every hand, 
he has combined with such graphic — I h<d almost 
said geographical — truth, that the effect is great even 
upon those who have never, with their own eves, 
seen the ' Utawa's tide,' nor 'flown down the Rapids,' 
nor heard the 'bell of St. Anne's toil its evening 
chime ; ' while the same lines give to distant regions, 
previously consecrated in our imagination, a vivid- 
ness of interest, when viewed on the spot, of which 
it is difllculi to siy how much is due to the magic of 
the poetry, and how much lo the beauty of the real 
scene." 5 

9 Introduced in the Kpistle to Lady Charlotte Raw. 
don, p. 1 12 of this volume. 

= This brave and amiable oflir^r was killed at 
QueensioD, in Upper Caimda, soon after the com- 
mencement of the war with America, in the year 
I.S12. He was in Ihe act of cheering on his men 
when he fell. The insciiption on the monument 
raised lo his memory, on Queenston Heights, does but 
due honour to his manly character. 

' " II is singularly gratifying," the author adds, "to 
the Canadian voyagcur$ 

discover that, to this he 



While on the subject of the Canadian Boat Sone, an 
SDecdote connected with thai once popular ballad may, 
for my nmsical leadeis at least, possess some interest. 
A few years since, while s'aying in Dublin, 1 was 
presenled, at his own letiuesl, to a ^enlleman who 
lold me that his family had m their possession a cu- 
rious relic (if mv ydulhfut days,— being the first nota- 
tion I had nnde, in pencilling. <*f the a.r and wordw-f 
the Canadian lioal Son?, while nn my way down the 
S'. Lawrence.— and tlial il their wi^h I should add 
my signatuie to a'test the authen'icity of the auto 

never omit their oflerings to the shrine of St. Anne, 
before ci. gaging in any enterprise j and that, during 
i's performance, they omit no opporlu' ity of keeping 
ip so propitious an intercnur>e. The flouriNhini; 
illage which suirounds (he church on the 'Giet-n 
.jle ' in questi n owes its existence and support entire- 
ly to these pious contributions." 

graph, I assured him with truth that I had wholly 
tUKotten even the existence of such a memorandMm ; 
that it would be as much a curiosity to myself as it 
could be to any one else, and that I should feel thank* 
ful to be allowed to see it. In a day or two afier, my 
leijuest was complied with, and ihe following is the 
history of this musical '• relic." 

In niy passage down the St. Lawrence, I hid with 
me t*vo travelling companious, one of whom, named 
Harkness, the son nf a wealthy Dublin me: chant, has 
bt-eii some years dead. To this young friend, on part- 
ing uilh him, at Quebec. I gave, ^s a keep>ake, a 
volume I had been reading on the way,— Priestley's 
Lectures on History ; and it was upon a fly-leaf of this 
voiumel found I had taken down, in pencilling, both 
the notes and a few of the words of the original song 
by which my own boat-glee had been suggested. The 
following is the form of my memorandum of the origi- 
nal air : — 

Then follows, as pencilled down at the same mo- 
ment, the hrat verse of my Canadian Boat Song, with 
air and words as they are at present. From all this 
it will be perceived, iha', in my own setting of the 
air, I departed in almost every respect but Ihe lime 
from the strain our voya^eurs htd simg to us, leaving 
the music of the glee nearly as much my own as the 
words. Vet. how strongly impressed I had becnme 
with the notion that this was the identical air sung by 
the boatmen,— how closely it linked itself in my imagi- 
nation with the scenes and sound" amidst wliich it had 
occurred tr. me, — may be seen bv reference lo a note 
appended to the glee as firs' published, which will be 
found in the following pages. i 

To the few desultory and. j erhaps, valueless recol- 
lections 1 have thus called up, respecting the conients 
of our second volume, I have only to add, that the 
heavy storm of censure and ciiticisin.— some of it, I 
fear, but too well deserved,— vxhich, both in America 
and in England, the publication of my "Odes and 
Epistles" drew down upon me, wns followed by results 
wnich have far inoie than compensated for any pain 
such attacks at the tinje may have inflicted. In the 
moat formidable of all my censors, at that period,— 
the great master of ihe art of criticism, in our day,— I 
have found ever since one of the most cordial and 
hishly valued of all my friends; whde the good will 
I have experienced fiom more than one distinguished 
American sufliciently assures me that any injustice 1 
may have done to that land of freemen, if not long 
since wholly forgotten, is now remembered only to be 

As some consolation to me for the onsets of criti- 
cism. I received, shortly after the appearauce of my 
volume, a letter from Stockholm, addressed to "the 
author of Epistles, Odes, and other Poems," and in- 
forming me that *' the Princes, Nobles, and Gentle- 
men, wh( composed the Geneial Chapter of the nmst 
Illustrious, Equps'rian, Secular, ard Chtp'eial Order 
of St. Joachim." had elec'ed me as a Knight of Itiis 
Order. Notwithstanding the grave and official style 
of the letter, I regarded it, I own. at first, as a mere 
iMinderoug jriece of pleasantry ; and even suspected that 
in the name of St. *■ loachim*' I could detect the low 
and irreverent pun of St. Jokehim. 

On a little inquiry, however, I learned that there 
actually existed such an order of knighthood j that the 

title, insignia, &c. conferred by it had, in the instances 
of Lord Nelson, the Duke of^ Bouillon, and Colonel 
Imhoff, who were all knights of Si. Joachim, been 
authorized by the British court ; but that since then, 
this saiiciion of the order had been withdrawn. Ot 
course, to the reduction thus caused in the value of the 
honour was owing its descent in the scale of distinc- 
tion to " such small deer'' <f Farnassub as myself. I 
wrote a letier, however, full of giateful acknowledg- 
ment, lo Monsieur naiisson, the Vice-Chancellor of the 
Order, saying thai I was unconscious of having enti- 
tled myself, hv any public service, to a rev^aid due 
only to the benefactors of mankind ; and therefore 
begged leave most respectfully to decline it. 




Duloia coneeia lectnli lucernn. 

Martial, lib. xiv. epig. 39, 
«' Oh ! love the Lnmp " (my Mistress said), 
"The faithful I^mp that, many a night, 
"Reside thy Lais' lonely bed 
" His kept its little m atch of light. 

1 Page 112 of this volume. 

^ It does not appear to have been very difl^cult to 
become a philosopher amongst Ihe ancients. A 
moderate stoie of learning, with a considerable por- 
tion of confidence, and just wit enough to produce an 
occasional apophthegm, seem to have been all the 
qualifications neces-ary for the purpose. The prin- 
ciples of moial science were so very inqierfectly un- 
derstood that the founder of a new sect, in forming 
his ethical code, might consult either fancy or tem- 
pi-rament, and adapt it lo his own pis-ions and pro- 
pensities ; so that Maliomet, with a little more learn- 
ing, micht have flourished as a philosopher in those 
diys, and would have required hui the polish of the 
schools to become the rival of Ari-tippus in morality. 1 
In the science of nature, too, though some valuable 
truths were discovered hy ihem, they seemed hardly 
to know they were trtiths, or at least were as weJI 
satisfied with errors; and Xenophanes, who asserted 



" Full often has it seen her weep, 

" Aud lix !ier eye U|.oi. its flame, 
••Till, weary, she lias sunk to sleep, 

«'Re|ieating liei btlovcd's name. 

•• Then love the Lamp — H will of'en lead 

" 1 hy s ep through Itatnii.gN sacred »ayj 
"And ^vhenthc.se8udi"U^eJ>5■hail read, 
"Atnii.linghl,b> ilsh.nely r.,y 

"Of thin?s sublime, of nature's birth, 
"Of all liiafsbrirtt in heaven or earth, 
I' Oh, think tl,a she, by whom 't was giveir, 
1' Adoi ei thee more than earth or heaveu ! 

Yes — dearest Lamp, by every charm 

On which thy midmsht beam has hung; I 

The head reclin'd, the graceful arm 
AciO;S the Lrow of ivory Hung; 

Tbe heaving bnsom, partly hid. 
The severd hrs' unc .nsc...u^ sighs. 

The fringe that from the half-shut hd 
Adowii the cheek of roses lies : 

By these, by all that bloom untold, 
And long as all shall cliarm my heart, 

1 '1! love my little Lamp of gold — 
My Lamp and I shall never part. 

And often, as she smiling faid. 

In fancy's hour, ihv gentle rays 
Shall suide my visionary tread 

Through poesy's enchanting ma2e. 
Thy flame shall light the page refin'd, 

Where still vie catch the Chian's breath, 

Where still the bard, though cold in death, 
Has left his soul unqueich'd behind. 
Or, o'er thy humbler legend shine, 

Oh, man of Ascri's diearv glades.i 
To whom the nijhtly warbling Nine 3 

A wind of inspiraiioii gave,'' 
Pluck'J from the greenest tiee, that shades 

The crj'stal of Caslalia's nave. 

Then, turning to a purer lore, 
We'll cull the sages' deep-hid store, 
Trom Science ste il her goldtn clue. 
And every m)^tic path pursue, 
Where Nature, far fnni vulgar eyes. 
Through labyiinlhs of wonder flies. 
'T IS ihu< my heart 5h.all learn to know 
How fleeting is this world below. 

Where all that meets the morning light, 
Js cbang'd before the fall of night ! s 

I'll tell thee, as 1 trim thy fire, 

" Swift, swift the tide of being runs, 

"And 1 ime, who bids thy flame expire, 
** Will -lUo quench yon heaven of suds." 

Oh, then if earth's united power 
Can ne^er chain one feathery hour; 
If every print we leave to day 
To-morrow's wave will sweep away; 
Who pau-es to inquire of heaven 
Why were the fleeting tieasuies given. 
The sunny days, the shady nights. 
And all their brief but dear delights. 
Which heaven has made frir man to use. 
And man should think it crime to lose? 
Who that has cuU'd a fresh-blown rose 
Will ask it why it brea'hes and glows. 
Unmindful of the blushing ray. 
In which it shines its soul away ; 
Unmindful of the scented sigli, 
With which it dies and loves to die. 

Pleasure, thou only good on earth ! s 
One precious moment gi.'n to thee 

Oh I by my Lais' lip, 't is worth 
The sage's immortality. 

Then far be all the wisJom hence. 

That would our joys one hour delay I 
Alas, the feast of s-.ul and sense 

Love calls us to in youth's bright day. 

If not soon tas'ed, fleets away. 
Ne'er wert thou formed, my Lamp, to shed 

Thy splendiiur on a lifeless page; — 
Wliate'e: my blushing Liis said 

Of thoughtful lore and s'udies sage, 
'T was mockery all — her glance of joy 
Told me thy dearest, best empl"y.i 
And. soon as ni^ht sliali close the eye 

Of heaven's ynung wanderer in the west; 
When seers are gaaing on the sky. 
To find their future orbs of rest ; 

that the 'tars were igneous clouds, lighted up every 
night and extinguished again in the ni'rning, was 
thought and styled a philisopher, as generally as he 
who anticipated Newton in developing the arrange- 
ment of the universe. 

For this opinion of Xenophanes. see Plutarch, de 
Placil. Philo^oph. lib. ii cap. 13. Il is impossible to 
read this treaiise of Plmarch, without alternately 
admiring Ihe genius, and smiling at the absurdities of 
the philos iphers. 

1 The ancients had their hicernae cubiculariae or 
bedchamber lamps, which, as Ihe Emperor Galienus 
said, '*nil eras memineie ;'' and, with the same com- 
mendalion of secrecv. Praxagora addresses her lamp 
in Aristophanes, EkkAjj;. We may jidiC howfanci- 
ful they were, in the use and emhellishmeni of their 
lamps, from the famous syniholic Lucerna, which we 
find in the Romanuni Museum Mich. Ang. Causei, p. 

0. Heslod. who tells us in melancholy terms of his 
father's Might In the wretched village of Ascra. Epy. 
Kai 'Hmp. v 231. 

3 EvvvYittt artixov, ntpLicaWia uatrav utcat. 
Theog. V. 'lO. 

-* Kat fLOLa-KyTT7povt6ov,Sa(fiVT]^£OL9ri\£ao^ov, 
Id. V. 30. 

'■Pfiv Td liXa jrorajLOv ltK7)V, as 
among the dogmas of Heiacliius the Ephesian, and 1 
with the same image by .Seneca, in whom we find a 
beautiful diffusion of the thought. " Nemo est mane, 
qui fruit pridie. Corpora nostra rapiuntur fluminum 
more ; quidquid vides currit cum tempore. Nihil ex 
his qujE videmus manet. Ego ipse, dum loquor 
mutari ipsa, niutatus sum," &c. 

6 Aris.ippus considered motion as the principle of 
happiness, in which ide» he dififered fri.m Ihe Epi- 
cuieaiis, who looked to a stale of repose as the only 
true voluptuousness, and avoided even the too lively 
agilalions of pleasure, as a violent and ungraceful 
derangement of the senses. 

1 Mauperluis has been still more explicit than this 
philosopher, in raniiing the pleasures of sense above 
Ihe sublimest pursuits' of wi-doni. Speaking of the 
infant man, in his production, he calls him, "uae 
nouvelle creature, qui pourra comprendre les choses 
les plus sublimes, el ce qui est bieii au-dessus. qui 
pourra gouter les memes plai 
Phys'que. This appears to be 


le of the eflorts at I 
Fontenelle's gallaut'ry of manner, for which the 
learned President is so well and justly ridiculed in j 
Ihe Akakia of Voltaire. i 

M'uper'ui! mav be tlioueht to have borrowed from 
the ancient Arisllppus that indiscrimina'e theory of 
pleasures which lie Ins set forth in his Essai de Phi- i 
losophe Morale, and for which he was so very jcstly 
condemned. Aristippiis, according to Laertius, held , 
/IT) emipepuv T£ ftSovriv ']6ovr}';, which irrational j 
sentiment has been adopted by Maupenuis: "Tant 
qu'on ne considere que I'et t present, lous les pUisin 
sont du meme genre," &c, 4:c. 1 



Then shall I take my trembling way, 
Unseen but to Ihos'o worlds atKjve, 

And, led by thy mvsterious ray^ 
bteal to the night-bower of my love. 



Mon amp eur mon levre etoit lors toute entierf^ 
Tour eavoiirer W miel qui ifuT la vutre elUl; 

Muis en me retirai.I, ille re la derriere, 
Tuut tlece doux Jjlaiwr ramuice la resloit. Yottun 

How heav'niy was the poet's donm, 
To bieathe his spii it lhrous;h a kiss ; 

And lose wilhiu so sweet a tomb 
The trembling messenger of bliss 1 

And, sure his soul relurn'd to feel 
That it again could ravisli'd be : 

For in the ki^s that thou didst steal, 
His life and soul liave fled to thee. 


" Good iiijsht ! good night !" — And is it so ? 

And must i from my Kosa go ? 

Oh Rosa, say " Good night !" once more, 

And I '11 repeat it o'er and o'er, 

Till the first glance of dawning light 

Shall lind us saying, still, " Good night," 

And still " Good night," my R.-sa, say 
But whisper still, "A minute stay ;» 
And I will stay, and every minute 
Shall have an age of transport in it ; 
Till Time himself shall slay his flight. 
To listen to our sweet " Good uigtit." 

»'Good night !" you'll murmur with a sigh, 

And tell me il is time to lly : 

And I will vow, will swear to go, 

While still sweet voice murmurs " No ;» 

Till slumber seal our weary sight — 

AuJ then, my love, my soul, *■ Good night I" 


Why does ajure deck the sky 
'Tis lo be like thy Inckbof blue; 

Why is red the rose's dye ? 
Recanse it is thy blushes' hue. 

All thai 's fair, by Love's decree, 

Has been made resembling thee 

Why is falling snow so white, 
Biit to be like thy bosnm fair ? 

Wily are solar beams so bright ? 
Tiia' they may seem Ihv gnldcn h: 

All that 's brieht, by Love's decree. 

Has lieen made resembling thee ! 

Why are nature's beauties felt? 

Oh! t is thine in her we see! 
Why has music power lo melt ? 

Oh ! because it speaks like thee. 
All that '8 sweet, liy Love's decree, 
Has been made resembling thee ! 


Like one who trusts to summer ski», 
And puts his liltle bark lo sra, 

Is he who, h.r'd by smiling eyes. 
Consigns his simple heait to thee. 

For fickle is the summer wind. 
And sadly may the bark be tost ; 

For Ihou art sure to change thy mind. 
And then the wretched heart is lostl 

III which every one that oyened it was to 
contribute something. 


This tribute 's from a wretched elf. 
Who hails thee, emblem of himself. 
The book of life, which I have Irac'd, 
Has been, like thee, a motley waste 
Of follies scribbled o'er and o'er, 
One folly btingilig hundreds more. 
Sonie have indeed been writ so neat, 
In chaiacters so fiir, so sweet. 
That those who judge not too severely. 
Have said they lov'd such follies dearly. 
Y'et still, bonk 1 the nllusion stands; 
For these weie penn'd by female hands; 
The rest — alas ! I own the truth — 
Have all been scrihtded so uncouth 
That I'nideiice, wilh a v\iih'iing look. 
Disdainful, flings away Ihe book. 
Like thine, \U pages here and there 
Have ofi been s'ain'd with blots of care; 
And sometimes houis of peace, I owu, 
Upon some fairer leaves have shown. 
White as the snowmgs of that heav'n 
By which Ihose hours of pe.ace were given. 
Bui now no longer— such, nh, such 
The blast of Di appointment's touchi 
No longer now those hours appear j 
E.ich leaf is sullied by a tear: 
Blank, blank is ev'ry page with care, 
Not ev'n a folly brighlens there. 
Will they yet brighten? — never, never! 
Then $hut the look, God, for ever ! 


Say, why should the girl of mv soul be id teari 

At a meeling of rapture like this. 
When the glooms of Ihe past and the sorrow of years 

Have been paid by one moment of bliss? 

Are they shed for that moment of blissful delight. 

Which dwells on her memory yet ? 
Do they flow, like the dews of the love-breathing night, 

From the warmth of the sun that has set ? 

Oh ! sweet is the tear on that languishing smile. 

That smile, which is loveliest then ; 
And if such are the drop, that delight can beguile, 

I'hou shall weep them again and agaio. 


Light sounds Ihe harp when Ihe combat is over, 
When heroes are resting, and jny is in bloom j 

When laurels hang loose from the brow cf ihe lover, 
And Cupid makes wings of the warrior's plum* 



But, when the foe returns, 
A^nin the hero burns ; 
High flames ihe swi.rd iu his hand once more: 
The clang r,fn..nihnga-n.s 
Is Ihen the sound that charms, 
And brazen notes of war, that s'lrriigtiunipe'spour;— 
Then, again comes ihe Harp, when the couibat is 
over — 
When heroes are resting, and joy is in bloom — 
When laurels hang loose from the brow of the lover, 

And Cupid makes wing-* r>f the warrior's plume. 
Light went the harp when Ihe VVar-God, reclining, 

Lay luU'd on the white arm nf Betuty to rest, 
When round his rich ;.rmour the myrtle hung twining, 
And flti^hts of young doves oiade ins helmet their 

But, when the battle came, 
The hero's eye breathed fl.ime : 
Soon from his neck the white arm was flung j 
While, to his wakening ear, 
No 01 her sounds were dear 
But brazen notes t-f war, by thousand trumpets sung. 
But then came the light haip, when danger was ended, 
And Beauty once more lull'd the War-God to rest ; 
When tresses uf gold with his laurels l?v blended, 
And flights of young doves made bis helmet their 


Fill high the cup with liquid flame, 
And -peak my Helindora's name. 
Repeat its iii.igic o'er and o'er, 
And let the sound my lips adme, 
Live in the breeze, till every tone, 
And word, and breath, speaks her alone. 

Give me the wreath that withers theie. 
It was but Uht delicinus night, 
■ It circled her luxuriant hair, 

And caught her eves' reflected light. 
Oh ! haste, and twine it round my broir, 
»TisaU of her that's left me noiv. 
And see — each rosebud drops a tear. 
To find Ihe nymph no longer here — 
No longer, wheie such hetvenly charms 
As hers should be— withm these arms. 


Fly from the world, O Bessy '. to me, 
Thou wilt never find any sincerer; 

I '11 give up the world, O Bessy ! for thee, 
1 can never meet any that's dearer. 

Then tell me no more with a tear and a sigh. 
That our loves will be censurM by many ; 

All, all have their follies, and who will deny- 
That ours is the sweetest of any ? 

When your Up has met mine in communion so sweet, 

Have we felt as if virtue forbid it ?— 
Have we felt as if heav'n denied them to meet ?— 

No, rather 't was heav'n thai did it. 
So inniceiif, love, is the joy we then sip, 

So little of wrong is theie in it, 
Thit I wish all mv errors were lodg'd on your lip, 

And I "d kiss them away in a minute. 

Eyxcii Kflt iraXtv ftJi-c, naXiv, traXtt', HXioffwpaj 
EtTTC, (Tvv aKQ7]Ttu TO yXvKV /itcry' ovofia. 

Mva/ioo-vvov KEivas, afi(piTi9i.i o-TE-^avov 
^aKpvu ^iAcpaffrov liov ^o6ov, ovvtKa Kuvav 
AXkoi/i k' ov KoXnoLS TjfiiTtpoLS £aoi,a. 

Brunck. Aimlcct.^ tom. i., p. 28. 

Then come to your lover, oh ! fly to liis shed. 

From a world which I know thou despisest ; 
And slumber will huver as light o'er our bed 

As e'er on the couch of the wisest. 
And when o'er oiir pillow the tempest is driven, 

And thou, pre'ty innocent, fearest, 
I 'II ttll ihee. It is not the chiding of heav'n, 

'T is only our lullaby, dearest. 

And, oh ! while we He on our deathbed, my lev©. 

Looking back on the scene cf nur errors, 
A sigh from my Bessy sh;<ll plead then above, 

And Death be disarm'd of his teirors. 
And each to the other embiacing will say, 

''Farewell ! let us hope we're forgiven." 
Thy last fading glance will illumine the way, 

And a kiss be our pai^sport to heaven 1 


La (ieoiala vcstra forma * 

Petrarc. Sonnett. 14. 

Yes, if H were any common love, 
That ltd my plimt heart astny, 

I grant, there's not a power above, 
Could wipe the faithless crime away. 

But, 't was mv doom (o err with one 

In every ln^k so like to Ihee 
That, underneath yon blessed sun, 

So fair there are but thou and she. 

Both born of beauty, at a birth, 
She held with thine a kindred sway. 

And wore Ihe only shape on earth 
That could have lur'd my soul to stray. 

Then blame me not, if false J be, 
'T was love that uak'd the fond excess; 

My heart liad been more true to thee. 
Had mine eye priz'd thy beauty less. 


Yes ! had I leisure to sigh and mourn, 

Fanny, deare>f, for thee I 'd sigh ; 
And every smile on my cheek should tufa 

To tears when thou art nigh. 
But, between love, and wine, and sleep, 

So busy a life I live, 
That even the time it would lake to weep 

Is more than my heart can give. 
Then hid me not to de-pair and pine, 

Fanny, dearest of all the dears! 
The Love that "s oider'd to b*the in wine, 

Would be sure to take cold in tears. 

Reflected bright in this heart of mine, 
Fanny, dearest, thy image lies; 

But, :ih. the mirror wi uld ctase to shinty 
If dimm'd too often with sighs. 

Thev lose the half of beauty's light. 
Who view it through sorrow's tear; 

And 't is but to see thee truly bright 
That I keep niv eve-beam clear. 

Then wait no longer till tears shall flow 
Fanny, dearest — the hope is vain ; 

If sunshine cannot di-^solve thy snow 
I shall never attempt it with rain. 




No — Lady ! Lady ! keep the ring : 
Oh! Iliirik, h()»- ni:iiiy a. future year, 

Of placid smile and dnwuy wing, 
May sleep within its holy sphere. 

Do not disturb their tranquil dream^ 

Though love hath ne'er the mystery warni'J ; 

Vet heav'u will shed a soothing beam, 
To bless the bond itself hath form'd. 

But then, that eye, thai burning eye,— 
Oh I it doth a>k, wiih witching power. 

If heaven can ever bless Ihe tie 
Where love iuwreaths no genial flower ? 

Awav, away, bewildering look, 

Or ai! the boast of virtue 's o'er J 
Go— hie thee to ihe sage's bnok. 

And learn from him to feel no more. 

I cannot warn thee ; every touch, 
That brings my pulses close to thine. 

Tells nie I want thy aid as much — 
Ev'n more, alas, than thou dost mine. 

Yet, stay,— one hope, one eflort yet — 

A moment turn Ihose eyes away, 
And let me, if I can, forget 

The light that leads my soul astray. 

Thou say'st, that we were born to meet, 
That our hearts bear one couimon seal ; — 

Think, Ladv, Ihink, how man's deceit 
Can seem to sigh and feign lo leel. 

When, o'er thy face some gleam of thought, 
Like davbeams through Ihe moining air 

Halh gradual stole, and I have caught 
'I'he feeling ere it kindled Iheiej 

The sympathy I then lielray'd, 
I'erhaps was but the child of art, 

The guile of one, who long halh play'd 
With all these wily nets of heart. 

Oh ! thine is not my earliest vow ; 
Though few the years 1 yet have told. 
Canst Ihou believe I 've lived lill now, 

With loveless heart or senses cold ? 

No — olher nymphs to joy and pain 
This wild and wandering htart hath mov'd ; 

With some it sported, wild and vain, 
While some it dearly, truly, lov'd. 

The cheek to thine I fondly lay. 
To theirs haih been as fnndly laid; 

The words lo thee I warmly say, 
To them have been as warmly said. 

Then, scorn at once a worthless heart, 
Wnrihless alike, or fiY'd or free ; 

Think of Ihe pure, bright soul thou art, 
And — love not me, oh, love not me. 

Enough — now, turn thine eyes again ; 

What, still that look and still that sigh ! 
Dost thou not feel my counsel then ? 

Oh! no, beloved, — nor do 1, 


They try lo persuade me, my dear little sprite. 
That you 're not a true daughter of ether and light. 
Nor have any concern with those fanciful forms 
That dance upon rainbows and ride upon storms; 

That, in short, you 're a woman ; yoar lip and your 

As mortal as ever drew gods from the sky. 

But I will not believe Iheni — no. Science, to you 

1 have long bid a last aud a careless adieu: 

Still laying from Natuie to study her taws, 

And dulling delight by exploring its cause, 

Vou forget how superior, for mortals below. 

Is the fiction they dream to the truth that they know. 

Oh ! who, has e'er enjoyed r.ipture complete. 

Would ask huw we feel it, or why it is sweet ; 

How rajs are confiis'd, or how particles fly 

Through the medium refin'd of a glance or a sigh ; 

Is there one, who but once would not rather have 

known it. 
Than written, with Harvey, whole volumes upon it ? 

As for you, my sweet-voiced and invisible love, 
You must surely be one of those spirits, that rove 
By the bank where, at twilight, the poet reclines. 
When the of the west on his solitude shines. 
And the magical fingers of fancy have hung 
Every breeze with a sigh, eiery leaf with a tongue. 
Oh! hint lo him then, 'lis retirement alone 
Can hallow his harp or ennoble its tone ; 
Like you, with a veil of seclusion between, 
His song to the world let him utter unseen. 
And like you, a legitimate child of Ihe spheies, 
Escape froni the eye to enrapture the ears 

Sweet spirit of mystery '. how I should love, 
In the wearisome ways I am fated lo rove. 
To have you thus ever invisibly nigh. 
Inhaling for ever your song and your sigh 
Mid the crowds of Ihe world and the murmurs of 

I might sometimes converse with my nymph of the 

And turn with distaste from Ihe claniorous crew 
To steal in the pauses one whisper from you. 

Then, come and be near me, for ever be mine. 
We shall bold in Ihe air a communion divine, 
As sweet .as, of old, was imagin'i to dwell 
In Ihe siotto of Numa, or Socra'es' cell. 
And oft, at those lingering moments of night. 
When ihf heart's busy thoughts have put slumber to 

fl ght. 
You shall come lo my pillow and tell me of love. 
Such as angel to angel might whisper above. 
Sweet spirit! — and then, could you borrow Ihe lone 
Of thai voice, to my ear like some fiiry-snng known, 
1 he voice of the one upon earth, who has Iwiii'd 
Wilh her being forever my heart and my mind, 
Though lonely and far from Ihe light of her smile. 
An exile, and weary and hopeless the while, 
Could you shed for a moment her voice on my ear, 
I will think, for that moment, that Caia is near; 
That she conies with consoling enchantment lo speak. 
And kisses my eyelid and breathes on my cheek, 
And tells me, the night shall go rapidly by. 
For the dawn of our hope, of our heaven, is nigh. 

Fair spirit '. if such be your magical power, 
It will lighten the lapse of full many an hour ; 
And, let fortune's realities frown as they will, 
Hope, fancy, and Caia may smile for me still. 


Annuliis illc viri. — Ovid. Amor. lib. 11., eleg. 16. 

The happy day at length arriv'J 

When Rupert was io wed 
The f.iire-1 maid in .Saxony, 

Aud take hej- to his bed. 

I should be sorry lo Ihink that my friend had aojr 



As soon as morn was in the sky, 
Tbe feast and sports began ; 

Tlie men admirM the happy maid, 
'J he maids ihe happy man. 

of 1 

In many a sweet device 
The day was pass'd ,.lon 

And some the fea'Iy dance 
And some the dulcet son 

The younger maids with Isabel 

Disponed through the bowers, 
And deck'd her robe, and crowned her head 

VVilh motley bnddl flowers. 

The matrons all in rich attire, 

Wilhiu the ca.tle walls. 
Sat lis'ening lo the choral strains 

That echo'd through the halls 

Young Ruper! and his friends repair'd 

Unto a spacious court, 
To St I ike the bounding tennis-ball 

In feat and manly sport. 

Tlie bridegroom on his finger wore 

The weddins^-ringso bright. 
Which was lo grace the lily hand 

Uf Isabel that night. 

And fearing he might break Ihe gem, 

Or lose it in the play, 
He look'd around the court, to see 

Wheie he the ring might by. 

Now, in the cnurt a statue stood, 
Which there full long had been ; 

It might a Ht-a'hen poddess be, 
Or else, a Heathen queen. 

Upon its marble finger then 

He tried the ring 10 fit; 
And, thinkmg it was safest there, 

Thereon he fasten'd it. 

And now the tennis sports went on, 

Till they were w>aried all, 
And mesi^en^ers annonncM to them 

Their dinner iu the hall. 

Young Rupeit for his wedding-ring 

Unto the statue went ; 
Bu', oh, how shock'd he to find 

The marble finger bent ! 

The hand was clos'd upon the ring 

With firm and mighty clasp; 
In vnin he tried, and tried, and tried. 

He could not loose the grasp 1 

Then sore surpris'd was Rupert's mind 

As well his mind might be; 
•* I Ml come," quuth he, " at night again, 

*• When none are here to see." 

He went unto the feast, and much 

He thought upon his ring; 
And niarvell'd sorely what could mean 

So very strange a thing! 

serious intentions of frijhtening the nursery by this 
story : 1 rather hope — th"iigh the manner of it leads 
me to doubt — that his design was to ridicule that dis- 
tempered taste which prefers thuse monsters of the 
fancy to the " speciosa miracula" of true poetic imagi- 

I find by a note in the manuscript, that he met with 
this s'ory'in a German author, fromi/mu ufwn Fasci- 
nation^ book iii., part vi., ch. 18. On cDn-uliing the 
work. I perceive that Fromman quotes it from Belua- 
censis, among many other stories equally diabolical 
and interesting. K. 

The feast was o'er, and to the court 

He hied without del .y, 
ResoIvM to break the marble band 

And force the ring aw ay. 

But. mark a stranger wonder still — 

The rt.iguas (here no more, 
And yet the marble hand uugraspM, 

And open as before ! 

He searched the ba^e. and all the court. 

But nothing could he find ; 
Then to the castle hied he back 

With sore bewilder^ mind. 

Within he found thenn all in mirth, 

The night in dancing flew ; 
The youth another ring procur'd, 

And none the adventure kne^v. 

And now the priest has ioin'd their hands, 

Tbe hours of love advance 
Rupert almost f')rgets to think 

Upon the morn's misctiauce. 

Within the bed fair Isabel 

III bitishiiig sweetness lay, 
Like tlowers, half-open'd by Ihe dawn, 

And 1 

ling for the dav. 

And Rupert, by her lovely side, 

In \outhful beauty kIows, 
Like Pl)f£bus, w hen he bends to cast 

His beams upon a rose. 

And here my song would leave them both, 

Nor let Ihe lest be loid, 
If 'I were not for the horrid tale 

It yet has to unfold. 

Soon Rupert, 'Iwixt his bride and him, 

A death-cold crcass found ; 
He saw it not, but ihousht he felt 

Its anus embrace him round. 

He started up, and then return'd, 

But found ilie phantom still; 
In vain he shrunk, i' clipp'd him round, 

With damp and deadly chill ! 

And when he bent, the earthy lips 

A kiss of horror gave ; 
'T was like the smell from charnel vaults, 

Or from the mouldVing grave 1 

Ill-fated Rupert ! — wild and loud 

Then cried he to his wife, 
"Oh ! save me fiom ihis horrid fiend, 

*' My Isabel I my life !" 

But Isabel had nothing seen, 

She Ir.okVl around in vain; 
And much she mourn'd the mad conceit 

That rack'd her Rupert's brain. 

At length from this invisible 
These words to Rnpe.tcame: 

(Oh God ! while be did hear the words 
What terrors shook his frame IJ 

" Husband, husband, I've the ring 

** Thou g'v'st to day to nie ; 
"And ihou'rt to me f t ever wed, 

" As I am wed to thee T* 

And all the ni£ht the den.on lay 

Cnld chiMiiig by his side, 
And ^train'd him with such deadlv grasp, 

He Ihoi.ghl he should have died. 
But when the dawn of day was near, 

The horrid phantom fled. 
And left th' atlrighted youth lo weep 

By Isabel in bed. 


73 i 

And all tliat dav a ?lonmy cloud 

Was seen on'Kuptrt's browsj 
Tair Isabel was likewise sad, 

2u strove to cheer her spouse. 

And, ns the dav advant'd, he thought 

Of cimiMi? ilight with fear; 
Alas, that he should dread lo view 

The Led that should be dear! 

At lenslh the second ni^ht arrived, 

Again their cnuch they pres^'d ; 
Ponr Rupert hnpM ihal all was O'er, 

And iook'd for love and rest. 

But, oh '. when midnight came, again 

The fieiid was at his side, 
And, as it strain'd him in its grasp, 

With howl exulting cried: — 

»* Husband, husband, I 've the ring, 

*' The ring Ihdu giv'st to me ; 
"And thou 'ft lo me for ever wed, 

*' As I am wed to thee I " 

In a^ony of wild despair, 

He started from the bed ; 
And Ihus to his bewilderM wife 

The trembling Rupert said : 

**0h, Isabel ! dosi thou not see 

*' A shape of horrors here, 
" That strains me to its deadly kisn, 

** And keeps me from my dear ?" 

" No, no, my Inve! my Rupert, 1 

"Nn shape of hnrroVs see; 
*'Aitd much 1 mourn the phantasy 

'* That keeps my dear from me." 

This night, just like the niglit befor^ 

In tenors pass'd away. 
Nor did the demon vaii>sh thence 

Befire the dawn of day. 

S^id Rupert then, " My Isabel, 

*' Pear partner of my woe, 
*'To FalhiT Austin's hnly cave 

"This instant will I go." 

Now Austin was a reverend man, 

Who acied wonders maint — 
Whom all the country round believM 

A devil or a saint! 

To Father Austin's holy cave 

Then Rupert slrai-htwiy went ; 
And told him all, and a^k'd him how 

These horrors to prevent. 

The father heard the youth, and then 

HetirM awhile to pray ; 
And, having prayM for half an hour, 

Thus (0 the youth did s:iy : 

** There is a jilace where four roads meet- 

" Which I will lell to thee; 
"Be there eve, at fall n( night, 

"And list what thou shall see. 

"Thou 'It see a sroup of figures pass 

" In strange disorder'd cniwd, 
"Travelling by torchlight Ihrough the roads, 

" Wiih noises stnnge and loud. 

"And one that 's high nbnve the rest, 

"Terrific towering n'er, 
•' Will make thee kn<nv him at a glance, 

"So 1 need say no more. 

"To him from me these table's give, 

"They'll t|iiick be understonj ; 
"Thou need'st not fear, but give them straight, 

" I 've scrawl'd them with mv blood ! " 

The night-fall came, and Rupert all 

In pale amazement went 
To where the crObs-rtiad> met, as he 

Was by the Fa her sent. 

Ana lo ! a group of C'sures came 

In s'range disorder a crnwd, 
Travelling by torchlight ihrnugh the roads, 

With noises strange and loud. 

And, as the Rloimy train advanc'd, 

Rupert beheld fiom far 
A female form of wanton miea 

High sealed on a car. 

And Rupert, as he gaz'd upon 

The loosely-vested dame, 
Thought of tlie marble staUie's look, 

For hers was just the same. 

Behind her walk'd a hideous form, 

With eyeballs flashing deaHi ; 
Whene'er he breath'd, asulphur'd smoke 

Came burning in his breath. 

He seem'd the first of all the croxvd, 

Teriific tnweringn'er; 
" Yes, ye>," said Rupert, " this is he, 

'* And 1 need ask no more." 

Then slow he went, and to this fiend 

The tablets trembling gave. 
Who iook'd and read them with a yell 

That would disturb the grave. 

And when he saw the Mood-scrawl'd name, 

His e\es with fury bhine; 
" I thought," cries he, *' liis time was out, 

" But he mubt soon be mine 1 " 

Then darting at (he youth a look 
Which rent his soul with fear, 

He went unto the female tiend, 
And whisperM in her ear. 

The female fiend no sooner heard 

Than, with reluctant look, 
The very rin« that Rupert lost, 

She from her finger look. 

And, giving it unto the youth, 
With eyes that breath'd of hell, 

She said, in that tremendous voice, 
Which he remember'd well: 

" In Austin's name lake back the ring, 

*' The ring thou gav'st to me ; 
" And thou 'rt to me no longer wed, 

" Nor longer I to thee." 

He took the ring, the rabble pass'd, 

Hehnmere'uVn'd again; 
His wife was then the happiest fair, 

The happiest he of men. 


MapyagLTai dijXovo-t ^aKpvwv ^ouv. 

Jlp. Nicephor. in Oiieirocritico, 

Put off the vestiil veil, nor, oh ! 

Ut weeping an-els view it; 
Your cheeks belie is virgin snow, 

And blush repenting through it. 

Put off the fatal zone you wear; 

The shining pearls around it 
Are tears, that fell from Virtue there, 

The hour when Lnvc unbound it. 



OF A. lady's commonplace book. 

Here is one leaf re-^erv'tl foi Aie, 
Fiom all thy sweet memorials free; 
And he<e my simple song might teil 
The fillings Ihou musi guess so well. 
But cnuld i ihus. within thy mlod, 
One htlle vacani corner find, 
Where no impre-sjnn yet is seen. 
Where no memorial yet hilli been, 
Oh ! it should be my sweetest care 
To write my name for ever there! 


They sny that Love had once a book 

(The urchin likes to ct>py you), 
Where^ all who came, the pencil took, 

And wrote, like us, a line or two, 

'Twas Innocence, the maid divine. 
Who kept this volume bright and fair, 

And saw th.^t no unliallowMIine 

Or thought profane should enter there; 

And dailv did the pages fill 

Wiih fond device and loving lore, 

And every leaf she lurn'd was siill 

More bright ihan that she lurn'd before. 

Beneath the tonch of Hope, how soft, 
How tight the ma^ic pencil ran I 

Till Fear would con^e, abs, as oft. 
And trembling close what Hope began, 

A tear or two had dropp'd from Grief, 
And Jealousy would, now and then, 

Ruffle in hr-ste some snow-white leaf. 
Which Love had still to smooth again. 

But. ah! there came a blooming boy, 
Who often turn'd the pa=:es o'er, 

And wrote therein puch words of joy, 
That all who reaJ (hem sigh'd for more. 

And Plertsure wa . this spirit's name. 
And ihoush s' soft his voice and look, 

Yet Innocence, ivhene'er he came, 
Would tremble for her spo;iess book. 

For, oft a Bacchant cup he bore, 

VVith earth's sweet nectar sparkling bright J 
And much she fear'd lest, mantling o'er. 

Some drops should ou the pages light. 

And so it chanc'd, one luckless night, 

The urchin let thai goblet fall 
O'er the fiir book, so pure, so white, 

And sullied lines and marge and all * 

In vain now, touch'd with shame, he tried 
To wash those fatal stains away; 

Deep, deep had sunk the sullying liJe, 
The leaves grew darker every day. 

And Fancy's sketches lost their hue. 

And Hope's sweet jmes we^e all effac'd, 

Anil Love himself now scarcely knew 
What Love himself bO lately trac'd. 

At length the urchin Pleasure fled, 
(For how, alai ! could Pleasure stay ?) 

And Love, while many a tear he shed, 
Reluctant Hung the book aivay. 

The index now alone remains. 

Of all the pages spoil'd by Pleasure, 

And though it bears some earthy s'ains, 
Yet Memory counts the leaf a trensurc. 

And oft, they say, she scans it o'er, 
And uH, by this memorial aided, 

Brings back the pages now no more, 
And thinks of lines that long have faded. 

I know not if this tale be true, 

But thus the simple fads are stated; 

And I reffer their (ruth to you, 
Since Love and you are near reUted. 


ConceaTd within the shady wood 
A mother left her sleeping child, 

And flew, to cull her rustic food, 
The fruitage of the forest wild. 

But storms upon her pathway rise, 
The mother roams, astray and weeping j 
Far from the weak appealing cries 
Of him she left so sweetly sleeping. 

She hopes, she fears ; a light is seen, 

And gentler blows the nighf-wind's breath j 

Yet no — 't is gene — the storms are keen, 
The infant may be chilTd to deaih ! 

Perhaps, ev'n now, in darkness shrouded, 
His litile eyes lie cold and stiil ;— 

And yet, perhaps, they are not clonded, 
Life and love may light ihem siill. 

Thus. Cira, at our last farewell, 

When, fearful ev'n thy hand to touch, 

I mutely asked those eye> to tell 

If parting paiu'd thee half so much ; 

I thought,— and, oh ! forgive the though!| 
For none was e'er by love inspir'd 

Whom fancy had not al-o taught 
To hope the bliss his soul desir'd. 

Yes. I did think, in Cara's mind. 

Though yet to that sweet mind unknown, 

I left one infant wish behind, 
One feeling, wliich I called my own- 

Oh blest ! though but in fancy blest, 

How did I ask of Pity's care, 
To >hield and strengthen, in thy breast, 

The nursling I had cradled there. 

And, many an hour, beguilM by pleasure, 
And many an hour of sorrow numbering, 

I ne'er forgot the new-born treasure, 
I left within thy bosom slumbering. 

Perhaps, indifference has not chill'd it, 
Haply, it yet a throb may give — 

Yet. no — perhaps, a doubt has kill'd it; 
Say, dearest — does the feeling live i 


When midnight came if close the year. 
We sigh'd In think it thus should lake 

The hours it gave us— hours as dear 
As sympathy and Inye could make 

Their blessed moments,— every sun 

Saw us, my love, more closely one. 



But, Cara, when the dawn was nigh 

\Vhich came a new year's ligh* to shed, 

That smile we caught fiom eye to eye 
Told us, those moments were not fled: 

Oh, no,— we felt, some future sun 

Should see us still more closely one. 

Thus may we ever, side by side, 
From happy years to happier glide j 
And still tiius may the parsing sigh 

We give to houis, that vanish o'er us, 
Be follow'd by the smiling eye, 

That Hope shall shed oc scenes before us 1 

TO , 

, , I&OU 

To oe the theme of every hour 

The heart devotes to Fancy's power. 

When her prompt magic fills the mind 

With friends and joys we've left l)ehind, 

And joys return and friends are near, 

And all are welcomed with a tear: — 

In the mind's purest seat to dwell, . 

To be reinember'd oft and well 

By one whose heart, though vain and wild, 

By passion led, by youih beguil'd, 

Can proudly still aspire to be 

AH ifiat may yet win smiles fi-om thee: — 

If thus to live in every pait 

Of a lone, weary wanderer's heart; 

If thus to be its sole employ 

Can give thee one faint gleam of joy, 

Believe it, Mary,— oh i believe 

A tongue that never can deceive, 

Though, erring, it too oft betray 

Ev*n more than Love should dare to aiy,— 

la Pleasure's dream or Snrrow's hour. 

In crowded hall or lonely bower, 

The business nf my life shall be. 

For ever to remember thee. 

And though that heart be dead to mine, 

Since Love is life and wakes not thine, 

I 'II take tliy image, as the form 

Of one whnm Love had faipd to warm, 

Which, thojgh it yield no answering thrill, 

Is not less dear, is worshipp'd still — 

I 'II take it, wheresoe'er 1 stray, 

The bright, cold burden of my way. 

To keep this semblance fiesh in bloom. 

My heart shall be its las'ing tomb, 

And Memory, with embalming care, 

Shall keep it fresh and fadeless tliere. 



All harmoaiani canere muudum* 

Cicero de Nat. Dear, lit), m. 

There lies a shell beneith the wares. 
In manv a hollow winding wreath'd. 
Such as of old 
E;hoed the brea'h that waibling sea-maide breatUM; 
This masic shell. 
From the white tiosoni of a syren fell, 
As once she wander'd by the tide that laves 
Sictlia's sands of gold. 
It bears 
Upon its shining side the mystic notes 
Of those entrancing airs,» 

" Iq the " Histoire Naturelle des Antilles" *bcre is 
ao account of some curious fhells, found at Curacoa, 
00 the back of which \vere .'ines, filled with musical 
charactera so distinct and perfect, that the writer 
assures us a very charming trio was sung from one 

The genii of the deep were wont to swell, 
When heaven's eltrnal orbs their midnight music 
roird ! 
Oh ! seek it, wheresoe'er it floats; 
And, if the power 
Of thrilling numbers to thy soul be dear, 
Go, bring ihe bright shell to my bowcr. 
And I will fold thee in such douny dreams 
As lap Ihe Spirit of the Seventh Sphere, 
When Luna's distant tone falls faintly on his ear!* 
And Ihnu ^halt own, 
That, through the circle of creation's zone, 
Where mailer slumbers or where spirit beams : 
From the pellucid tides,3 that whirl 
The planets through their maze of soug. 
To the smill rill, ihat weeps along 
Murmuring o'er beds of pearl ; 
From the rich sigh 
Of the sun's arrow through an evening sky,« 
To the faint breath the tuneful osier yields 

On Afnc's burning fields; ^ 
Thou 'It wuudering own this universe divine 

Is mine! 
That I respire in all and all in me, 
One mighty mingled soul of boundless harmony. 

of 1 hem. "On le nomme musical, parcequ'il porie 
sur le dos des lignes uoiratres pleines de notes, <]ui ont 
une espece de cle pour les mettre en chant, de snrle 
que Ton diroit qu'il ne manque que la leltre a cetie 
'abl ituie naturelle. Ce cuiieux gentilhomme (M. du 
Montel) rappnile qu'il en a vuqui avoient cinq hgiies, 
une cle, el des notes, qui formoieni un accord parfait. 
Quclqu'un y avnj! ajou'e la letire, que la nature avoit 
oiiblite, el la faisoit chan'er en forme de trio, dont 
IVir etuii fort agre.ble "—Chap. xix. art. II. The 
author adds, a jioet might inngine that these shells 
were used by the syiens at their concerts. 

^According to Cicero, and his commentator, Ma- 
cmbius. the lunar tone is the gr.ivest aiid f.iintesl on 
Ihe planetary Iiept chord. •• Quam nb causam sum- 
mus ille cceli stellifer cursufl, cujus conversio est con- 
ci'alior, atulo el exciiato movetur sono; gravis'-imo 
auteni hiC lunaris atque iiiHmus " — 6'om7i. Scip. 
Because, says Macrobuis, "spiritu ut in extreniitate 
langiiescente jam volvitur, et propter anguslias quibus 
penullimus orl-is arctaiur impetu lenioreconvertilur." 
— in Sonm. Scip lib. ii. c«p. 4. In their musical 
anangemeut of the heavenly bodies, the ancient 
writers are not very intelligible. — See Ptohm, lib. 

Leone Hebreo, pursuing the idea of Aristotle, that 
the heavens are animal, altribuies their harmony to 
perfect and reciprocal love. **Non pero nianca fia 
loro il peifetto et leciproco amore: la causa prin- 
cipale, che ne inostra il loro amore, e la lor amicilia 
armonica et la concordairza, che perpetuamente si 
trova in loro."— Diilcitr. il di Amore, p. n8. This 
"reciprnco amore" of Leone is the (JjiXottjs of the 
ancient Empedocies. who seems, in his Love and Hate 
of the E enient", to have given a glimpse of the j-rin- 
ciples of attractpon and repulsion. See the fragment 
to which I allude in Lnertius, AXXote fiiv (piXoTttTt. 
(ruvcp;^;o/t£v\ k. t. A., lib. viii. cap. 2. n. 12. 

3 Leucippus Ihe atomist, imagined a kind of vor- 
tices in the heavens, which he borrowed from 
Anaxagoias, and possibly su:^gested to Descaites. 

* Heiaclirles, up:n the alIeenrie^ of Homer, conjec- 
tures Ihat the i(if I of Ihe harmony of the spheres 
origina'ed with this poet, who, in repre-etiting the 
solar beam^ as armws, suppcses Ihem to emit a pecu- 
liar sound in the air. 

* In he account nf Africa which D'Abtancourt has 
iranslated. thuie is menlion nf a tree in that countiy, 
whose branches when shaken by the hand produce 
very sweet sounds. " Le nieme auieur (AbenzegarJ 
dit, qu'il y a nn certain arbre, qui produit des gaules 
comme d'nsier, et qu'en les prenant a la main et lea 
br;inlant, elles font une espece d'harmnnie fcrt agre- 
able," &c. &c. — VJfrique de Marmol, 



Welcome, welcome, mystic shell I 
Many a star has ceas'd to burn,' 
Many a lear has Saturn's urn 
O'er the colJ bos'im of the oceau wept,* 
Since tliy aerial spell 
Hath in the waters slept. 
Noiv blest I'll fly 
With the bright treasure to my choral sky, 
Where she, who w^k'd iis early swell. 
The Syren of the heavenly chnjr. 
Walks o'er the great snn? of my Orphic LyrejS 
Or guides arnund the Lurnins pole 
The winged chariot of some blissful soul : * 
While thovi — 
Oh, son of earth, what dreams shall rise for thee J 
Reneaih Ilispania's sun, 
Thou 'It see a jtreamlet run, 
Which 1 've imbued witli Ireathing melody; 5 
And there, when ni^ht-winds down the current die, 
Thou 'It how like a harp iis waiers sigh; 
A liquid chord in every wave ihat flows, 
An airy plectrum every breeze that biuws.s 

There, by that wondrous stream, 

Go, lay thy languiU hrow. 
And I will send thee such a gndlike dream, 
As never bless'd the slumbers even of hini,^ 
Who. many a night, \vith his primordial lyre,a 

Sate on the chill Pangjem mount.a 

1 Alludin? to the extinction, or at least the disap- 
pearauce, of some uf (hose fixed slars, which we are 
taught to consider as suns, attended each by its system. 
Descartes thought that our eanh might formerly have 
been a sun. which became ib-cured by a thick incrus- 
tation over its surface. This probably suggested the 
idea of a central fire. 

^ Porphyry says, that Pythagoras held the sen to be 
a tear, Ttjv -S-aXarTav tizv £Ka\u zivai daKQVOv 
{De Vila ;) and s 'me one el-e. if I mistake nnt, has 
added the planet Saturn as ihe source of it. Empc- 
dncles, with similar ati'ect.ition, called ihe sea "the 
swe^t of Ihe eanh:" IdpojTa Tt]<; yi^j. See JiiUcrs- 
husiiis upon Porphyry y Num. 41. 

3 The system of the harmonized orbs was styled by 
the ancients Ihe Gre:it Lyre of Orpheus, for which 
Lucian thu'^ acc'iunis:— ^ 6e Avqt} tTrrniino^ tovtra 
T7]V Tojv KLVovft-tviuv a<TTgtov dp/tovtav avvt^ah' 
Xeto. k. t, a. in ^strolog. 

4 Aat\E ^^vxo-% L<TaoL9[Lovs rots ao-Tpoi?, tviifiE 
^' iiia{7TT]v ngos Uao-rov, Km £/t/5^^ao■a? 'i2E 
FAZ OXHMA— ''DisTihuling the souls severally 
among the stars, and mounting each soul upon a star 
as on its chariot"— Plaio, Thixsus. 

5 This musical river is mentioned in thi 
of Achilles Taiius. Enti noTatx.ov . , t)v 6t aKovaai 
^zXr}^ Tov -bdaTog^aXovvTos- The Utin version, 
in supplying the hiatus which is in the original, ha> 
placed Ihe river in Hi^pania. 'Mn Hi&pania quoque 
fluvius est, quern primo ai-pectu," &c. &;c. 

I 6 These two lines are translated from the words of 
Achilles Tatius. Eav yap oXiyn^ avtfios tis ra£ 
iivas i^maT), to pLCV vdwp oj? X^Q^V ^^povtTat. to 
6e TTVivna TOV v6aTos n^r]lCTOov yivfirat. ro ^iv- 
fia 6t u)S KiOaga XaXu. — Lib. ii. 
1 Orpheus. 

8 They called his lyre apx^i-OTgoTrov l-iTTaxoodov 
Op0ctu5'. See a curious work by a professor of Gieek 
at Venice, enitled " Ilebdomades, sive septem de 
septenario libri."— Lib. iv., cap. 3, p. 177. 

9 Eratosthenes, in mentioning the extreme venera- 
tion of Orpheus for A[»ollo, siys 'hat he wa^ accus- 
tomed to go In the P.tnga'an mouniain at day-break, 
and there wait the rising nf the sun, that he liiighl be 
the first to hail i's beims. Kniyitpofitvos tc ttjs 
*««Tos, Kara Ttjv kiuOtVTiV int to ooos to kuXov- 

And, looking to the orient dim, 
Watch'd Ihe first lowing of that sacred fount, 

From which his soul had drunk its tire. 
Oh I think what visions, in that Jontly hour, 
Stole o'er his musing breast ; 
What pious ecstasyio 
Wafted his prayer to that eternal Power, 
Whose se;il upon this new born world impreet*l 
The vari us forms of bright divinity! 

Or, dost thou know what dieanis I wove, 

'Mid the deep horror of tint silent bower,'* 

Where the rapt Samian slept his holy slumber ? 

When, free 

From every earthly chain, 

From wreaths of pleasure and from bonds of p&b. 

His spirit flew through fields above. 
Drank at ihe source of nature's fontal number,»3 
And taw, m mystic cboir, around him move 
The btai-s <.f song, Heaven's burning miuslrelsyl 
Such dieams, so heavenly bright, 
I swear 
By the great diadem that twines my hair. 
And by ihe seven gems ihat sparkle there, »* 

Mingling their beams 
In a soft iris nf harmonious light, 
Ob, mortal ! such shall be thy radiant dreams. 

I found her not — the chamber seem'd 
Like some divinely haunted place 

Where fairy fornis had lately beam'd, 
And left behind (heir odorous trace! 

fiivov riayyntov, itgociinvt to? avaToXa^^ Iva 
idT] TOV 'UXiov TTf-uiTov. — KaTao-T£pio-/i. 24. 

1 There are some verses of Orpheus preserved to us. 
which contain sublime ideas of the unity and magni- 
ficence of the Dei'y. For instance, those which Jus- 
tin Martyr has produced : 

OvTos fitv x^Xk 
XpvoTcw zvi -^go 

£? ovpavoi' t<T7r]ptK7at 
K. T. A. ^d Grxc. Cohortat. 

It is thought by some, that these are to be reckoned 
aniongst the fabrications, which were frequent in the 
early times of Christianity. Stilt, it appears doubtful 
to whom they are to be attributed, being too pious for 
the Pagans, and loo poetical for the Fathers. 

11 In one of the Hymns of Orpheus, he attributes a 
figured seal to Apollo, wilh which he imagines that 
dei'y to have stamped a variety of foims upon the 

I'i Alluding to the cave near Samoa, where Pylhn- 
goras devoted the greater part of his days and nights 
tn niediation and the mysteries of his philosophy. 
larnblich de Vit. This, as Holstenius remaiks, was 
in iniif.ition of the Magi. 

13 The tetracty;, or sacred number of the Pythago- 
reans, on which ihey solemnly swore, and which the7 
called -nayav azvaov <Pv(Tt(u<;, *'the fountain of pe- 
rennial nature." Lucian has ridicnU-d this religious 
arithmetic very cleverly in his Sale of Philnsopheis. 

14 This diadem is ii:tended to represent the analogy 
between Ihe notes of niusic and the prismatic colours. 
We find in Plutarch a vague intimation nf this kin- 
dred harmony in colou'S aid sounds. — 0^//i? re fcat 
nKoi), iina <piuV7)$ tz xai ^u>toj ti/v &piioviav 
cirtipatvov<n. — De Mtisica. 

Cas<iodorus, whose idea 1 may he supposed to liave 
borrowed, says, in a letter u[ion music to Boetius, 
*'Ut diadema oculis, varia luce gemmarum, sic cythara 
diversitale soni, blarditur auditui." This is indeed 
the only tolerable thought iu the letter. — Lib. ii. 



It felt as if her lips had shed 
A sish around liei, ere slie iled, 
Which hiine, as on a nielliii^ lute, 


After the 





i deaih, 

Of melodies which had been there. 

I saw the veil, which, all the day, 
Had tiotled ii'er her cheek of rose, 

I saw llie couch, where iaie she lay 
Ju languor of divine repose ; 

And I could trace the hillow'd i rint 
Her limbs had left, as pure and warm, 

As if 'twere done in laplure's mini, 
And Love himself had stamp 'd the form. 

Oh my sweet mistress, where wert thou? 

Itt pity fly not thus me j 
Thou art my life, my esNence now, 

And my soul dies of wanting ttiee. 


Tell me the witchinjtale ag^iin, 
For never has my heart or ear 

Huiip on so sweet, si pure a strain, 
So pure to feel, so sweet to hear. 

Say, Love^ in all thy prime o!" fatne, 

When tile high heaven iiself was Ihmej 

When jjiety confessd the tlamc. 
And even thy errors were divine; 

Did ever Muse's hand, so fair, 
A t;!oiv round thy temples spread? 

Did ever'lips amhtnsial air 
Such fr.igiance o'er thy altars shed ? 

One maid there was, who round her lyre 
The niysiic mville wildlv wrealh'dj— 

But all her sighs wee siirhs of lire. 
The myrtle wither'd as she hreath'd. 

Oh I you, that love's celestial dream, 
In all i's (Uiily, wnuld know, 

Let not (he senses' ardeni beam 
Too strongly through the vision glow. 

Love safest lies, conceal'd in night. 

The nigh' where lie.ven has bid him lie: 

Ob! shed not Inere unhallow'd ligl.t. 
Or, P.-yche knows, the boy willfly.i 

« See the story in Apuleius. With re<ppct to this 
beiutiful allegory of Love and Psyche, there is an in- 
genious idei sugjesled by the sei'i.ilor Kuonarntii, in 
his " Osservazioni sopra alcuni f amnienti di vas'i 
antii-i." He thinks the fable is taken from some very 
occult my>teries, which had long been celebi-ated in 
honour of Love ; and accounts, upon this suj'pnsitinn. 
for the silence of the more ancient authors upon the 
subject, as it was not till towards the decline of pagan 
superstition, that wrileis could venture to reveal or 
discuss sucll ceremonies. Accordingly, observes this 
auihor, we find Lucian and Plutarch treating, wiihout 
reserve, of the Dea Syria, ^is well as of Isis and Oi- 
ris; and Apuleiiu, to whom we are indehed for the 
beautiful story of Cupid and Psyche, has also detailed 
some of the myleries of Isis. See the Giornale di 
Litterati d'ltalia, torn, xxvii, arlicol. I. See also the 
ohstr\ations upon the ancient gems in the Museum 
Florentinuni, vol. i., p. 156. 


Sweet Psyche, laany a charmed hour, 
Through many a wild and magic waste, 

To the fair fount and hii st'ul bower » 
Have I, in dre.ims, lliy light foot Irac'd! 

Where'er thy joys are nuniber'd now, 
lieiieaih whatever shades of lesl, 

The Genii s of the starry brow 3 

Hath bound thee to thy Cupid's breast. 

Whether above (he horizon dim, 

Along wh ■>e veige our spiiits stray,— 

Half sui.k beneath the shadow) rim, 
Half brighten'd by (he ui per ray,* — 

Thou dwelle^t in a world, all jia-ht. 
Or, lingering here, dost love to be, 

To other souls, the gualdian bright 

That Love was, through this gloom, to the 

Still be the song to Psyche dear, 

'i he song, whose gentle voice was given 

To be, on earth, to mortal ear. 
An echo of her own, in htaven. 


Cum digno ttigna 


>' Who is (he maid, with golden hair, 
" With eye of hre, and foot of air, 
'' Whose harp around my altar swells, 
"The sweetest of a thousand shells'" 
'T was thus the deity, who treads 
The arch of heaven, and proudly sheds 
Day from his eyelids — (bus he -poke, 
As through my cell his glories broke. 

Aphelia is the Delphic fair.s 
With eyes of hre and golden hair, 
Aphelia's are the airy feet. 
And hers the harp divinely sweet ; 

I cannot avoid remarking heie an error into which 
the French Encyclopedistes have been led by M. 
Spoil, in iheir article Psyche. 'I hei sar, '• Petione 
lait unrecit de la ponipe nnpdale de ces deux am 
(Amour et P-yche.) Deja, dit-il,' &c. &r. The 
Psyche of Petrnnius, however, is a servant-maid, i 
the marriage which he describes is ! of the )oung 
Pannychis. See Spon's Reclierches curieuses. Sic. 
Dissertat. 5. ' 

"i Allusions (0 Mrs. Tighe's Poem. 

3 Cons(ancy. 

* Py (his image the Phalnnists expre-sed the middle 
state of (he soul between sensible and iiitelleclual 

5 This poem, as well as a few o'he'S in the folli 
ing volume, formed part of a work which I had early 
projected, and even announced to the public; hit 
which, luckily, perhaps, for myself, had been inter 
rupted by my vi-it lo An.erica in the year IS03. 

Among iniposlmes in which the piiesls of the 
pag;iii Irmples are kn-.wn lo have indulged, one t f 
most favoori e was lha( of ai nounciiig lo son e 
volaiy of (he shrine, llial (he God himself had brcc 
ei amourcd of her btaulv, and would descend in 
his glory, (o p.ay her a visit w ilhin the recesses of the 
fane. An adventure of this desctiplion formed _.. 
episode in the d.issic romance which I had sketched 
out; and the short fragment, given above, belongs (o 
311 epistle by which the story was (o have beeu intro- 

f In the 9'h Pvthic of Pindar, wnere Ajiollo, in the 
same manner, require, of ( hiion some inforniation 
respecdng the fair Cyrene, (li-i Centaur, in obeying, 



For foot so light has never trod 
The lauielM c^'venis i of the gnd, 
Is'i't harp so S'tt hilh ever ^iveii 
A sigh 10 earth or hymn to heaven. 

•'Then tell the virgin to unfold, 
«' III luoser pomp, her Inck- of gold, 
'* And bid Ihriae eye> nioff fondly shine 
*' To welcome down a Spouse Divine j 
"Since He, ulio lights the pa h of years — 
" Even fruni 'he fount uf uiorning's tcari 
*' 'l'i» wheie his selling splend"u-s burn 
•' Upon the western sea maid's urn — 
**Doih not, in a I hia course, behold 
**SiJch eyes of ft e, such h^irof gold, 
"Tell her, he comes, in b!is fut piide, 
*' Hts hp yet sparkling wiih ihe tide 
*'That nianties in Olvmpian bowls,— 
*-The nectar of denial souU 1 
"For her, tor her he quits the skies, 
*' AiiJ to her ki-9 trnni nectar flie-. 
*'0h. he would quit Ins 3t,<r-thron'd height, 
•' Atid leave the world m pine f..r li^h', 
*' Miiht he hut pas> the hours of sh -de, 
*' Heside his peerless Delphic maid. 
" She, mnr*- than earthly woman blest, 
" He, more than god on woman's bieast !" 

There is a cave beneath Ihe sleep,* 
Where !i itig rdis of ciystal ueep 
O'er hrihage of the loveliest hue 
That v'.ci spring bfgemm'd « ith dew; 
'1 here it'i thr gieenswad's glossy tint 
h biigtiteii'd by the recent print 
Of many a faun and naiads feel, — 
Scarce u uching earth, their step so fleet,— 
'Jhat there, by moonlight's ray. hnd trod, 
In lii^hl dance, o'er the verdaat and. 
*' Thtre, there." Ihe god, im| a^ ion'd, said, 
*'Soon as the iwitight tinge h fled, 
*' And the dim orb of lu.iar souls 3 
"Along its ^hadowy pathway rolls — 
*' Tliere ^hall we meet,— and not ev'n He, 
"The Grd who reigns immortally, 
" Where Babel's turrrts paint their pride 
*' Upon th' Euphrates' ^hil^ing tide,* — 
*' Not ev'n u hen to hi- midnight loves 
*' In mystic majesty he moves, 
" Lighted bv many an odorous fire, 
"And hymii'd by alt Chaldapa's choir,— 
*' E'er yet, o'er mortal brow, let shine 
"Such (-ffluence of L'-ve Divme, 
"As shall to-night, blest maid, o'er thine." 

'ery gravely apologizes for tellmg the GM what his 
imniscience must know so perfectly already: 
Ki 6c yi X9V "'** ^^9 O'O'pov avTt^ipi|ai, 
' AA/\' £t$ (Ja^vw^j; yi/aXa (?i)(Topiai radz. 

Euripid. Ion. v. 76. 
*! The CorycTan Cave, which Paus-anias mentron=. 
The inhabitants of Parnassus held it sacred to the 
'iirycian nymphs, who were children of the river 

3 See a preceding note, ante^ p. 127. It shnuld 
seem that lunar spirits ueie of a purer order than 
spirits in generd, as Pyihag'-ras uas said by his f 1- 
■ ers tn have descended ' from the regions of the 
moon. The hereviarch Minis, in the same manner, 
.gnied that the sun and moon are the resider ce of 
I Christ, and that Ihe ascension was nothing more than 
i flight to those orbs. 

1 The temi>le of Jnpiter Belus, at Rahylon ; in one 
whose towers there was a large chape! set apart lor 
these celestial sssigniiti' ns. " N-i man U allowed to 
sleep here," says Hen dnius ; "but tiie apar ment \^ 
appropriated to a female. \\ hom, if w-e '-elieve the 
Qialdaean priests, the deiiyselecs from the women 
of the country, as his favouii e." Lib. i. cap. ISl. 

Happy the maid, whom he; ren allows 
To breik for heaven her viigiii vows 1 
Hai py the maid ! — her robe of shame 
Is whiten'd by a heavenly flame, 
Whose glory, with a lingering; trace, 
Shines through and deities her race 1 A 


Pity me, love! I'll pity ihee, 

If (li'iu ii.deed hast felt like me. 

AM, all xin bosom's peace is o'er ; 

At niehf, which ^oaa my hour of toim, 

\Vhen (lom the page of classic lore. 

From the pure fount of ancient lav 

My soul h..s drawn the placid balm. 

Which charm'd its every giief aw^y. 

Ah ! there I find that balm no mnre, 

1 hose spells, which m ike us oft for->t 

The fleeting troubles nf the day. 

In deeper sorrows Only whet 

The slings they cannot tear axvay. 

When to my nillNW rack'd I fly. 

With weanea 9en*:e and wakeful eye. 

While my bram maddens, where, oh, where 

Is that serene cns^'ling pray'r, 

Which once has harbinger'd my rest, 

When the still soothing voice of Heaven 

Hath seein'd to whisper in my breast, 

*' Steep on, thy eno s are foigiven !" 

No, iho gh I still in semblance pray, 

My thoughts are wandering far away, 

And ev'n 'he name of Deity 

Is murmur'd out in sighs for thee. 


Hnw oft a cloud, with envious veil, 

Olscuresynn bashful light. 
Which seems so nmdestlv to steal 

Along the waste of night I 
'T is thus the world's obtrusive wrongs 

Obscure wirli malice keen 
Some timid heart, which only longs 

To live and die unseen. 


Grow to my lip, thou sncred kiss. 
On which my soul's beloved swore 
That there shoj'd come a time of hlrss, 
When she would mock mv hopes no more. 
And fancy shall thy glow fenew, 
In sighs at morn, and dreams at night, 
And none shall steal thy hnly dew 
Til! thou 'ri alisolv'd by rapture's rite. 
Sweet hours that are to make me blest, 
Fly, swift as breezes tn the gO"I, 
Arid let my love, my more than soul, 
Cnme blushing to this ardent breast. 
Then, while in every glance I drink 
The rich n'trflowings of her mind, 
Oh ! let her all enamnur'd sink 
In sweet ahandnnment resign'd, 
Blushing for all our st-uggles past. 
And murmuring, " I am thine at last !" 

5 Fnntenelle, in his piavful rifacivievto of the 
lea-ned materials of Van-Dale, has'telaled in his own 
inimital)le manner an adven'nre of ihis kind which 
was detected and exposed at Alex.iiidria. See L'Hii 
toiie des Oracles di sert. 2. chap. vii. Ciehillon, tm 
in one of his most amu>ins little stories, has made the 
Genie Mange-Taupes. of the Isle Jonqnille, assert 
this privdegeof spnitn^^l beinss in a iraiiter rather 
formidable to ihe hu!^band3 of the inland. 




Think on that look whose melting ray 
For one swett niotiieni mix'd «iili mine, 

And for liiat nmnieiil seeniM to say. 
** 1 dare not, or I would be thine !'* 

Think on thy ev"ry smile and sclance, 
On all thou liabt t:> cr arm and move; 

And then fortcive my bosom's trance, 
Nor led me it is bin ;o love. 

Oh, not to Inve Ihee were the sin : 
For sure, if Fife's deciees be done, 

Thou, thou art destin'd still to win, 
As X am deatin'd to be won I 


*»Conie, fell me," s^ys Rosa, aa kissing and kisf. 

One d-iy she rectin'd on my bieast ; 
••Come, lell me the number, repeal me the list, 

•' Of the nymphs you have lov'd and carest." — 
Oh Rosal ■( was only my fancy thai roved, 

My heart at tlie moinent free; 
But I'll teil thee, my pirl, how nuny I've loved, 

And the number sh-^ll finish with Ihee. 

My tutor was Kittv ; in infancy wild 

Hhe tauglil me the way to be blest ; 
She tanjht me to Inve her, I lov'd like a child. 

But Kilty could fancy the icst. 
This lesson of dear and enrapturing lore 

I have never foient, I allow: 
1 hive had it by rote very ofien before, 

Bui never l/y heart until now. 

Pretty Martha was next, and my soul was all flame. 

But my head was so f,,ll of r -ma' ce 
That I fancied her into some chivalry dame, 

And I was lier knitjht of ihe hnce. 
But Martha ^^as not of this fanciful school, 

And she lau^h'd a' her loor little kiii2:ht ; 
While I thiiu^lit her a fC'dde-s tthe thnuf,^lit me a fool, 

And 1 Ml s»ear she was most in the right. 

My soul was now calm, till, by Cloris's looks, 

Agiin 1 was lempted to rove; 
But Ctoris, 1 found, was so learned in books 

That she gave me more lo^ic than love. 
So I left this yonn? Sappho, and hasten'd to fly 

To those swee'er logicians in bliss. 
Who arjuL- the point with a s'^uUtflling eye. 

And convince us at once with a ki^s. 

Oh! Susan was then all the world unto me, 

Bu! Susan was piously given ; 
And the worst of it was, we c uld never agreo 

On Ihe mad ihat was shnrlesl to He 


"Oh. Susan!" I've said, in the monu 

nis of mirth, 

•• What's lievnlion to ihee or to me 

? ' 

•* I devoutly believe there 's a heaven 

on earth, 

**Aud lelieve tliat that heaven ^s in iheti * 


MiBcr Catullus deainas inerlirc, &o. 

Cease the siphin^ fool to pla^ 

Cease to Irilie life away; 

Nor vainlv think lhose"j"VS thine own. 

Which ali, alas, have fal-ely flown. 

Whil hou™, Catullus, once were thine. 

How fairly seeni'd thy day to shine, 

When lightly thou didst fly to meet 
The girl whose smile wa« then so sweet — 
The )t;irl thou lov'dst with fonder pain 
Than e'er thy heart can feel again. 

Ye mel — your souls seeni'd all in one, 
I. ike Mpers llial c niiiiin»lin« shone; 
Thy hc.irl wa< warm enough lor bmb. 
And hers, in trulh, was nothing loth. 

Such were Ihe hours that once were tbine 
But, nh ! those liouis no lonsrer shine. 
For now the nymph delights no more 
In whai she lov'd so much before: 
And all Calulliis now can do. 
Is to be proud and frigid too ; 
Nor follow where the wanton flies. 
Nor sue he bli-s that she denies. 
False maid ! he bids f.irewell to thee. 
To love, and all love's misery ; 
The heyday of his lieart is o'er, 
Nor will he c^uil one favour more. 

Flv, perjui'd girl ! — but whither fly ? 
Who now will ijiaise thy cheek and eye? 
Who now will drink Ihe syren tone, 
Which tells him th..u art all his own? 
Oh, none : — and he who lov'd before 
Can never, never love thee more. 

" Neither do I condumn thee ; go, and sin no more ! " 
SI. John, chap. Till. 
Oh, woman, if through sinful wile 

Thy S!)ul hath striy'd from honour's track, 
>T is niercy only can beguile. 

By gentle ways, the wai.deier back. 
The slain that on thy virtue lies, 

VVavh'd by those te.irs. not long will stay; 
As clouds that sully morning skies 

May all be wept ii. show'rs away. 
Go, go, be innoceni,— and live; 

I'lie tongues of men may wound thee sore; 
But lleav'n in pi y can forgive. 

And bids tliee " go, and sin no more 1** 


Good reader ! if you e'er liave seen, 

Wbe I I'htchu, hjsens to his |iillow. 
The mermaids, with ilieir tresses green, 

Dancing i poii Ihe we-tern billow: 
If you have -cen, at twilight dim, 
When the lone spirit's vesper hymn 

Float> wild along Ihe w inding shore, 
If you have seen, through mist of eve, 
The lairy tiain iheir ringlets weave. 
Glancing along the spangled green : — 

If you have seen all this, and more, 
God bless me, what a deal you 've seen I 

' I never give a kiss (savs Prue.) 

" To naushtv man, for 1 abhor it." 
Ihe will nntpuea kiss, 'I is true; 
She '11 lake one though, and thank you for it. 


To no oiic Muse does she her glance confine, 
But has an eye, at once, to all (Ae JVijie .' 



Die wlieii you will, j'ou DeeJ not wear 
At ileal e.i's Court a form more fair 

'1 Iian Beaulv liere on eartlj lias given ; 
Keep but the ioiely looks we see — 
The voice we hear — and ynu will be 

An augel ready-mads for Heaven I 

A far coiiserva, e cumulo d'amanll. Patt. Fid. 
And arc you then a thin^ of art, 

SeJuciiig all, and loving ofiue ; 
And liave I sirove to gain a heart 

Which eveiy coxcomb thinks his own ? 
Tell meat once if this be true. 

And I will calm my jealous breast ; 
Wdl learn to join ihe dangling crew, 

And share your simpers with the rest. 
But if your heart be nnt so free, — 

Oh : if another share that heart, 
Tell n..t the hateful tale to me, 

IJut mingle nieicy with your art. 
I 'd rather think you " false as hell," 

Than find you In he all divine,— 
Thill know that heait could love so wci;, 

Tet know that heart would not be mine ! 

TO P H 1 L L i S . 

Fhillis, you liltlerosy rake, 

That heart of your. I long to rifie: 

Come, give it uie, and do not make 
So uiuch ado about a Irijte 1 


Thy song has laught my heart to feel 

Tho e soothing thoughts of heav'nly love- 
Which o'er the sainted spirits seal 

When lisl'niiig to the spheres above I 
When, tir'd of life and misery, 

I iiish to sigh my lalest brealh, 
Oh, Emma! 1 wilj'fly to ihee. 

And Ihou shall sing me into death. 
And if along thy lip and cheek 

That smile of heav'nly softness play. 
Which,— ah! forgive a mind that '8 weak,— 

So oft his stol'n my mind away; 
Thiu 'It seem an angel of the sky. 

That comes to charm nie into bliss: 
I 'II gaze and die— VVho would not die. 

If death weie half so sweet as Ihisf 




Of all mv happiest hours of joy, 
And even I hsve hid my measure, 

When hearts were full, and ev'ry eve 
Hath kinclled wilh the light of pleasure, 

* The words addressed by Lord Herbert of Cher 
hory to the beautiful Nun at Murano.— See his Life. 

An hour like this 1 ne'er was given. 

So lull of friendshi|''s purest blisses ; 
youi:g Love himself looks down fiom heavea. 
To smile on such a day as this is. 

Ihen cnnie, my friends, this hour improve, 

tet 's feel as'if we ne'er could sever; 
And may the birth of her we love 
lie thus with joy remember'd ever! 

Oh ! banish ev'ry thought to-night, 

VVliicli could disturb our soul's comniunich'i ; 
Abaiid'n'd thus 10 dear dcltgh'. 

We 'II tv n for once forget ihe Union! 
On that let sta'esmen irv their poiv'is, 

And tremble iier the' rights they'd die for; 
The union of Ihe soul be ours, 

And ev'ry union else we sigh for. 

Then come, my friends, &c. 

In ev'ry eye around 1 mark 

The feelings rif the heart o'erflowing; 
From ev'ry suul I catch the spaik 

Of sympathy, in friendship glowing. 
Oh ! could such moments ever fly ; 

Oh ! that He ne'er were dmni'd to lose 'em; 
And all as biighl as Chirlotle's eye. 

And all as pure as Charlotte's bo'^om. 

Ttien come, my Iriends, &c. 

For me, whate'er my span of years, 

Whatever sun may light my rovmg; 
Wheher I w ste mv life in tears. 

Or live, as now, f.r mirth and loving; 
This day shall come wuh aspect kind, 

\Vhcrcver fa'e nny cast your rover ; 
He'll ihink of those he Irft behind. 

And drink a health to bliss that's over! 

Then couie, my friends, kw 


Mary, I helrev'd Ihee true. 

And 1 lias blest in thus believing; 

But now I mourn ihat e'er 1 knew 
A girl so fair and so deceiving. 
Fare ihee well. 

Few have ever lov'd like me, — 

Ves 1 have I v'd ihee to-, smreiely! 

And few h-ive e'er deceiv'd like thee, — 
Alas! deceiv'd me too severely. 

Fare thee well !— yet think awhile 
On one wliose bosom bleeds to douht thee ; 

Who now would rather Irii t that smile. 
And die wilh thee live without thee. 

Fare thee well ! I 'II think of thee, 
Ihou hav'sl me many a bitter token; 

For see. distracting woman, sec, 
My prace is gone, my heart is broken! — 
Fare thee well I 




J. AT-NS— N, ESQ. M.R.I. A. 

Though long at school and college dozing, 
O'er books of verse and bo.^ks of )irosilig. 
And copying from their pagei 
Fine recipes lor making sages ; 

; written to t!ie pathetic Scotch 



Though Inji^ wilh those divines at school, 
Who think In iii;>ke us ^uod by rule ; 
VVh". in meihoiiic Inrms advinciug, 
Teichms in-.iality like dancing, 
Tell U5, for Heav'u or monev's sake. 
What steps v\e are Ihrnuj;!! hfe to Like: 
Ih 'ueh ihu^ my friend, so long eniploy'd, 
With so much midnight <iil des'ioy'd, 
I must confess, my seaiches past, 
I 've o ly learn'd to di/ubt at last. 
1 find the doctors and '.he siges 
Have ditler'd in all climes and ages, 
And two in fitty tcarce agree 
On what is pure morality. 
'T is like (he rainbow's shifting zone, 
And every vision makes its own. 

The doctors of the pnrch aivise, 
As modes of bdn^ great and wise. 
That we should ceise to own or know 
The luxuries that from ftelin? flow : — 
*' Reason alone must claim direction, 
*' And Apathy's the soul's peifection. 
**Like a dull Lke ihc heait must lie; 
" No- pass on^ gale tior pleasure's sigh, 
*' Though Heiv'n tjie breeze, the b'eaih. supplied, 
** Must curl the wave or swell the liie 1" 

Such was the rigid Zenn's plaa 
To f Tm his philosophic man ; 
Such wee the modes he taught mankind 
To weed the ga'den cf the mind: 
They tore from thence some weeds, *t is true, 
But all Uie ilowVs were ravaged loo I 

Now listen to the wily strains. 
Which, on Cyrene's sandy plains 
When Pleasure, nymph wiih loosenM zone, 
UsurpM the phd<'sophic ih-one,— 
Hear what the courtly saire'si longue 
To his surrounding pupils sung — 
"Pleasuie's tluMmly noble end 
**T'> which all human pow'is should tend, 
•' And Virfnt gives htr heav'nW lore, 
*' Rut to make Pleasu-e p'ease 'us more. 
" Wisdom and she were both de ign*d 
**To make the senses more refin'd, 
*' Thit man might revel, free from cloying, 
"Then mosl a ^age when Uiost enjoying!'' 

Is this morality ! — Oh, no ! 
F.v'n I a wiser jialh could show. 
The flow'r witliin this vase confinM, 
The pnre, the unfading flow'r of mind, 
Must not hrow all i s sweets away 
Upon a moital monlj of day: 
No, ' 0, — Its richest breath should rise 
In viriue's incense to the skies. 

But thus it i', all sects we see 
Have u .tchword-i of moiali-y: 
Some cry out Venus, ' thers Jove ; 
Here 'I is Religion, theie'tis Love. 
B'.t uhile »hey Ihu- so widely wander, 
While m\ sites dream, and doctors ponder; 
And some, in d.a>ecii<s hrni. 
Seek Virtue in a ni (Idle term ; 
While thus they strive, in Heaven's defiance, 
To chain nioia i y with science ; 
The plain good niin. whoi-e ac ions teach 
Mote virtue 'han a sect can preach, 
Pursues his course, uu'-asely blest, 
His tiirnr whispMng in his breast j 
Nor could he -c a purt-r pan, 
Th ugti he had Tiilly all by heart. 
And when he diops the fear on woe, 
He little knows or cares to know 
That Kpicleius blam'd Ihat tear. 
By Heav'a appmv'd, to viitue dear! 

Oh I when Pve seen the mdrning beam 
Fl' atiMg within the dimpled slreaui ; 
While Nature, \vak'niiig from the night, 
lias just pui on her lobes of light, 
Have i, wilh cold opiician's gaze, 
Explor'd the doctrine t>{ those rays? 
No. pedants, 1 have left to you 
Nicely to sep'ra'e hue from hue. 
Go, give thai moment up to ait, 
When Heav'n and nature claim the heart; 
And, dull lo all llieir bebt attraction, 
Go — measure angles of rtfraclion. 
While 1, in feeling's sweei romance, 
Look on each daybeam as a glance 
From the great eye of Him above. 
Wak'uing his world with lookb ot love! 


I *ve heard, there was in ancient days 
A Lyre of most melodious spell : 

rr waJ heav'n to hear its fairy lays, 
If half be true that legends tell. 

T was plav'd on by the gentlest sighs, 
And to tlieir brt-alh it btt^aih'd again 

In sucli entrancing melodies 
As ear had never drunk till then! 

Not ha-mnny^s serenesl touch 
So siilly could the noies pridong; 

They were not heavenly snn^ so much 
As they were dieams of heiv'nly song! 

If sad the heart, whose murmuring air 
Along the chords in languir stole, 

The numbers it auaken'd 
Were eloquence t'rum pity's soul. 

Or if the sigh, serene and light, 

Was bui ;he breath of fancied woes, 

The string, thai fell Us airy flight. 
Soon whispcr'd it to kind repose. 

And when young lovers tatk'd alone, 
If, mid their bliss that Lyre was near 

It made their .»ceen's all it,-, own, 
And sent forih notes thai heav'n might hear. 

There was a nvniph, who long had lov^ 
But d.i 'd not' tell the world how well: 

The shades, where she at evemni; rov'd, 
Alone coiild know, alone could tell. 

»Tas there, at twilight time, she stole, 

Wheu the hist btar announc'd the night,— 

Wilh him whoclaim'd her inmo>t soul. 
To wander by that soothing light. 

It chancM that, in the fairy bower 

Wheie blest they woocd e^ch other's smile, 
This Lyrf, of sliange and magic power. 

Hung wlMsp'ring o'er their heads the while. 

And as, with eyes commingling fire, 
They liste:;'d to each utht-rVvow, 

The youih fu'l ofi would make the I.yre 
A pillow lor the maiden's biow : 

And, whi'e Hie melting words she breafhM 
Were by itsecInTS wafted lound. 

Her lock- .'iad with the chords so wreath'd, 
One knew not which gave forth the sound. 

Alas, their hearts but tittle thought, 

While thus they talk'd the houis away, 

That every sound the I.yte was la-ight 
Would [inger long, and Ion; betray. 



So mingled with its tuneful sr^ul 

VVeie .ill their lender murmurs gfown, 

Th^t other sigi.s unaiisvvtrVI siole, 

Nor words it breah'd but theirs alone. 

Unhappy nymph! ihy name was sung 
To every breeze ttiat wanJei'd byj 

The sfcrei's of ii,y genile tongue 

Were br^atird in sung lo eirlh and sky. 

The fatal Lyre, by Envy's hind 

Hung high amid the whisp'img grove^ 

T" every gale by which 'i was fannd, 
frxlain-ed the mystery of your loves. 

Nor long ihus rudely was thy name 
To earth's derisive echoes given ; 

Some pitying spirit downward »ame, 
And look the Lyre and thee lo he.iven. 

There, freed from earth's unholy wrongs, 
Potli happy m Loves home shall be ; 

Thou, utienng nnu^hl but seraph son^s, 
And that sweel Lyre siitl echoing thee ! 


Where is now the smile, that lighten'd 

Eveiy hero's couch of rest ? 
Where is n >w u e h-pe. brighten'd 

Honour's eyea-^d Pity's b-east ? 
K^ve v\e lost ihe wrea h «e braided 

Fnr our weary ivarrinr men? 
Jsihe r^ilhless olive faied? 

Must the bay be pluck d again ? 

Passing hour of sunny weather 

Lovely, in ynur light awhile, 
Peace and Glory, wed to^eiher, 

Wanier'd through our bles ed isle. 
Ai d the eyes ff Peace would glisteu, 

Dewy as a morning sun, 
When the limid mail \vr<uld listen 

To tlie deeds her chief had doi.e. 

Is their hour of dalliance over ? 

Must (he maiden's 'rembling feet 
Waft her frnni her warlike l.-ver 

To the desert's still reTeat ? 
Fare you well! with sighs we banish 

N> mph so f^ir and eues's so bright ; 
Yet ihe smile, with wliicli ynu vanish^ 

Leaves behind a soothing light ; — 

Soothing light, that Ion? shall sparkle 

O'er \our warrior's sangmn'd way, 
Throush Ihe field where horrors darkle, 

Sheddins hnpe's consoling ray. 
Long the smile hs heart will cherish, 

To its absent idol true ; 
While around him myriads perish, 

Glory siill will sigh for youl 


Take back the sigh, thy lips of art 

In passion's moment breath'd lo me J 
Yet. no — it must not. » ill not part, 
'T is now the life-breath of my heart, 
And has become too pure for thee. 

Take back Ihe kiss, that faithle s sigh 
With all the warmth of t-ulh imprest; 

Tet, no — the fatal kiss niay lie. 

Upon thy lip its sweets would die. 
Or bloom to make a rival blest. 

Take back the vows that, ni^hl and day, 

My heart receiv'd, I thought, from tbioe; 
Yet, no — allow them ftill lo stay, 
They might some other heait betray, 
As sweetly as they've rmn'd mine. 


"Qtinnd I'bomme commence a raisonner. il cease d 
■eulir." J. J. HoufSfau.l 

*T was in the summer time so sweet, 

When hearts and fiouers are bo h in season, 

Thnt — who, of all the world, should meet, 
One early dawn, bnt Love and Reason ! 

Love told his dream of yesternight, 

While Reason talked ab.>ut the weather. 

The morn, in snoth, was fair and bright, 
And on they took their way together. 

The boy in mmy a gambol flew, 
While Reason, like s Juno, stalk'd, 

And from her portly figure threw 
A lengthen'd shadow, as she walk'd. 

No wonder Love, as on thev pass'd. 
Should find that sunny morning chill, 

For still the shadow Reason cast 
Fell o'er the boy, and cooPd him still. 

In vain he tried his vvings to warm, 

Or find a pa hway nol w dim. 
For still the maid's gigantic form 

Would stalk between the sun and him. 

"This must not be." said little Love — 
*' I he sun was made for more than you." 

So, turning through a myrtle erove, 
He bid the portly nymph adieu. 

Now gaily roves the laughing boy 
O'er many a mead, by many a stream ; 

In every breeze inhaling jny, 

And drinking bliss in eveiy beam. 

From all the gardens, all the bowers. 
He culPd the many sweets Ihey shaded. 

And nte ihe fruit-; and smelTd the flowers, 
Till taste was gone and odour faded. 

But now the sun, in pomp of noon, 
Look'd blazing o'er the sultry phins; 

Alas ! Ihe boy jrew biuijiil snon. 

And feier Ihrill'd Ihrnugh all his veins. 

The dew forsook his babv brow. 

No more with heal'hy'hloom he ^mil'd — 

Oh ! where was tranquil Reason now, 
To cast her shadow o'er the child? 

Reneaih a gteen and a^ed palm, 

His foot at length for shel er turning, 

He 91W the nymph reclmintr calm. 
With brow as cool as his was burning. 

"Oh \ take me to that bosom cold," 

In murmurs at her feet he siid ; 
And Reason op'd her e-irment's fold. 

And flung it round his fever'd head. 

He felt her bosnm's icy touch. 

And sonn il Uill'd his pulse to rest; 

For, ah ! the chill was quite too much, 
And Love expir'd on Reason's breas; t 



Nay, do nnt weep, my Fanny dearj 

While ill these arms vou lie, 

This world hath not a wish, a fear, 

That ouiht lo cost that eye a tear, 

That heart, one tingle sigh. 


->rld ! 

ah, Fanny, Lnve must shun 

One heari to be \u^ only-oue, 
Aie quite enuugh for Love. 

What can we wish, that is not hero 

Retweeii your arms and mine ? 
Is there, on earth, a space so dear 
As that within the happy sphere 

) eul\^ 

For nie, there *s not a lock of jet 

Adown ynnr temples CU'IM, 
Within whose glos-y, tangling net, 
My soul dnth not, at once, forget 
All, all this worthless world. 

H'is in those eyes, so full of love, 

My only woilds I see ; 
I^t but thtir orbs in eunshine move, 
And earth below and skies above 

May frown or smile for me. 

»T was in the fair Aspasia*s bower, 
That Love and Learning, many an hour, 
In d;tlli.ince met; and Le;irning smil'd 
With ple^^ure on the playful child, 
Who of'en stole, to find a nest 
Within the folds of Learnings vest. 

There, as the lislenin* statesman hung 
In transpoit on Aspasia's tongue, 
The destinies of Athens took 
Their clour from Aspasia's look. 
Oh happy time, when laws of s ate 
When all that rul'd the country's fate, 
Its^lory, qtiiet, or alarms, 
Was plann'd between two snow-white arms! 

Blest times! they could not always last — 
And yet, ev'n now, thev are not past. 
Though we have lost tlie giant mould, 
In which their men were cast nf old. 
Woman, dear woman, still the sanie. 
While beauty breathes through soul or frame. 

While man possesses heart or eyes. 
Woman's bright empire never dies ! 

No, Fanny, love, they ne'er shall say, 
Thit beaiiiy^a charm hath pass'd away ; 
Give but the universe a soul 
Attuii'd to woman's soft control, 
And Fanny hath the charm, Ihe skill, 
To wield a universe at will. 




hXf- TE KttXoJ 

AnoXXuiV JTEpt IlAiurtvov. Oracul. Mtlric. a 
Joan. Opsop. colluta. 

Was it the monn, or waa it morning's ray, 

Tfcat call'd thee, dearest, from these arms away ? 

f 1 It ni9 imagined by some of the ancients that 

Scarce hadst thou left me, when a dream of night 

Came o'er my spirit so distinct and bright. 

That, while I yet can vividly recall 

Its witching wonders, thou shall hear them all. 

Meihought I s-w, upon the lunar beam, 

Two winded bnys, such as thy muse might dreoiDf 

Descending above, at that still hour. 

And gilding, with smooth step, into my bower. 

Fair as the beauteous spirits that, all day. 

In Ainatha's w.irm fnuiits impnson'd a:ay,' 

Hut the .it midnight, from th' enchanted rill, 

Tu cool their plumes upon some moonlight hill. 

At once I knew their mission; — 't was to bear 
My spirit upward, through the paths of air. 
To that elysian realm, from whence stray beams 
So oft, in sleep, had vi^ited my dreams. 
Swift at their touch difsolv'd the ties that clung 
All earthly round me, and aloft I sprung; 
While, heavnward guides, the little geiiii flew 
Thro' palbs of light, refresh'd by heaven's own dew. 
And fann'd liy airs still flagrant wiih the breath 
Of cloudless climes and worlds that know not death. 

Thou know'st, that, far beyond our nether sky, 
And shown but dimly to man's erring eye, 
A mighty ocean of biue ether rnlls,3 
Gemm'd with bright islands, where Ihe chosen souls, 
Who 've pass'd in lore and love 'heir earthly hours, 
Repose for ever in unfading bowers. 
Tha' very moon, whose solitaiy light 
So often guides thee to my bower at night, 
Is no chill planet, but an isle nf love, 
Floating in splendour thfugh those seas above. 
And peiipled with bright ftirms, aerial grown. 
Nor knowing aught of earth but love alone. 
'Ihither, ! thought, we wingd our airy way: — 
Mrld o'er its villeys stream'd a silvery day, 
While, all around, on lily beds of rest, 
Reclin'd the spirits of the immortal Blest.* 


an ethereal abnve u*;, and that the sun 
and moon are two flna'ing, luniiiifius islands, in which 
the spiri:s of the blest reside. Accordingly we find 
that the word ilKiavo^ was sometimes synonymous 
with aiip, and death was not unfreijuenily called 
SlKEavoLo no(}oSy or " the passage of the ocean." 

2 Eunapiu', in his life of lamblichus, tells m of 
two beautiful little spirits or loves, which lamblichus 
raised by enchantmeni from the warm springs at 
Gadara; "dicens astantibus fsays the auihor of the 
Oii Fatidici, p. 160,) illos e^se loci Genios: " which 
words, however, are nnt in Eunapius. 

I find frt>m Cellarius that Amatha, in the neigh- 
bourlrond of Gadara, was also celebrated for its warm 
springs, and I have preferred if as a more poetical 
name than Gadara. Cellarrus quotes Hreronymus. 
'* Est et alia villa in viciuia G .dai^e nomine Aniatha, 
ubi calidjR aquje erumpunt." — GeogJ"a/;A, Jlntiq. lib, 
iii. cap. 13. 

3 Thisbelief of anocean in the heavens, or" waters 
above the firniament." was one of the many physical 
erri>rs in which the early fathers bewildered them- 
selves. Le P. Baltua, in his '* Defense des Saints 
Peres accuses de Pluionisme," taking it for granted 
that Ihe ancien's were moe coirect in their notions 
(which by no msans afiptars from what I hue already 
quoted ) adduces the obstinacy of the fathers, in this 
whimsical opinion, as a proof of their repugnance to 
even (ru'h (rom the hands of the philosophers, T^.>^ 
is a strange way of defending the farhers, and attri- 
butes much more th<n they deserve to the phih'so- 
phets. For an abstract of this work of Raltis, (the 
oppnser of Fon'enelle, Van Dale. &c. in Ihe famous 
Oracle controversy.) see *' Riblio heqiie des Auteurs 
Ecdesiast, du 18o siecle, part I. lorn, ii.'* 

♦ There wt;re various opinions among the ancients 
with re pect to their lunar es abli>hmeni ; some made 
it an elysium, and others a purgatoiy; while some 
supposed il to be a kind of entrepot between lieaven 
and earth, where souls which had left their bodies, 



Oh! there I met Ihoje few cnn^enial maids, 

Whom iove haih warin'd, in philosophic shades; 

There still Leontiuiii,i on her -ase's bieast, 

Found lore and love, was tuior'<| and carfSl ; 

And Ihe, e the cl.i>p of F\ Unas' 'i gentle arin» 

Rfpaid the zeal winch deiliL-d her chaims. 

The Athc M-ister,3 m Asna-ia's e.\es, 

Forijot the yoke ot" less eiidcartng lies; 

VVlnle f,\ir 'IheaiK.,^ innocently fair, 

Wrealira playful y her bann.m's flowing: hair,» 

Whosa soul now iix'd, its iiansmigr;itions past, 

Found in those arms a resting-pl ice, at last j 

And smiling own'd. wh-*lc'er his dreamy thought 

In mystic numbers long had v-iinly snu^ht, 

The One ibat 's lonn'dof I wo whom loie hath bound, 

Is the best number gods or roen e'er found. 

But think, my Theon, wiih what joy I thrill'd, 
When neir a (junt, which ihmunh the valley rill'd, 
My fancy's eve beheld a form rtchiie, 
(^f lunar tace, but so resenibhng thine 

and those that were on their way to join them, were 
deposited in the valley^ of Ilec:<te, and remained till 
furllier orders. Tot? Trt^jt fftAiyi'i/v atpt Xtyciv 
avTa£ KuTOLKEiv, Kai an-' avry^ Kartu j^wpEtv ttj 
T^iv TTtptyaov ytvt.aLV.—Stub. l.b. i. Eclug. Physic. 

1 The pupil and mistress of Epicurus, who called 
her his "dear litile Leiniium" (Atoi'Taptov,) as ap- 
pears by a fragment of one of his letteis in Ij^priius. 
This Leiintium was a wonian of (a eut ; " she bad the 
impudence (says Cicero) lo write agiinst Tiieopbras- 
tus ; " and Cicero, al ihe same timet give^i her a tiame 
which IS neither polite nor trar slalable. *' Mere- 
tricula eiam Leoniium contra 'I he<)ph<a<>tum scribeie 
nuv* ^\." ^ Ue Naliir. Deor. She Itfi a daughter 
called Danae, who was just as rigid an Epicme^n as 
her mother; Komethmg tike Wieland's Danae in 

ii would sound much belter^ I think, if the name 
were Lei'ntia, a^ it occurs the tirsi lime in Laerlius; 
but M. Menage will out liear ot this residing. 

^ Pythias wa? a woman whom Aristotle loved, and 
to whom afer her death fie paid duine honours, 
solemnizing her niemory by ihe -aine -acufices which 
the Athenians odered to the Goddess Ceres. For this 
impious g-illantry the philosopher was, of cou'se, 
censured; but it would be well if certain of our 
modern Slagirites showed a little of this supeistition 
about the menioiy of Iheir iinalies^es. 

3 Socrates, who used to console him elf in the 
sociely of Aspasia for ihose ** less endearing ties" 
which he found at home with Xantippe. For an 
account of this extraonlinaiy creature, Aspasia, and 
her school of erudite luxury at Athens, see L'Hitoire 
de I'Academie, &.c. torn. xxxi. p. 69. Segur rather 
f^ils on the inspiring subject of Aspasia. — *• Les 
Femmes," tnni. i. p. 122. 

The Author of the "Voyage du Monde de Des- 
cartes'* has als) placed these phib)snpheis in the 
moon, and has allotted seigueuries to them, as well :is 
to the a>tronnniers ([ait ii. p. M3;) but he ought not 
to have forgotten their v\ivesand mistrtssesj •* curie 
Don Ipsa in morte rtrlmquunt." 

* There are some -ensible letters extant under the 
nanie of this fair Pyihagmean. They aie addiessed 
to her female fr;ends U| on Ihe ediica' ion < f children, 
the treatment of serxants, &c. One, in particular, to 
Nicostrata, whfse hu band had given her reasons f >r 
jealousy, contains such truly considera'e and rational 
advice, (hat it ought to be translated for the edifica- 
tion nf a!! married ladies. See Gales Opuscul. Myih. 
Phys. p. 741. 

* Pythagoras was remarkable for fine hair, and 
Doctor Thiers (in his Hi^ti ire dt^ Perruques) seems 
to take for granted it was all his own ; as he has not 
mentioned him among Ihose ancients uho weie 
obliged 10 have recourse to the "coma apposititia." 
L'Hist. des Perruques, chap. i. 

That, oh ! 't was but fidelity in me, 
To Hy, to cla-p, and worship it for thee. 
*'" ".id of words the unbodied soui requires. 

To waft ; 


But by a piiwer, to spiuls only given, 
A deep, mule impulse, only (elt in lieaven. 
Swifter than nieteor shaft ttin-ugh summer skies, 
From soul to soul the glanc'd idea flies. 

Oh, my btloved, hnw divinely sweet 
Is the puie joy, when kindred spirits meet ! 
Like him, the rjver-god,6 whose waters flow, 
With love their only lijht, through cave^ U t«T 
Wafting in Inumph all the flowery biaids. 
And festal rings, with which Olympic maids 
Have deck'd his current, as an nflering meet 
To lav -'t ArethusVs shmingfeet. 
Think, uhen he meets at la'st his fount.iin-bride, 
Whit perfect love must ihnll the blended tide I 
Each lost m eac 
Their lot the same for shai 
A t\pe of true love, to the deep they run. 
'T was thus - 

Bu", Theon. *t is an endless theme, 
And thou grow'si weary of my half-told dream, 
l)h, would, my love, we were together now. 
And I would uoo sweet patience lo thv brow, 
And make thee smile at all the magic tales 
Of slailisrh! boueis and plane aiy vales, 
Which niy fond soul, iuspir d by thee and love, 
In slumber's lo m h ith fancfuily wove. 
But no ; nn more — soon as tn-morrow's ray 
O'er soft Ili-sus shall have died away, 
I Ml come, and, while love's planet in the west 
Shines o'er our meeting, lell thee all the rest. 


I could resign that eye of blue, 

Howe'erils 'plendr>nr ustd to thiill me; 
And ev'n that cheek of roseate hue, — 

To lose it, Cloe, scarce w» uld kill me. 

Thai snowv r 

eck I ne'e 

should miss 

However ii 

uch 1 'ip r 

aVd ab. ut it 

And sweetly 

AS Ihnt lip 

can kiss. 

1 tltink 1 cu 

uld exist V 

t'itliout it. 

In short, so well I 've learn'd to fast, 

Thai, sonth my hue, I know not whether 

I might not bring myself at last. 
To — do without you altoge her. 


I bring thee, love, a golden chain, 

I bring thee too a flowcy wieath; 
The gold shall never wear a s'ain, 

The flow'rets Inngsliall swee'ly breathe. 
Come, tell me which 'he tie ?hill be, 
To bind thy gentle heart to me. 
The Chain is fnrm'd of golden threads, 

Bright as Minerva's yellow h lir. 
When the la^t beam of evening sheds 

lis calm and sober lustie there. 

6 The river Alpheus, which flowed by Pisa or I 
Olympia, and into which it was custonarv to throw I 
ofterings . f different kinds, during the celebration of , 
the Olympic games. In the pretty romance of Clito* ' 
phon and Leucippe, the river is supposed to carry | 
the e offerings as bndal gifts to the fountain Arethusa. I 
Kat Z7TL TQv ApcOova-av ovtuj tov AA(tt'ov vv(i(^9 t 
ToAct. brav ovv 7} tu>v oAu/tn'iujv iopnj, k, t, A. I 
Lib. i. 



The Wrcalh 's of brishlcst myrtle wove, 
With suii-lit i.f bliss aiuoiig it, 

And many a rose-le.if, cull'J by Love, 
To heal his lip when lieis h,ve stmig it. 

O'nie, tell me which ihe lie shall be, 

I'o bind thy gentle lieut tu nie. 

Yes, yes, I read that ready eye. 

Which answes whe:; the longue is loilh, 
Tl.ou l.k-st Ihe (c-.-si of eithei lie, 

And sprejd'st ihy playful hinds for both. 
Ah I — if there \\ eie not some InnR wrong, 

The world would see them blended ofl ; 
The Chain would ni.ike Ihe VVrealli ■■) strong! 

The Wreath would make the Chain »o soft ! 
Then might the gold, Ihe fl"W'rels be 
Sweet fetters for my love and me. 

But, Fanny, so uid)lesf they twine, 

That (heaven alone can tell the reason) 
When mingled thus ihey cease to shine. 

Or shine but for a Iransieul season. 
Whether the Chain mav press too much, 

Or that the Wreath is sliglitly braided, 
Let but Ihe gold Ihe llow'tcts touch, 

And all their bl oni, their glow is faded! 
Oil! better to bi; always free, 

Than thus to bind my love to me. 

The timid girl now hung her head, 

And, as she turn'd an i.pward glaocei 
1 saw a doubt its tw ilight spread 

Across her brow's divine expmse. 
Just then, Ihe garland's brightest rose 

Cave one of its love-breathing sighs — 
Oh ! who can ask how Fanny chose, 

That ever look'd in Fanny's eyes ? 
" The Wreath, my life, the Wreath shall be 
*' The tie to bind my soul to thee." 


And hast thou mark'd Ihe pensive shade, 
'I'hat many a time obscures my brow. 

Midst all Ihe joy, beloved maid. 

Which thou canst give, and only thou ? 

Oh ! 't is not that I then forget 
The bright lo ks lh;il before me ibiiie; 

For never Ihrobb'd a bosom jet 
Could feel their witchery, like mme. 

When bashful on my bnsom hid. 
And blushing to have felt so blesfj 

Thou dust but lift thy languid lid. 
Again to close it on my breast j— 

Yes,— these are minutes all thine own. 
Thine own to give, and mine to feel j 

Tet ev'n In them, iny hearl has known 
The sigh lo rise, the tear lo steal. 

For I have thought of former hours. 
When he who first Ihy soul possess'd, 

Like me awak'd ils wi'ching powers. 
Like me was lov'd, like me was blest. 

Upon his name thy murmuring tongue 
Perhaps hath all as sweetly dwell j 

Upon his words thine ear hath hung, 
With transport all as purely felt. 

For him — yet why the past recall. 
To damp and wilher present bliss 

Thou'rt Eow my own, heart, spirit, all. 
And heaven could grant no more than thii 

Forgive me, dearest, oh 1 forciue; 

I would be first, be sole to tliee, 
TSau shouldst have but besun to live. 

The J«ur thai gave thy heart lo mc. 


Tby book of life rill Ihen effac'd, 

Love should have kept thai leafailoDe 

Ou wliich he first so brightly tracJ 
riiat (bou wen, aoul aod all, my owa. 


Go then, if she, whose shnde thou art, 
No nio'e will let thee snothe my p-iinj 

ye», ted her, it h.ts cos? this heart 
Some pangs, to give thee back again. 

Tell her the smile was not so dear, 

Wiih which -he made thy semblance mine, 

^9 hitter is the Ijnmiiiff tear. 

Wilh which 1 now the gift reaign. 

Yet SCO — and could shn still restore, 
Aa some exchange for taking thee, 

The fnnquil lock which first I wore, 
When her eyes found me calm and free; 

Could she give back the careFess flow, 
The spirit that my heart then knew — 

Yet, no, 't is vain — go, picture, go — 
Smile at me once, and then — adieu I 


Ulest infant of eternity ; 
Before the day-star le.irn'd to move, 
In pomt' of fire, along his ffrand career, 

Glancing the beamv shafts of Ir»ht 
From hi*, rich quiver to the farthest sphere, 
Thou wert alone, oh Love* 
Nes'Iine benea'h the wines of ancient Night, 
Whose liorrors scem'd to smile in shadowing thee. 

No form of beauty sooth'd thine eye, 
As through the dim expanse it wander'd wide 

No kindred ^pir■it caught thy sigh, 
As o'er the watery waste it lingering died. 

Unfelt the puise, unknown The power, 
That lateiit in his heart was sleeping, — 

Oh Sympathy 1 that lonely hour 
Saw Love himself thy absence weeping. 

But look, what glory through Ihe darkness beams ! 
Celestial airs along'the water glide: — 
What Spirit art thmi, moving o'er the tide 
So beautiful ? oh, not of earth, 
But, in thai glowing hnur, (he birth 
Of the young Gridhead's own creative dreams, 

Psyche, the firstborn spirit of the air. 
To thee, oh Love, she turns, 
On thee her eyebeam burns : 
Blest hour, before all worlds ordain'd to be! 

They meet — 
The blooming gnd — the spirit fair 
Meet in communion sweet. 

i Love and Psyche are here considered as the ac- 
tive and pa5sive principles of creation, and the uni- 
verse is supposed to have received its first Jiarnionizing 
impulse from the nuptial sympathy between these two 
powers. A marriage is geriera'lv the first step in cos- 
mogony. Tima^us held Form to be Ihe father, and 
Matter the mother of the World ; Elion and Berouth, 
I think, are Snnclioniatho's first spiritual lovers, and 
Mancn-ca|iac and his wife introduced creation amongst 
the Peruvians. In short, Harlequin seems to have 
stud ied cosmogonies, w hen he s^iid "■ tutto il mondo e 
fatto come la nostra famiglia." 



Now, Sympathy, the hour is tliinej 
AH lutiire feels the Ihrill divi.,e, 
'ihe veil of Chsus is withdrawn, 
And their fir»t kiss is great Creatiou's dawn ! 




Doninston Park, 1802. 

To catch the thought, by paintinsr's 8pell, 
Howe'er remote, howeei reliird, 

Aii.i o'er the kindling cauv ss tell 
The silent story of the niindj 

O'er nature's form to e'lnce the eye, 
And fix, by immic light and shade, 

Her motnins; tinges, ete Ih. y fly, 

Her evening blushes, ere they fadej— 

Yes, these are Painting's prnude>t powcre ; 

The cift, by which her an divine 
Above all others proudly towers — 

And these, oh Prince! are richly thine. 

And yet, when Friendship sees thee trace, 

In aininsi living truth exi>rest, 
This bright memorial of a face 

On which her eye delights to rest; 

While o'er the lovely look serene. 
The ^mile of peace, the hloom of youth, 

The chet-k, thai blushes to be seen, 
The eye thit tells the bosom's truih j 

While o'er each line, so brightly true, 
Our eyes wilh lingeiing pleasure rove, 

Blessing the touch whose various hue 
Thus brings to mind the furm we love 

We feel the magic of Ihy art, 
And own it with a /.est, a zeal, 

A pleasure, nearer to the heart 
Than critic taste can ever feel. 



'T was nn a day 
When the immrialsat their banquet lay; 
The bowl 
Sparkled with starry dew, 

The weeping of those myriad urns of light, 
Within whose orbs, the almighty Power, 
At nature's diwnin^ hour, 
StorM the rich fluid of ethereal soul.* 

Soft odorous clouds, that upward wing their flight 

From eastern isle? 
(Where they have balh'd them in the orient ray, 
And with rich fragrance all their bosoms fili'd), 
III circles flew, and, melting as Ihey flew, 
A liquid daybreak o'er the board distiUd. 

All. all was luxury ! 

AU must he luxurv. where Lyseus smiles. 

Hfs locks divine 

Were crown'd 

With a brighi meteor-braid. 

Which, like an ever-springing wreath of vine, 

Sho: into brilliant leafy shapes. 

And n'er his brow in lambcni tendrils play'd , 

While mid the foliage hung, 

Like lucid grapes, 

A thousand clustering buds of light, 

CuUM from Ihe gardens of the galaxy. 

Upon his bosom Cytherea's head 

Lay lovely, as when first the Syrens sung 

Her beauty's dawn, 
And all the curtains of the deep, undrawn, 
Reveal'd her sleeping in its azure bed. 
The captive" deity 
Hung lingering on her eyes and lip. 
With looks of ecsta-y. 

Now, on his arm. 
In hlushes s-he repcs'd, 
And, while he gazed on each bright charm, 
To shade his burning eyes her hand in dalliance stole. 

And now Fhe rais'd her rosy mouth to sip 
The nectar'd wave 
LvEEus ga\e, 
And froi'n her eyelids, half*way clos'd, 

5eni filth a meliing gleam. 

Which fell, like sun-dew, in the bowl : 
While her bii^ht hair, in ma?y flow 

Of gold descending 
Adown her cheek's luxurious glow. 

Hung o*er ti.e goblet's side, 
And was reflected in its cr)htal tide, 

1 Though I h-ive styled this poem a Dithyranibic 
Ode, I cannot presume Xn say that it possesses, in any 
degree, the characteristics of that species of poetry. 
The nature of the ancient Dithyramb c is very im- 
perfectly known. According to M. Bure'te, a licen- 
tious irregularity of metre, an extravagant research of 
thouffht and expres«;inii, and a rude embarrassed con- 
struction, are among i!s m-^st distinguishing features; 
and in all tliese respects. I have hut too closely, I fear, 
followed my models. Bure'te adds " Ces caracteres 
des dithyramhes se font sentir a ceux qui li^ent at- 
tentivement les odes de Pindtre."— Mcmoires de VA- 
cad., vol. X., p. 306. The same opinion may be col- 
lected from Schmidi's dissertation upon the subiect 
I think, however, if the Dithyrambics of Pindar were 
in our possession, we should find that, however wil*^ 
and fanciful, they were by no nie:ins the tasteless jar 
gon they are represented, and that e-.en their irregu 
larilv v\as what Boileau calif *'un beau desordre' 
Chiabrera, who has been sl\led the Pindar of Italy. 
and from whom all its poetry upon the Greek model 

was called Chiibreresco fas Crescimheni informs us, 
lib. i.. cap. 12 ) has gi\en, amongst his Vendenimie, 
a Dithyrambic, '-all' nso de' Greci :" full of those 
compourd epithets, uhich, we are told, were a chief 
charActeristicof thestilc {(TwOtTovict Ac^tij crroi- 
oiiv.— Suid. ^levpafifioSid.)-, such as 

Bri>!liii(lr,r!i(n Pegaeo 

But I cannot suppose that Pindar, even amidst all the 
licen-^e nf Dithyrambics, would ever have descended 
to ballad-language like the following: 

Delia Filli, e helln Clori, 
Nnn pill liar prt-Rin a tue bellezze e tad, 
Che se Baccn fa '"ezzi alle mie labbra 
Fo le fi.he n' vostri hnri. 

. esser Torrel Coppier, 

E se Iroppo drsiro 
Deh fossi io BottigUpr. 

Rime del Chiabrera, part, ih, p. 952. 

*» This vs a Platonic fancy. The philofopher sup- 
poses, in his Tinispus, that, when the Deity bad formed 
the sou! of the world, he proceeded to the composition 
of other souls, in which process, says Plato, he made 
u<e nf the snnie cup. though the ingredients he min- 
gled were not qui e so pure as for the former ; and 
having refined the mixture with a little nf his own 
he distributed it among ihe s'ars, which 


of the fluid. — Ta 
f ini Tov npoTcpov Kpa77)(>a 
OS tpvxiiv Kipavvvs ifiLcryt, \ 

TtlV 70 



Like a bright crocus flower. 
Whose sunny leaves, at evening hour 
With loses of Cyrene blenJins,! 
Uao^ o^er the mirror of some silvery stream. 

The Olympian cup 
ShO[ie in the hands 
Of dimpled Hebe, as she wing'd her feet 

The eniuvreal mount, 
To drain the s -ul-iirops at their stellar fount;* 
And still 
As the re-piendeiit rill 
Gushed forth intu ihe cup with mantling heat, 
Her watchful care 
\\a^ still 10 cool it= liquid fire 
With snow-white sprinklings of that feathery air 
The children of (he Pole respire, 
In those ench:inted lauds,3 
Where lite is all a spring, and north winds never 

But oh! 
Bright Hebe, what a tea r^ 
An'l what a blush were thine, 
When, as the breath of every Gr-ice 
Wafied Ihy ft-e' along the s'udded sphere, 
With a bright cup for Jove himself to drink, 
Some star, that shnne beoea-h thy tread, 

Riising its amorous he^d 
To ki-s those maichless feet. 

Checked thy career too fleet ; 
And all heaven's host of eye* 
Enlranc'd. hut fearful ^U, 
Saw thee, sweet Hebe, prostrate fall 

Upon the bright floor of the azure skies j « 
Where, niid its stars, rhy bemiy by, 
As b'ohsom, sh.iken from the spiay 
Of a spring ihorn 
Lies mid the liquid sparkles of the mom. 
Or, as in temples of the Paphian shade. 
The worshippeis of Beauiy's queen behold 
An image of their rosy idol, laid 
Upon a diamond shrine. 

i We lesrn from Theophr.isius, that the roses of 
Cyrene were particularly fragrant. — Kvoa-fiara ra 
if. TO. IV Kx'Qi)VT) ^o6a, 

^ Heraclitus CPhysicusJ he'd the soul to be a spark 
of the stellar essence— •* ScinMlla stellaris essentiie." 
— Macroiiiis, in Sonui. Scip.. lib. J., cap. 14. 

3 The country of the Hyperboreans, These people 
were supposed to be placed so f;ir nor'h that the north 
wind could not afiect them; they lived longer than 
any other mortals; parsed their whole time in music 
and dancing, &c &c. But the most extravagant fiction 
related of ihem is Hiat to which 'he two lines pre- 
ceding allude. II was imagined that, jnsead of our 
vulgar atmosphere, the H\pfiboreans breathed no- 
thing but feathers! According to Her'do'us and 
Pliny, this idea was suggesttd by Ihe quanii y of 
snow which was observed to fall in ttio-e regions; 
thus the former: '{'a tov mtpa ziKa^o^'ras rrjv 
Xtova Tov^ l.KvBa^ rt /cat tov^ nc^toiKovs doKnu 
Hyuv. — Htrodot. lib. iv. cap. 31. Ovid tells the 
fable fiiherwise: see Melamorph. lib. xv. 

Mr. O'Halloran, and some other Irish Antiquirians. 
have been at great expense of learning to prove that 
the strange couniry. where they tonk snow for fea- 
thers, was Ireland, and that the famous Ahans was an 
Irish Druid. Mr. Rowland however, will have it 
(hat Abaris was a Welshman, and Ihat his name is 
only a ci»rruption of Ap Kees ! 

* It is Servius, I believe, who mentions this un- 
lucky trip which Hebe ma.1« in her r.ccupaiinn of 
cup-bearer; and Hotfman telU it after him : **Cum 
Hebe pocula Jovi admin istrans, perque lubricum 
minus caute incedens, cecidisset," &c. 

The wanton wind, 
Which had pursued the flying fair, 
And sported mid the tresses uiicontined 
Of her bright hair. 
Now, as she fell,— oh, wanton breeze 1 
Riiflled 'be robe, whose graceful flow 
Hung n'er those limbs of unsunu'd snow, 
Purely as the Eieunnian veil 
Hangs o'er the Mysteries 1 6 

The brow of Juno flush'd — 

Lovebless'd the breeze! 
And every cheek was hid behind a l}Te, 
While every eye looked laughing through the striogs* 

But the brisht cup? (he nectar*d draught 
Which Jove himstjlf was to have quali'd ? 
Alas, alas, uplurii'd it lav 
By the falPii Hebe's side; 
While, in slow lingering drops, th' ethereal tide, 
As conscious of its own rich essence, ebb'd away. 

Who was the Spirit that remeraber'd Man, 
In that blest hour, 
And, with a wing of love, 
Brusli'd ofl' the goblet's scattered tears, 
As, trembling near the edge of heaven thev ran, 
And sent them flnating to our orb below ? 6 
Essence of immortality ! 

The shower 
Fell glowing through the spheres; 
While all around new lints of bliss, 
New odours an<i new light, 
Enrich'd its radiant flow. 

Now, with a liquid kiss. 
It stole along the thriltins wire 
Of Heavep '5 lumn.ous Lvre.7 
Stealing the s"ul of rnu-»lc in its flight: 
And ni.w, amid the breezes blarjd. 
That whisper from the planets as Ihey roll, 
The bright libaiion. soltiv fann'd 
By all their sighs, meancfering stole. 
Thf-y who, fiom Atlas' height, 

Beheld this rnsy flame 
Descending (hrongh Ihe wa<^te of night, 
ThoushI '( "as some planet, who^e empyreal frame 

Had kindled, as tl rapidly revnU'd 
Around its fervid axle, ai d drssolv'd 
Into a flood so bright I 

The you'hful Pay, 
Wl hin his twilight bower, 
Lay sweetly sleeping 
On the flLsh'd bo om of a lotos-flower ; " 

* The arcane symbols of this ceremony were de- 
posi'ed in ihe cista, where tliey lay religiously con- 
cealed from the eyes of Ihe profane. They were 
generally carried in the procession by an ass; and 
hence the proverb, which one may so often apply in 
the world, "as nus portat niysteria." See the Divine 
Legation, book ii. sect. 4. 

6 In the Genponica, lib. li. cap. 17, there is a fable 
somewhat like this descent of the nectar to earth. 
Ev ovpavcj TUJ7/ Si<uv tvojxovfuv<uv, *cai tov 
vtKTagos 7ToX\ov napaKUfitvov, avaa-KtprT)<Tni. 
^opiid. TOV Kpwra *cat o"ii(r<r£[(rai tw mtpd} tov 
KpttTTjpog Tr]v ^acrtv, kui ntoLTpefpai fitv avrov* 
TO i5e vtKTap ct5 Ti;v yT/v i<xi'Stit, k. t. A. Vid, 
Autor. de He Rust. edit. Caniab. 1704. 

1 Theconstellition Lyra. T he astrologers a ttribut* 
great vir'uea to this siijn in ascendenti, which are 
enuroeialed by Ponlano, in his Urania: 

Emndulaim, muk-clqiii; novo vaga eiilera rintu. 
Quo far'BP nasteulum animae ijoocordia ducunt 
Pectora. 4:c. 
8 The Egyp'ians represented the dawn cf oay by a 
young boy seated upon a lotos. EiTt Aiyvnrovs 



Whji round him, in profusion weeping, 
Dropp'd the celestial shower, 

The rosy clouds, that curl'd 
Ai)Out his infant head, 
Like myrrh upon the locks of Cupid shed. 

But. when the waking boy 
Wav'd his exhaling Iresses through the sky, 
O morn of joy 1 — 
The lide divine, 
All glorious wi h ihe vermil dye 
It drank beiie.ilh his orient eye, 
UislilPd, in dews, upon the world, 
Ai i every drop was wine, was heavenly wiiiel 

niesl be the sod. ar.d htesi the flower 
fc. On which descended first that shower. 
All fresh from Jove's nectarenus springs ; — 
(th, far less sweet the flower, the sod. 
O'er which the Siiiiit of the Rainbow flings 
The magic mantle of her solar God U 


Achilles rafita, lib. 

"Go! "said the angry, weeping maid, 

**The charm is broken ! — once herray'd, 

** Never can this wrong'd heart rely 

*M)n word or look, on oa^h or sigh. 

*' Take back Ihe gifts, so fundly given, 

** Willi promis'd faith and vows to heaven J 

** That liKle ring which, night and morn, 

*' Wiih wedded truth my hand hath wornj 

''That seal which oft, in moments blest, 

"Thou hast upon my Irp imprest, 

*' And sworn ils sacied spring should be 

** A fountain seal'J ^ for only'lhee: 

•' Take, take them back, the gift and tow, 

"All sullied, lost and hateful now 1" 

T tnok the ring — the seal I took, 
While, oh, her every tear and Innk 
Were such as angels look aud shed, 
W'hen man is by Ihe world misled. 
Gently I whis|;er'd, "Fanny, dertr! 
" Not hUf thy lovers gifts are here : 

ifogaKuj^ apxv^ avaroXT]^ nat^iov vzoyvov ypa- 
0ovras tni Awrdi Ka9t.^o[itvov —Plutarch, ncpi 
Tov }it} ,Ypav tfi-fit-rp. See alsn his Treatise de Isid. 
et Osir. Observing that the lotos showed i's head 
above watt-r at sunrl-e, and sank again at his setting, 
they conceived the idea of consecrating this fiower to 


This symbol of a youth sitting upon a lotos is very 
frequent on the Abraxases, or R.isilidian stones. See 
Montfaucon, torn, ti planche 158, and the "Supple- 
ment," &c. tom. ii. lib, vii. chap. 5. 

1 The ancients esteemed Ihose flowers and trees the 
sweetest up^n which the rainbow had appeared to 
rest ; and 'he wood they chiefly burned in sacrifices, 
was that which the smile of Iris lad consecraled. 
Plutarch. Sym])Os, lib. iv. cap. 2. where (as Vnssius 
remarks) Kaiovo-i^ insre^d of KaXovcri, is undoubtedly 
the genuine reading. See Vossi'S, for some curious 
pariicu'ari'iea of the rainbow, De Origin, et Progiess. 
Idololat. lib. iii. cap. 13. 

5 " There are gardens, supposed to be those of King 
Solomon, in the neishbonrlmod of Bethlehem. The 
friars show a fnuntain, which, they say, is (he * sealed 
fountain ' to which the holy spouse in the Canticles is 
compared ; nnJ they pretend a tradition, thit Solomon 
shut up these springs and put his signel upon the donr, 
to keep them for his own drinking." — Afaundreirs 
Travels. See also the notes to Mr, Good's Transla- 
tion of the Song of Solomon. 

" Say, where are all the kisses given, 

" From morn to noon, from noon to even,-^ 

" Those signets of true love, worth more 

" Where are those gift?, so sweet, so many ? 
" Come, dearest,— give back all, if any." 

While thus I whisper'd, trembling too, 
I,est all the nymph had sworn was true, 
1 saw a smile relentii g rise 
'ftlid Ihe moist azure of her eves, 
l.ike d lylight o'er a sea of blGe, 
While yet in mid air hangs the dew. 
She let her cheek repoye on mine, 
She let my ai ms around her t» ine ; 
One kiss was half allowed, and then — 
The ring and seal were hers again. 


I more than once have heard, at night, 
A song, like those thy lip hath ?iven, 

And it was sung bv shapes of light. 

Who louk'd and breath'd, like thee, of heayeQ. 

But this was all a dream of sleep. 
And I have said, when mnrnine shone, 

" Why should the ni«rht-wi ch. Fancy, keep 
*■ These wonders for herself alone ?" 

I knew not then that fate had lent 

Such tones to one of mortal birth ; 
I knew not then thai Heaven had sent 

A voice, a form like thine on earth. 

And ye*, in all that fiowery maze 

Through which my path of life has led, 

When I have heard the sweetest lays 
From lips of rosiest lustre shed j 

When I have felt the warbled word 
From Beauty's lip, in sweetness vying 

With music's oun melodious bird, 
When on the rose's bosom l>ing; 

Though form and song at once combin'd 
Their lovtliest bloom and softest thrill, 

My heart hath sigh'd, my ear hath pin'd 
For something lovelier, softer slill: — 

Oh, I have found it all at last. 

In thee, thou sweetest living lyre, 
Through which the soul of song e'er pass'd, 

Or feeling breath'd its sacred fire, 

AH that I e'er, in wildest flig-ht 

Of fancy's dreams, could hear or see 

Of music's sigh or beauty's light 
Is realiz'd, at once, in thee ! 

O dulces comitum vatete coetus! Vatullit 

No. never shall my soul forget 
The frieirds I found so cordial-hearted; 

Dear shall be the day we met, 

And dear shall be the night we parted. 

If fond regrets, however sweef, 
Must with the lapse nf time decay 

Yet still, when thus in mirth vou meet. 
Fill higli to him that 's far away ! 

3 The present Duchess of HamiltoQ 

JUVENILE POEMS. be the IiRht of memory found 
Alive within V"ur social glass ; 

Let that be slill Ihe imgic tound, 
O'er which Oblivirn dares not pans. 



Oh, fair as bea\en and chaste as tt^iit I 
Ditl nature mould thee all s> bright, 
That ihou shouldal e'er he brought to weep 
O'er htiguid virtue's fa'al sleep, 
O'er sh^me extmaruish'd. honour fled, 
peace lost, heart wiiher'd, feeling dead } 

No, no ! a star was born with thee, 
Which sheds eternal purity. 
Thnu hast, within those sainted eyes, 
So fair a transcript of the skies. 
In lines of haht sucli heaveniy lore, 
That man should read them and adore. 
Yet hive I known a genMe maid 
Whose mmd and form uere both arrayed 
In ni^ture's purest light, like thine; — 
Who wore that cleir, celestial sign, 
Which seems to mark Ifie brow that *» fair 
For destiny's peculiar care: 
Whose bosom too, like Dinn's own, 
Was gruarded by a s-cred zone, 
Where the brgtit ffem of virtue shone ; 
Whose eyes had, in their light, a charm 
Against all wrong, and ^niie, and harm. 
Yet, hiple« maid, in one sad hour, 
These spells h:ive lost their guaidian power; 
The gem has been beguil'd away ; 
Her eyes have )nst their chastening ray ; 
The modest pride, the guiltless shame, 
The smiles that from reflection came, 
All, all have fled, :ind left her mind 
A faded monument behind ; 
The ruins of a once pure shrine. 
No longer fit f - r guest divine. 
Oh : 't was a sight I wept to fee — 
Heaven keep the hst one's fdte from thee I 

TO , 

T is time, I feel, to leave thee now. 
While \et my souI is something free: 

While yet those dangerous eyes allow 
One minute's thought to stray fom thee. 

)h ! thou becom'st each moment dearer ; : 
Every chance that brings me nigh thee. 

Brings my ruin nearer, nearer, — 
I am lost, unless I fly Ihee. 

Nav, if thou dost not scorn and hate me, 
lioom nie not thus so sonn tn fall ; 

Duties, fame, and hopes await me,— 
But that eye would blast them all • 

For, thou hast heart as false and cold 

As ever yet allur'd or sway'd. 
And cnuldst, without a sigh, behold 

The ruin which thyself had made. 

Tet,— cou/rf I think that, truly fond. 
That eve but once would sniile on me, 

Kv'n as thou art, how far beynd 

Fame, duty, weal h, that smile would be ! 

Oh ! but to win it, night and day, 

Inglorious at thy feet reclin'd, 
I 'd si*h my dreams of fame away. 

The world for thee forgot, resign'd. 

Tliy Ireacbery has undone for ever 


Away, a«-:iy— you're all Ihe same, 
A smiling, flulteririg, jilting throng ; 

And, wise too la'e, I Gum with sliaiiie, 
To think I 've been your slave so long. 

Slow to be won, and quick to rove, 
Krnni folly kind, from cunnins loath. 

Too cold for blis-, too weak for love. 
Yet feigning all that 's best in both ; 

Still panting o'er a crowd to reign,— 
More joy it ijivea to woman's breast 

To make ten frigid coxcombs vain, 
Than one true, manly lover blest. 

Away, away — your smile 's a cuise — 
Uh I blot me from the race of n.en, 

Kind pityitiff Heaven, by death or worse, 
If e'er 1 love such Ihiiigs again. 

Noffti TO ^iXmra. Euripida. 

Come, take thy harp — 't in vain to musa 

Upon the ga hering ills we see ; 
Oh ! lake ihy ha^p and let nre lose 

All thoughts of ill in hearing thee. 

Sin? to me, love ! — though death were near, 
Thv sous C'lUld mike my soul foiget — 

Nay, nai, in pity, diy that tear, 
All may be well, be ha|ij)y yet. 

Let me biit see that snowy arm 
Otice more upon the dear h irp lie, 

And 1 will cease to dream of harm. 
Will smile at fate, while thuu art nigh. 

Give me that strain of mournful touch, 
We ns'd to love lone;, long ago. 


• hearts had kn 

, alas ! they bleed to kn 

Sweet notes ! they tell of former peace. 
Of all that look'd so smiling then. 

Now vaiiisti'd, lost — oh, pray thee, cease, 
1 cannot bear those sounds again. 

Art then, loo, wretched ? ves, thnu art ; 

I see Ihy tears (low fast with mine- 
Come, come to this devoted heart, 

'T is breaking, but it still is thine ! 


The I 

I In Plutarcli's Essay on the Decline of the Oracles, 
Cleombrotus, one of the interlocutors, describes an 
extraordinary man whom he had mot with, after long 
research, upon Ihe banks of the Red Sea. Once in 
every year this supernatural personage appeared to 
niorlals, and conversed with them; the rest of his 
time he passed among the Genii and the Nymphs. 
IlEpi T7]V iQvfigav ^aXacaav li'Qov, nvdpuiKot^ 
ava itav r.Tos dtro^ iVTvyxovovra, raX^a ft (fvv 
ratj vvfifl>atSy I'o/mrrt Kai dainoTi, u)5 £0£ 




Min?led ih softness with the vigorous thought 
That lowerM upon his hr j\v j and, when he spoke, 
'Twas laneu,ige sweeteo'd itito song — such holy 

As oft, they say, the wise and virtuous licar, 
Prelusive to the harmony of he.ven, 
When death is nigh ; » nnd still, as he uucloa'd 
His sacred iijts, an ndmr, all a^ bland 
As ocean-breezjs ealher from ihe flowers 
Thit blo^snni in tlysium.i brealh'd around. 
With silent awe we lis'en'd, while he told 
Of the dark veil which many an a^e had hunj 
O'er Nature'^ form, till, hn g explored hy man, 
The mystic shroud s;rew Ihin and luminous. 
And glimpses of that heavenly form shone throus^h :— 
Of ma^ic wonders, that were known and taught 
By him (or Cham or Zoroaster named) 
Who musM amid the mighty cataclysm. 
O'er his lucle tablets of primeval lore j 3 
And gathering round him, In the s:\cred ark, 
The mighty sec re s nf th^t r.rmer globe, 
Let not the' livine; star of <icience ■» sink 
Beneath Ihe waters, which ingulph'd a world! — 
Of visions, by CalHope reveal d 
To him, 6 who trac'd upon his typic lyre 

spoke in a tone not far removed froir 
wheiiCYer he ipened his lips, a frigni 
place; (pOcyyofitvov 6e tov tottov evi 

9j ■i)di<TTov arroTT 
Cleombrolus Je.irncd the ducinne of a plurality of 

The diripason of man''5 mingled frame, 
And (he grand Hoiic hep'achord of heaven. 
Wiih all of puie, of wondrous and arcane, 
Which the giave sons of Mochus, many a nighty 
Told to the yung and hrigh'-hair'd vintant 
Of CarmeKs s.<cred mount 6 — Then, in a flow 



The celebrated Janus Dousa, a little befre his 
death, imagined that he liea-d a strain nf music in (he 
See Ihe poem of Heinsius. *■ In harmoniam 
n paulo ante obitum audire sibi visus est Dousa." 
Page 301. 

a tv9a fjLaKap(uv 

vaa-ov cuKcai'cc^cg 
avpnineQinvtova-tv av- 
6tpi.a 6e ;^;pi;troi' (jtXtyti. 

Pindar. Olymj). li. 
8 Cham, the son of Noah, is supp-st-d to have taken 
with him into tlie ark th.; principal doctrines of 
magical, or rather of nslu al. science, which he had 
inscribed upon some vtry durable snbs'ances, in order 
that tht-y might re-ist ihe ravages of the deluge, and 
transmit the secrets of antediluvian knowledge to h<s 
posterity. See ihe extracts made by Bayle, in his 
article, Cham. The identity of Cham and Zoroaster 
depends upon the authority of Berosus (or ralher the 
impostor Annius), and a few more such respectable 
testimonies. See Naude's Apologie pour les Grands 
Homines, &c. chap, viii., where he takes more trou- 
ble than is necessary in refuting this gratuitous suppo- 

4 Chamum a posteris hujus artis admira'oribus 
Zoroastriini, seu \ivum aslium, prop'erea fmsse dic- 
1 el pro Deo habitum. — Bochart. Geograph. Sacr. 
iv. cap 1. 

' Orpheus,— Paulinus, in his Hehdomades, cip. 2. 
iii. has endeavoured to show, alter the Platonists, 
that man is a diapason, or oct.ive, made up of a tiia- 
lesseron, which is his soul, and a diapenie, which is 
his boJy. Those frequent allusions to music, by 
wh'ch the ancient philosophers illus rated their sub- 
lime theories, must have tended very much to elevate 
the character of the art, and to enrich it w i h associa- 
tions of the grandest and mfjst interesting nature. See 
a preceding note, for their ideas upon the harmony of 
the spheres. Heraclilus cnipir d the mixture of 
good and evil in this world, to the blended varieties 
of harmony in a musical instrument (Plutarch, de 
Anim3gProcreil.;)aiidEuryphaum-, thePylhagorean. 
in a fragment preserved by StobEPus, de'-cribes human 
life, in its perfection, as a sweet and well-tuned lyre. 
Some of the ancients were so fai.eiful as to suppose 
that the operations of the memory were regulated by 

a kind of musical cadence, and that ideas occurred to 
it "per arsin el thesin," while others converted (he 
whole man in:o a mere harmonized machine, whose 
motion depended up' n a certain tension of the body, 
amlo^ous to that of the strings in an instrumcnl. 
Cicero indeed ridicules Aris'oxenus for this fancy, 
and jays, •' Let him teach singing, and leave philoso- 
phy (u Aristotle j " but Ari;.totIe himself, though de- 
cidedly ojiposed to the harmonic speculations of the 
Pythagoreans and Platonisis, could sometimes con- 
descend to enliven his doclrmes by reference to the 
beauties of musical scit-nce ; a-., iu the treatise Ilcpi 
Kovfiov atliibu ed to him, Ka&anep 6z tv x^^**- 
Komxpatov KaraQlavToq. k. t. A. 

The Abbe Ba'teux. in his eiKjuiry into the doc'rin 
of the Stoics, a'tributes to those philosophers the 
fame mode of illustration. " L'ame etoit cau-e actn 
K'jiiLv acTio^ ; le cnr| s catise passive ijSe tov 
rrao-j^ttv: — Tune agis ant dins J'aulre ; et y pre- 
nant, pnr son action meme, un caiactere, des fun 
des niodifica ions, qu'elle n'.ivoii pas par elle-meme ; 
a peu pres comme iMr. qui, chasse dans un instr 
le miisique, fait connoitre, par les diflTerens ^o 
qu'il proiuit, les diff'erentes modihcations quM y i 
C"il." See a fine simile founded up^n (his notion in 
Caidinal Polignac's poem, lib. 5. v. 734. 

6 Pythagnras is represented in lamblichus as de- 
scending with great solemiuiy from Mount Carmel, 
for which reas<,n Ihe Carmei'es have claimed hii 
one of their fraternity. This Mochus or Muschus, 
with the descendaiiis of whom Pythagoras conversed 
in Phoenicia, and from whom he derived thedocirines 
of ai(unic philosophv, is supposed hy some to be the 
same with Mo^es 'lluett has adoj-ted this idea, De- 
mon-iratir)n Evanseliqiie, Prop. iv. chap. 2. § 7 ; and 
I e Cleic, among.rotheis, has refu'ed it. See Biblinth. 
Choisie, turn. i. p. 75. It is certain, however, that 
ihe doctrine of aionis \*as knoivn and proniulgated 
long before Epicurus. ** With 'he fountains of Demo- 
cnliis," says Cicero, "the g-rdensof Epicurus were 
waieied ; " and Ihe learned author of the Intellectual 
Sys'em has shown, that all the earlv philosophers, till 
the time of Plato, uere a'omis s. We find Epicurus, 
however, boisling that his tenets were new and un- 
borrowed, and perhaps few among the ancients had 
any stronger claim to oiiginalily. In (ruth, if 
examine their schools'of philo>ophy, notwithstanding 
the pecnliaiilies "hich seem to distinguish ihem from 
each other, we may generally observe that the differ- 
ence IS hut verbal and trifling; and thai, among those 
varinus and It-amed heusies, theie is scarcely rne to 
be selected, whose opinion^ are its own. original and 
exclusive. The doctrine of the world's eternity niay 
be traced through all the seels. The continual me- 
tempsychosis nf Pyihagora?, the grand periodic year 
of the S'bics, (at the cui. elusion "t v\ Inch Ihe universe 
is suppo-ed to return (o its origiial order, and com- 
mt'Tice a new revolution,) the successive dissolution 
and combiiia'ion (f atoms maintained by the Epi- 
cureans—all these tenets are but difl'erent intinia- 
(ions of the same ffener:*l belief in the eternity of the 
world. As explained by St. Austin, the periodic year 
of Ihe Stoics dis^igrees only so far w ith the idea of the 
Pythagoreans, th^t in ttad of an ddless transmission 
of the soul through a variety of bodies, it restores the 
same body and soul to re[ieat their foimer round of 
exis'ence, so that Ihe " identical Plato, who lectured 
in the Academy of Athens, sliali asrain and again, at 
certain intervils, duiing the lap^e of eternity, aypear 
in the same Academy and resume the same Suc- 
tions—'* sic eadeni teinpora tempoialiunique ■ 

icrum volumina repeti, ut v. g. sicnt in islo sxculo 
Plato philosophus in urbe Athenienr., in ea schola | 



Of calmer converge, he beeuiPd us on Through many a systemj where the scalter'd .ight 

Thmugli mat.y a n-ase of Garden and of Porch, Of heavenly truth lay, like a broken beam 

que Acadcmil dicta est, discipulos dncuit, [ta per i 
tunumcraliilia rttro s»ciila, mulium pit-xis quidcm ' 
iiitt;rvallis. vr.i ceitis, et idem Flati*, et eadein civitas, 
eadeimiiK^ mIimIm, iidenique discipnh reperiii ct per 
innimieial.ilirx drinde ckcuU lepeiendi unU—De 
Civiiat. Dti, hb. xii. dp 13- Vanini, in hts dia- 
hgues. ht3 ^iven us a similar exp.icAtion of the 
periodic revnltitu'iis of the world. " Ea de causa, 
qui nunc sunt in usu riius, ceniies niiliies fLCiunt, 
lotiesque ren.i5ceiitur quoiies cecidcrnnt." 52. 

The paradoxical notions of the Stoics upon the 
beauty, the riches, the dnmininn of their imaginary 
»a»e, arc among the most distinguishing chancterisiics 
of Iheir school, and, accniding lo their advocate Lip- 
sius, were peculiar lo that seel. "Priora ilia (decretaj 
quae passim in philo-ophanlium scholis feie obtinent, 
ista quae peculia"ia huic sfc'se et habent contiadiclio- 
nem : i. e. paradoxa." — Manvduct. ad Stoic. Philos, 
lib iii., dissertat. 2, But ii is evident (as the Al>be 
Garnier has remarked, Memnires de l*Acad., toni. 
jcxxv.) that even these absurdities of the Stoics are 
borrowfd, and ih 't Fla'o is the source of all their ex- 
travagant paradoxes. We find their dogma, "dives 
qui sapiens," (which Clement nf Alexandria has trans- 
ferred fiom the Philosopher to the Chrisli.n, Panla- 
gog., lib. iii., op. 6.) expressed in the prayer of So- 
cra'es at the end of the Phsedrus. U 6tAc nav tc koi 
aXAot (^o-ot Tf?(?£ Sioi, dmijTS /toi KaXut yevia-lJai 
rav^oBtv ra^tuflev (re fia-a fX-M* "^^^-S ivro^ su'at 
fAoi (f)i\ta- Tr\ov(nov 6c vufju^oifii tov <to(}>ov. And 
many other instinces mi<ht be adduced from the 
Avrspao-Tac, the XloXntKos. &c. to prove that these 
weeds of paradiix were all gathered among the bowers 
of the Academy. Hence it is that Cice o, in the pre- 
face to his Paradoxes calls them S 'cra ica ; and Lip- 
sius eiulting in the paironage of Socrates says " Ille 
totus est nosier." This is inde-d a c alition. whrch 
evinces as much as can be wished the confusKl simili- 
tude of ancient philosophical opininni: the father of 
scepticism is here enmlled :<mongst the founders of (he 
Portico; he, «ho>e best knowUdge was that of his 
own ignorance, is called in to authorize the prctcn 
sions nf tlie most obstinate dngniafists in all antiquity. 
Rutilius, in his Iiinerarium, his ridiculed the sab- 
bath of the Jews, as "las ali mollis imago Dei ;" but 
Epicurus gave an eternal h"lyday lo his gods, and, 
rather than disturb the slumbeis of Olympus, denied 
at once the inteiftrence of a Providence, f^e does 
not, however, seem to have been singular in this opin- 
ion. Thenphiius "f Antinch, if he deserve any credit, 
imputes a similar belief to Pylhasoras : — (/)^<n (IIv- 
flayopa?) rt Tiuv Kavrutv ^eovs avOgtunvtv ftrj^sv 
AoovTt^HV. And Plutarch, though so hostile to the 
followers of Epicurus, has unaccf>untably adopted 'he 
very same theological error. Tims, af er quoting the 
opinions of Anaxagoras and Plain upon divini y, he 
aids, Kotvi»S ovv afiapTavov(nv a^^oTfpot, Art 
TOV -9eov ETToirja-av trn(TTt<pofisvov tcuv ai'^po- 
mv<uv. — De Pladt. Philwovh., lib. i.. cap. 7. Plato 
himself ha^ attributed a degree of inditference to the 
gods, which is not far rem-n-ed from the apathy of 
Epicurus's heaven ; as thus, in his I'hilebus, where 
Pro'archns a ks, Ovkovv tiKog ye ovte x^^P^^'^ ^^' 
01'?, oi'TE TO tvavTiov ; and sociates answers Flaw 
fiEv ovv ct«os', arrxfift-ov yovv avTtuv iKarigov 
•yiyvofttvoi' ectiv;— while Aris'otle supposes a still 
more absurd neutrality, and concludes, by no very 
flatiering analogy, thit the deity is as incapible of 
virtue as of vice. Kai yap wairep ovStv Stjoiov L<nt 
KAfCia, ov(5' apcT»|, oirtoj ovSe '■^sov. — Ethic Ntco- 
tntch. lih. vii.cap. I. In truth, Aiistotle, upon (he 
subject of Providence, was little more crrect than 
Epicurus. He suppo-ed the moon to be the limit of 
divine interference, excluding of course this sublunary 
world from its influence. The tirst definition of (he 
world, in -is treatise Tlipi Koa-ftov (if this treatise be 
reallv the woik of Aristuile) ai^rees, almost verhum 

verbn, with that in the letter of Epicurus to Pytho- 
clesj and both omit the mention of a deity. In hi- 
Etbics ton, he intima'esa doubt whether (he gods feel 
any in erest in the concerns of aankmd. — Et >op 
rit," eniftzStia raiv avOpiunivtuv iino -^ituv ytvtrot. 
It is true, he adds, *i2o-7rE{/ doKtt, but even ihis is very 

In ihe-e erroneous conceptions of Aristotle, we trace 
tne cause <f that general legleci which hi> philosophy 
experienced among the early Christians. Plato is 
doiii much more orthodox, but the obscure enthusi; 
of his :^lyle allowed them to accommodate all his I 
cies to (heir (iwn purpcpe. ^^ch glowing sleel was 
easily moulded, and Platonism became a sword in it 
hands of the fathers. 

The Providence of the Stoics, so vaunted in the 
school, was a power as conlempibly inefficient as tl 
rest. All was fate in the sys'em of the Portico. The 
chains of destiny were thrown over Jupiter himself, 
and their deity was like the Borgia (■( the epigram- 
matist, "et Caesar et nihil." Not even (he Language 
of Seneca can reconcile this degradation of divini'y. 
*' Ille ipse omnium conditor ac rector scripsit quidam 
fata, sed st quilur ; seniper paret, semel jussit."— Z.iA. 
de Prooideyitia, cap. 5. 

Wiih re pect lo the difference between the Stoics, 
Perpitctics, and, the following woids 
of Cicero prove that he saw hut liitle to distinguish 
them from each otlier: — "Peripiteticos et Academi- 
cf'Sj nominibus ditfeientes, re congruentes ; a quibus 
Stoici ipsi verbis maglsquam sententiis dis^enserunf." 
— Academtc. lib. ii. 5 ; and perhaps what Reid has 
remarked upon one of their poin's of controversy 
might he apilied as efffclually to ihe reconcilenient 
nf all the re-'t. " 1 he dispute between the S'oics a 
Pefipatttics was probably all for want of definiiii 
The one said they weie good under the contrnl of r 
5on, the o'her that (hey should be eradicated." — 
Essays, vol. jij. In short, it appears a no less difficult 
matter to c^tabtish the boundane. of opinion bet\\e 
any two of the philosophical sects, than it would be 
to fix the landmarks of those estates in the moon, 
which Ricciolus so generously allotted to his bio'her 
astri'iionier". Accotdtngly we observe some of the 
greatest men of an'iquily passing without scruple froin 
school to school, according to the fancy or conve- 
nience of the moment. Cicero, the father of Ronan 
philo-ophy, is sometimes an Academician, snniedmes 
a Stoic ; and, more than once, he acknowh:!eesa con- 
formity with Epicurus; *Mion sine causa igitur Epi- 
; curus ausus est diccre semper in plunbus bonis < 
sapitii em, quia semper sit in voluptatibus." — Twj- 
ndan.Qtixst, \\b. V. Though often pure in his theo- 
logy, <- icero sometimes smiles at futurity as a fiction ; 
I ttiu's, in his Oration for Ctuentius, speaking of punish- 
ments in the life to come, he says, '* Quae si falsa sunt, 
id quid omnes inlelliguni, quid ei taiidem alind n 
eripuit. prseter sensum doloris?": — though here 
should, perhaps, do him but justice by agreeing tvith 
his comnienta'or Sylvius, who remarks upon 
passage. " Hsec autem dixit, ut causae suas sobse 
1 rei.'" The poet, Horace, roves like a butterfly thrci 
! the schords, and now wings along the walls of the 
Poich. now baiks among the flowers of ihe Garden ; 
while Virgil, with a tone of mind strongly phiiosopbi 
! cal. has \et left us wholly uncertain as to the sect 
I which he espoused. The balance of opinion declai 
him to have been an Epicurean, but the ancient ; 
thor of his life asserts that he was an Ac^demicia 
and we liace through his poetry the tenets of almost 
all the leading sec's. The same kind of eclecti< 
dillereiice i* observable in most of the Roman writer-. 
'Ihns Propertius, in the fine elegy to Cynthia, on bis 
departure for Athens, 

Illic vcl studiis animum emcndnre Platonia, 
Incipiam, aut hortis, dotte Epicure, tiiic 

Lib. iii. Eleg. 21. 



From the pure sun, which, Ihongh refracted all 

Into a. thousand hue?, is sunshine still, ^ 

And bright thmugh every change ! — he spoke of Him, 

The loi.e,2 e'ernal t>ne. who dwells above, 

And of the soul's untraceable descent 

111 that high fount of spirit, tbrough the grades 
Of intt^Uficlual being, till it mix 
With aloms va^ue, corrupiible, and dark ; 

r yet ev'n then, though sunk in eirihly dross, 

Tupted all. nor its ethereal touch 
Quite lost, but lasting of the fountain still. 
As some brisht river, which h^a roll d along 
1 hroush meads ot flowery light and of gold, 
When pout'd at lenglh intn the dusky deep, 

i^iiis to take at once its briny taint, 
Rut keepj uuchaiisied awhile ihe lustrous tinge, 
Or balmy freshness, of the scenes it left. 3 

Lactantius asserts that all the truths of Christiani- 
ty may be found dispeised through the ancient philo- 
sophical sects, and that any one who would collect 
these scattered fragmen's of orthodoxy might form a 
code in no respeci fjom that of the Christian. 

extitisset aliquis, qui veritatem 3p:irsain per sm- 
?ulns per secta-^que ditl'usam colligeret in unum, ac 
redit^eret in corpus, is piofecto uon diaseDtirel a no- 
bis." — Jiist, lib. VI, c. 7. 

* To ^lOVOV KOt lOTJflOV. 

I And here the old man ceased — a winged train 
Of nvmphs and genii bore him from our eyes, 
Thefair illusion (led! and. as I wak'd, 
'T was clear that my rapt soul had roamed, the while. 
To thai bright realm of dteams. thai spirit-world, 

Which mortals ' '--■>- ._.... 

O'er iiiidDight'i 

Though Rroeckhusius here reads, '*dux Epicure," 
vhicli seems to hx the pnet under the banners of Epi- 
curus. Even the Stoic Seneca, w h"se doctrines hi*ve 
en considered so orthodox, that St. Jerome has 
nked him amongst the ecclrsiastical writers, while 
Bocc-iccio doubts (in con>i(]eralion of his supposed 
correspondence with St Pful) whether Dante should 
have pl:tced him in Limb, with Ihe rest of the Pa- 
gans—even the rigid Sentca has Le'to^ed such cnm- 
inend itions on Epicurus, tha if only tiiose passages of 
lis works were preserved to us, we culd not hesiiale, 
I think, in pronouncing him a confirmed Epicurean. 
Wiihsmiilar inconsistency, we find Porphyry, in liis 
work upon abstinence, referring to Ep cun.s as an ex- 
nple of the most strict Pytlni;orean lempeiance ; and 
Lancelotti (ihe author of " Farfallonj degli an ici Is- 
torici") has been seduced by this grave reputation of 
Epicurus into the aburd error f>f associating him wiih 
Chrysii pu% as a chief of ihe Sloic school. There s 
o doubt, indeed, that however the Epicurean sect 
light have relaxed from its orisinat puriiy, the 
morals of its fr-under v»ere as correct as ihnae of any 
nng the ancient philosophers; and his doctrines 
upon pleasure, as explained in the letter :o Menteceus, 
rational, amiable, aid con isteni «ith nur nature 
A late writer, I)e Sahlons. in his Grands Hommes 
inges. expresses strong indignation against ihe En- 
_ clopedis'es for their just and animated praises of 
Epicurus, aud discussing the question, *'si ce philo- 
phe eloit vertueux." denies it upon no other autho- 
■itv than the calumnies collected by Pluiarcli, who 
umself confesses that, on this jiarticular subj.ct, he 
consulted only opinion and report, without pausing to 
estigate their truth. — AAAa Tr)v dolav^ ov tjjv 
n\tjOtiav a-KonovfLzv- To the factions yeal of his 
illiberal livals, the Stoics, Epicuru* chiefly owed these 
gross rni^repre-entaiions of the li'e and opinions of 
himse'f and his associates, which, notwithstindinar ihe 
learned exertions of Gassendi, have still left an odium 
on Ihe name of his philosophy ; and we ou^ht to exa- 
" le the ancient accounts of this philosopher with 
about the smie desree of cau'ious belief which, in 
reading ecclesiastical history, we jicid to the invec- 
;s of the fathers against the he-etics,— trussing as 
li'tle to Plutirch upon a do^ma of Epicurus, as we 
vould to the vtlienient St. Cyril upon a tenet of Mes- 
Drins. (1801.) 

The preceding remarks. I wish the reader to ob- 
serve, were written at a time, when I thought the 
studies 10 which tht-y refer much more iniporian' as 
II as more amusing than, I freely confess, they ap- 
pear to me at present. 

' by lis long track of light 
&ky, and call the Galaxy.* 


To see thee every day that came, 
And find thee stfll each day ibe same; 
In pleasure's smile, or sorrow's tear 
To me still ever kind and dear; — 
To meet iliee early, leave thee late, 
Has been so Jong my bliss, my fate. 
That lite, without this cheering ray, 
Which came, like sunshine, every day, 
And all my pain, my soirow cha^'d, 
Is now a lone and loveless waaie. 

Where are the chords she u-M to touch ? 
The aiis, ihe songs she hiv'd s < much ? 
Tliose 6ongs are hushed, those choiUs are rtiU, 
And so, perhaps, will every thrill 
Of feeling soon be lulTd to rest, 
Which late I wak'd in AimaV breast. 
Yet, no — the simple notes 1 play'd 
Fiom menioiy's tablet soon may'f.ide: 
The sougs, « hich Anna lov'd to hear, 
Miy vanish from her heirl and ear ; 
But friendship's voice shall ever hnd 
An echo in that gentle mii-d, 
Nor memory lose nor time impair 
The sympathies that tremble there. 




bridpe en! a ]a m 


e de LnndreB, que 

leau Test de Parif 

Cc qu'il 

y a dr teau et de 

m I'un ft dans r 

Dtie nr'ie 

6'y rasseroble au 

gal a lit da 

terns tlt-e cnux. Li compagnit," &c. A'c 

See Memvires de OrammunU Seronii Part. chap. }ii. 

When Grammont grac'd these happy springs, 

Ai'd Tunbrid^e saw, upnn her Pantiles, 
The merriest wight of al I the kings 

That ever rul'd these gty, gallant isles ; 

Like us, by dav, thev rode, they walk'd, 

At eve, thev'did as we may do. 
And Grammont just like Spencer talk'd. 

And lovely Stewart smil'd like you. 

The only d.fferenl trait is this. 

That woman then, if man heset her, 
W^^s rather given to .saying " yes," 

Because, — as yet, she knew no better. 

Each night they held a coterie. 

Where, every ftar to slumber charm 'd, 

Lovers were all they ought to be, 
And hubiiids noi the le.ast alarni'd. 


i bold Platoni 
in Father Bnu( 
inserted in Pi 

mage I have taken from a 
it's letter upon the Metemp- 
I's Cerem. Relig. tom. iv. 


* According to Pyihaeoras, the people of Dreams 
are souls collec ed together in the Galaxy. — Arjfios 
6t OTBtpuiV, Kara TlvOayopav, al i/'t;,\ai dj trvva- 
ytffOai. <pij(Tiv £ts 701/ y aXaliav, — Forphjr, de 
Antro Nymj-h. 



Then call'd tliey up their schoolday pranks, 
Nor ilinught it much "heir sense beiieatU 

To play M liJdles, quips, and cranks 
And lurjg show'd wii, and Indies teeth. 

Jis—*' Why are husbands like the mini?" 
Because, t -rsooth, a hii-baiid's duly 

Is but in el the naiiit: .>iid print 
That gi*e a currency to beauty. 

" Why is a rose in nettles hid 

**Like a young widow, fiesh and fiir?" 
Because 't is sighing to be rid 

Of weedSy that *'have no business there 1 " 

And ihii3 thpy niiss'd and thus they hit, 

And now iliey struck and now they parried j 

And some lav in of full-grown wit, 
While tJlhers of a pun miscarried. 

*T was one of those facetious nigh's 
Thill Graunnont gave this forfeit rinj 

For breikin* grave conundrum-nles, 
Or punning ill, or — some such thing : — 

From whence it c:in be fjirly tracM, 

Tlirougli many a brancli and many a bough, 

From iwig to Iwiic, until it gr..c'd 
Ttie snowy hand that wears it now. 

All this I *1I prove, and then, to you, 

Oh, lunbndge! and your springs ircnii'col, 

I by Heaihcote's eye ot bhe 
To dedicate th' important chronicle. 

Long m:iy your ancient inmates give 
Their inaniles to your ni'dern lodgers, 

And Charles's Inves in Heathcote live, 
And Charles's bards levive in Rcgers. 

Let no pedantic fools be there ; 

For ever be those f ps abolish'd. 
With heads as wooden as thy ware, 

And, heaven knows! not half so polish*d. 

But still receive ihe young, the eay, 
The few who know the rare delight 

Of reiding Grammont every day, 
Aud acting Gramniout every night. 


Tt KOKov 6 ytXaj? ; 
Chrysost. Homil. in Epist. ad itebrtcos, 
# # # « 

But, whither have Ihe'C gentle ones. 
These rosy nvmphs and black-eyed nung, 
With all of Cupid 8 wild rnn.ancing, 
Led my truarit brains a dancing? 
Instead of studying Uimes scholastic, 
Ecclesi islic, or nionas'ic, 
Off I fly, careering far 
In chaae'of Pollys, prettier 
Than any of their names kes are,— 
The polymaths nnd Polvhislors, 
Polvglots and all their sisters. 
So have 1 known a h^pt-ful \oulh 
Sit down in ipiest of lore and truth. 
With Innies sufllcient to confound him. 
Like Tohu nohu. heaped abound him,— 
Maniurra * stuck to 'I heophrastu*, 
And Galen tumbling o'er IJomb.istus'a 

1 Mamurra, a dogmatic philosopher, who never 
doubled aitout any itiing, except who was his ftther. 
— ** Nulla de re uiiqnam praeterquam de patre dnbi- 
tavil.'* — /m Kif. He w;.s very learned — " La- de- 
Jans, (thai is, in his head when it was opened,) le 

When 1 1 ! while all that 's learn'd and wiso 

Absorbs the boy, he lifts liis eyes. 
And through the window of his study 
Beholds some damsel fair and ruddy, 
Wiih eyes, aN brightly turn'd upon him as 
The angel's 3 were on Hieronymus. 
Quick hv the foli.'S, widely scalter'd. 
Old H. ii'ier's laurel'd brow i>s bitier'd, 
Ahd Sappho, headlong sent, tlies just iD 
The reveitnd eye of St. Augustm. 
Raplur'd he quits each duziiig sage, 
Oh, woman, for ihy lovelier page: 
Sweet book I — unlike 'he book> of art,— 
Whose eirors are thy faireM part ; 
In whom ihe dear eriata column 
Is the best page in all the volume ! * 

But to begin my subject rhyme — 
»T W.1S jusi about this devili-h time, 
When scarce there happen'd any frolics were not done by Diabojtcs, 
A eld and loveless son of Lucifer, 
Who UTiman scorii'd, nor ;-aw llie use of her. 
A blanch of Dagon'.- family, 
(Winch U.igon, whether He or She, 
Is a dispute that vavly belter is 
Rf ferr'd to Scaliger & et ceteris,) 
Finding thai, in ihis cige of t(;ols. 
The wisest so's ndotn the schools. 
Took it at once his head Satanic in. 
To grow a schol istic manikin, — 

Punique heurle le I'ersan, I'Heb eu choque PArabi- 
que, ponr ut puint pailer de la niauvaise iitelligence 
du Latin avec \e G'tc,*' Sic— See VHisloirt dc Mviit' 
»miur, tom. li. p 91. 

^ Bonibistus was one of the names of that great 
schtlar and quack Paracelsus. — " Pliilippus 
tus latet ^ub ^plendido tegmine Anienli l heophrasti 
P^racel-i,'' says Siadeli-is de circumforanea Litera- 
loruin vanitate. — He used m fight the devil every 
n:glit with a broadswoid, to the no sm:tll terror of his 
pupil Oporinus, who has lecoided the circums'ance. 
(Viile op.iin. Vit apud Chrisiian. Gr\ph.Vit Select, 
quorundam Eriidilis'-imoium, &c.) Paracelsus had 
bul a poor oj)inion of Galen: — *'My very beard 
(says he in hi- Para!2;i£iium) has more learning in li 
than either Galen or Avicenn;!." 

3 The angel, who scolded St. Jeroni for reading 
Cicero. asGtatian tells ihe story in his " Coneordantia 
discordaniium Canonum,"' and s.iys, that for this rea- 
son bishops vi-eie not allowed to leid the Class-ca: 
'* Episcopus Gentilium libros non legat.*' — Dul'.nct. 
37. Bui Grati.m is no orious for lying— besides, 
angels, as the illustrioua pupil of Pantenus asriies us, 
h^ve got no tongues. Ovx' f^S Vf-tv ra mra, oirtug 
EK£ivo(.5 tj ykiuTTa' ov6' av opyava rtj Cwif tptuvij^ 
ayyEAots. — Cltm. MUxand. ktroniat. 

4 The idea of the Rabbms, respecting the origin of 
w man. is not a li'Ile smgul .r. They think 'ha^t man 
was orisiinlly fo nifd with a tail, 1 ke a monkey, but 
that the Oei y cuioifihis a[ pt-ndage, and made woman 
of it. Up'-n this cxiiaordinary hupposition the fol 
lowing retliclion (s founded : — 

i Ihe t 

• hftw 

The niiiiiy who v>eJH ih a pitirul eU', 

Fur lif lakttt lo tnu mil like an id>ot agai 

Ami thuH maUcH a Jei'lurable ape uf tii 

Why he— l-Qvt-.H he 

fi ScTliger. de Eniendat. Tenipor. — Dagnn was 
thought by others lo be a rerlatri sea monster, who 
cmie every dav out of the Red Sea to leach the 
Syrians husbandry. —See Jaques Gattarel (Curiositcs 
Inouies, chap, i.), who sa\s tie Ihinks this story of 
Ihe se.»-monsler " carries little show of probability 
with it." 



A doctor, quite as learnM and fine as 

Scotus John or Tom Aquinas,* 

Lully, Hales Irrefiaffabilis, 

Or any di'clni of the rabble is. 

In lanH:ua!ies2 the folyslots, 

Coiiip^r'd lo liiiit, were Bibel sots; 

Hechaiei'd more than ever Jew did, 

Sanhedrim Hriest included, 

Piie-^t nnd holy ^aMhedriui 

Wtre une-and seven y fools to him. 

Rut chief the learned demon felt a 

Zeal so strong lur gamma, delta, 

'Ihaf, all for Greek and le.irning's glory,' 

He nightly tippled "Graeco more," 

And never paid a bill or bil.ince 

Except upon the Grecian Kalends : — 

From whence ynji^, when they want tick, 

Say. to beJiUic'a tn be on lick, 

In I05.cs, he was quite Ho P,.nu ; * 

Knew as much a^ ever njan knew. 

i I wish it were known with any decree of cer- 
tainty whether the Commeniaiy on Boelhius attri- 
buted to Thomas Aquinas be really the work of this 
Angelic Doctor. 'Ihere are some bold assertions 
hazarded in it : for instance, he say3 that I'lnio kept 
school in a town called Acadeniia, :uid ihai Alcibiades 
was a very heauliful \\oman » honi some of Aristo'le's 
pupils fell in love with : - " Alcibi ules mulier fuit 
pulcherrima, quam videntes quidam discipuli Aris- 
loteWs,^' kc — Hec Jheytag Md};arat. Litttrar. art. 
86. lorn. i. 

2 The followins; compliment was paid to Lauren- 
tius Valla, upon his accuiate knowledge of the Latin 
language : — 

Since Val arriT'd in Pluto's Bhade, 
His Qouni* and pniiiouns all so pat in, 

Plmo himself wouM be afraiJ 
To Bay hiHSoul'ti his own, in Latin! 

See for these lines the "Auctorum Censio^of Du 
Verdier (p.ige 29.) 

3 It is much to be regretted that Martin Luther, 
with all his talents for reforming, should yet be vulgar 
enough to laugh at Camerarius for writing to him in 
Greek. *• Master Joacliim (says he) has ^ent me 
some dates and some raisin-, and has also written me 
two letters in Greek. As soon as I am recovered, I 
shall answer them in Turkish, he too may have 
the pleasuie of reading what he does not understand." 
" Graeca sunt, legi n n possunt," is Ihe ignorant speech 
attributed to Accursius; but very uigusHv : — for, far 
from asserting that Greek could not be read, that 
worthy juris-consult upon the Liw 6. D. de Bonor. 
Possess, expressly savs, *' Graeca* \i\er?e 'possu7it intel- 
liffi et legi." (Vide "Nov. Libror. R:irior. Cfdieciion. 
Fascic. IV.) — Scipio CarteromacliMs seems to have 
been of opinion that there is no salvation out of the 
pate of Greek Literature: "Via prima saluMs Graia 
pandetur ab urbe:" and the zeal of Lauieotivis 
Rhodomannus cannot be i-ufficieiitly admired, when 
he exhorts his countrymen, " per gloriam Chiisii, per 
salutem patrise. per reipublicae decus et emolumen 
tum." lo study the Greek language. Nor must we 
forget Phavorinus, the excellent Bishop of Nocera, 
who, careless of ail the w--ual commendations of a 
Christian, required no further eulngiuni on his tomb 
than "Here lieth a Greek Lexicographer." 

4 'O nnvv. —The introduction of this language 
into English poetry has a good etl'ect, and ought to be 
more universally adopted. A uoid or two of Greek 
in a stanza would serve as ballast to ttie most "light 
0* love '* verses. Ausooius, among (he ancients, may 
serve as a model : — 

Ov yap fJL(n -^sfiis tcriv in hac regione fiivovri 

A|tov ab nostris iiriSivza esse KafiTjvais 

He fought the svllogistjc 

With sr. much skill and .ri eristic, 

That though y^u were the learned Stagirite^ 

At once upon ilie hip he had you right. 

In mu^ic. though he had no ears 

Kxcept for amoneist the spheres, 

(Which niopt ot: all, as he averr'd it. 

He dearly loved, 'came no one heard it.) 

Yet aptly he, at sight, could read 

Kach tuneful di.ierani m Bede, 

And find, by Euclid's cOroHaria, 

The ratK'S of a jig or aria. 

But. as f rail your waibling Delias, 

Orpheusfs and Saint Cecili.s, 

He ounVI he thought them much surpasa'd 

P.v that redoubled Hyah clast S 

VVho still coiitriv'd by dint of throttle, 

Where'er he went to crack a bottle. 

Likewi-e to show his mighty knowledge, be, 

On things unknown in physiology, 
Wrote many a chapter lu divert us, 
(Like that great little man Albertus,) 
\V herein he show'd the reason why. 
When children first are he.trd to cry 
If boy the b.iby chance to be, 
HecrjfsO A!— if girl, O E ! — 
Which are, quoth he, txceedin^ fair hints 
Respecting their first sinful patents; 
•'Oh, Eve!"exclaimeth little madam. 
While little maeter cries " Oh, Adam I " 8 

But, 'I was in Optics and Dioptric, 
Our daemon play'd his fi-st and top tricks. 
He held that sunshine passes quicker 
Through wine than any other liquor; 
And thoush he saw no great objection 
To steady light and clear reflection, 
He thought the aberrating ra\s, 
Which phy ab'iut a bumper's blaze, 
Were by he Doctois look'd, in common, on, 
As a nmre r,ire and nch phenomenon. 
He wisely said that the sensorium 
Is for the eyes a great emporium. 
To which these noted picture-stealers 
Send all they can and nieet with dealers. 
In mai y an optical proceeding 
The br.iin, he said, show'd great good breeding: 
For instance, when we ogle women 
(A trick which Barbara tulor'd him in,) 
Although the dears are apt to get in a 
Strange position on the retina, 
Yet insantly the modest brain 
Doth set them on their legs again *t 

Our doctor thus, with "stuff'd suflSciency" 
Of all omnigenous omnisciency, 
Began (as who would not begin 
That h.-id, like him. so much within?) 
To let it out in books of all sorts. 
Folios, quartos, large and small sorts; 
poems, so very deep and sensible 
Th.U they were quite incomprehensible,^ 

Ronsard, the French poet, has enriched his sonnets 
and odes with many an exquisite morsel from the 
Lexicon. His "chere Knteiechie," in addie-sing his 
mistrees, can only be equalled by Cowley's " Anti- 

s Or Glass-Breaker— Morhofius has given an ac- 
count of this extiaordinary man, in a work, publish- 
ed 1682,— "De video scypho fracio,"&c. 

G Translated almost literally from a passage in 
Albertus de Secretis, &c. 

1 Alluding to that habitual act of the judgment, by 
which, notwithstanding the inversion of the image 
upon the retina, a correct impression of the object is 
conveyed to the sensorium. 

8 Under this description, I believe "the Devil 
among Ihe Scholars'' may be included. Yet Leibnitz 



PioiC, which had been at learning's Fair, 
And bought up all ihe trumpeiy there, 

found out the uses of incompiehensibility, wheu he 
VIM appoinled secretary to a society of ihilosxpheis 
at Nuretiibcrp. cliit^tiy tor his in;;eiiiJity in utiImisj a 
cabakMical k-lter. iioroiie wi.rd ..f fillier thty 
or hi nselfcnuld in rrpret. Sue the Elo^e HI^lollque 
de K. de LeibnUz. lEurope Savaiile. — People in all 
age-i have loveti to be puzzled. VVe find l!icero 
thanking Adieus for havini; .eni him a work of Sera- 
pion 'ex quti (s.ys he) qiiidein trgo (quod in'er nos 
liceat dicerej millesimam partem vix intelligo." Lib. 
ji. epist. 4. And we know that Avicenna, the learned 
Arabian, read Aristotle's Metaphysics foity times over 
for the mere pleasure of being able to inform the 
world that he could not coniprehetid one syllable 
throughout them. (Nicolas Massa in Vit. Avicen.) 

The tatler'd rags of every vest. 

In which the Gieeks and Romans drest, 

And o'er her figure swoH'u and ai.tic 
Sea ter'd them all with airs so frantic, 
Thtl those, who saw what fits she had, 
Declared unhapj^y i'f(>^e whs mad I 

Epic? he win ,■ ,Mi I s, ..,■■, r.\ ItblJbStS, 

All as neat ,.^ ■ i ■, I ■ i, ,<..■., ; 

E!i;g, aiidal ,.;-, , . > i ■[ i.h,,, 

Gianuiiais, pi i)r -I. uks - ^hl 'twere tedious, 

Did 1 bui tell Ihce tialf. to follow me: 

Not Ihe scribbling lard of Ftolemy, 

No — nor the hoary Tiismegistus, 

(Whose writing> all, thank heaven ! havo niissM us,) 

E'er till'd with lumber such a wareroom 

As this great ** poicus liieiaruni 1" 




My Lord, — It is impossible lo think of addressine 
a Dedication to your Lordship without calling to 
mind the well-known reply of the Sparian to a rheto- 
rician, who prop sed lo pronounce an eulogium on 
HercnJes. "On Ilercule- !" j^ud the honesi Spartan, 
"who ever thought of bUniin? Hercules ?'» In a 
similar manner the concurrence of public opininn has 
left to Iha paneeyrisi of your L'Tdsliip a very s'lper- 
fluons task. I shall, therefore, be silent on the subject, 
and merely entreat your indulgence to the very hum- 
ble inbiite of gratitude which 1 have here the houour 
to present. 

I am, my Lord, 

VViih everv feelins of allachment 
and reaped. 
Your Lordship's very devoted Servant, 

27 Sury Street^ St. James^Sy 
^pril 10, 1806. 


The principal poems in the following collection 
were written during ati absence of fourteen months 
front Europe. Though curi'sity wa<? certainly not 
the motive of my voyage lo America, yet it hippened 
that Ihe gratification of curiosiiy "as the only advan- 
tage wh-ch I deiived from it. Finding myself in the 
cnun'ry of a new people, whose infancy had promised 
so much, and whose progress to maturity has been an 
object of such interesting speculation, I deiermitied (o 
employ the short period of time, wh'ch my plan of 
reiurn in ELfope alForded me, in travelling ihn'Ugh a 
few of the S'a'.es, and acquiring some knowledge of 

The impression which my mind received from Ihe 
char<cter aiid manners of these leputilicans, suggested 
the Epistles ^^ hich are wnfteo from the cilv of VVa-h- 
ingtonand Like Erie.l How Ur I «as rig'h', in thus 

I This Preface, as well as the Dcdicition which 
precedes it, were prefix'-d originally to Ihe miscella- 
neous volume enfitled "Odes and Epistles," of which, 
hilherto, the poems relating to my Americao tour 
have formed a part. 

a Epistles VI., VIL and Vll!, 

assuming the tone of a sa'irist against a people whom 
I viewed bul as a sinnger and a visiter, is a doubt 
which mv feelings did not allow m»* time to invesli- 
gafe. All 1 prcMime to answer for is the fidirlily of 
tlic jiicture u hich 1 have given ; and though pntdence 
might have dictated genifer language, Irulb, i Ihink, 
Wi.uld have justified >eveier. 

\ went to America with prepossessions by no ni'^ani 
unfavourable, and indeed r.itber indulged in niany ol 
Ih' se illusive ideis, wiih respect to ihe pnrity of the 
enveri ment and the primitive happiness of the people, 
which I had early imbibed in my native cunlry, 
where, unfortunately, discontent at home enhances 
every dis'ani lenip'alion, ;'nd the western world 
long been looked to as a relieat from real or imagi- 
nary opprtssion ; as. in sh'Tt, the elysian Ailanhs, 
where |,ersecuted patriols might find llieir visions 
realised, and be welcomed by kindred spiii s to liberty 
atid repose. In all Ihese flatteiing expec'atirns 1 
found myself conipletely disapporiited, and felt in- 
clined to say to Americi, as Hotace says to his mis- 
Irtss. " inlenta'a nites." Brissot, in the preface to his 
travels,^es, that "freedom in that country is 
earned to so high a degree a» to lorder upon a s'ale 
of nature;" and theie certainly is a close approxima- 
tion to s.ivage life, not oi }y in the liberty which they 
enjoy, bui in the violence of parly spint at^d of pii- 
vate animosity vvhicii results f,om .t. This illiberal 
zeal embilttTs all s ctal intercourse; aid, though 1 
scarcely couM hesitate in selecting the party, whose 
viewj. api eirtd to n.e the more pu e ^nd aliMial. >et 
I w s so-ry to observe that, in as^eiting iheir opinion", 
they boih a some an equal sluie ( f intolerance ; the 
Democrats consistently with their princi|)les, exhibit- 
ing a vuUarity of r.inconr, which the Federalists loo 
ofien are s > f^ifgetful of Iheir cause as lo iniitate. 

The lude fanuliantv of ihe lower orders, and in- 
deed thj unpolislted state of sociey in gener.l, would 
neither sur|Tise nor disgust if ihev seemed to tl(»w 
from that simplicity of character, 'that honest ipno. 
ranee of the gl ss of refinen.ent uhicli may be looked 
for in a new and inexperienced peo|>le. Ftnt, when 
we find them arrived at maturity in mrsi of the vUe^, 
and all the pride of civilisvinn, wljie Ihey aie s'lll 
so far remnved from its higher and better ctiarac^er- 
ist;cs, it is nnpossihte not n. ft-et that this vouthfnl de- 
cav, ihis crnde anticipation of the natuial period of 
cor uption, must re ress e\eTy sanguine hope of the 
future ei.ergy and gre>tne'-s r^f America. 

I am conscious that, in venturing the^e few remarks, 
I hive said just enc ugh to otlVnd, and by no nie<ns 
snmcieni t-. convince ;^ for the limits of a preface pie- 
vent me from entering into a justification of my opin- 
ions, and 1 am commitied ou ifie sulject as efli^ctually 
as if I had wfillen volumes in their di-fencc. My 
reider, however, is apprised of the very cursory nb- 



011S are fo'jndpd,and 
1 the degree of atltu- 


I aj.iilo^.se to ilk 

' ncial, whicb occupy 

[; .' Ill what maimer U> 

u ling Upon their r.ntice 

iich a mass of ed trifles, f^uch a world of 

I epiciifran atoms as I have bere brought in conflict 

loieiher 1 To say I have lean templed by ihe 

Iibenl oflers of my bookseller, 1= an excu-.e which 

I can h"pe for but Ihtle indulgence from the cii'ic; yet 

I 1 own that, uithoui this seasonable induceinenl, these 

pr.ems very possibly wnuld never have been subniit* 

ted to the world. The gla-e r-f publication is mo 

strong for such imperfect pmduclioiis : thev should be 

5howii but tn ihe eye of f.iendship, in that dim light 

of privacy which is as f.ivonrable to poetical as to 

female "beauty, and servts as a ceil for faults, while it 

enlianceti e\eiy charm which it disphy-. Besides, 

this is not a period for Ihe idle occupations of poetry, 

and times like the present require talent* more active 

rful. Few hav 

' the 

: to 1 





Sweet ^fooIl! if, like Crntona's ssge,^ 

By any spell my hand could tlare 
To make lliy disk ils ample page, 

Aiid "lite mv Ihnughls, my ivishes there; 
How many a friend, whose careless eye 
Now wanders o'er that stirry sky. 
Should smile, upon thy orb lo meet 
The recollection, kind and sweet, 
The reveries of fond ie:5ret. 
The promise, never to foiRet, 
And all my heart and sool would send 
To many a dear-IovM, distant friend I 

How little, when we parted last, 
I Ihoueht those pleasant limes were past, 
For eve' pa.t. when brilliant joy 
Was all my vicant heart's employ: 
When, fresh fpom minh lo minh arain, 

We thought the rapid horns too few; 
Our only use foi knowledge then 

To sather from all we ki.ew. 
Delicious d.iys of « him arid soul ! 

When, minf;lini!; loie and lau'h tojether, 
We Ican'd Ihe hook on Plewure's bo«l. 

And turn'd the leaf wilh Folly's fealher. 
Little I thonehl that all were fled, 
Thai, ere thai summer's bloom Mas shed, 
My eye should see the sail unfurl'd 
Thai wafis me to the western world. 

And vet, 't was linie ;— in youth's sweet days, 
To cool that season's flowing rays, 
The heart awhile, wilh wanlon win";, 
Mav .liii and dive in IMea<u.e's spring; 
Bnl. if il wail for winter's breeze. 
T he spriiii; will chill, the heart "ill freeze. 
And then, that H"pp. thai fairy Hope,— 

Oh I she awak'd such happy ilreams, 
And eave my soul such lemplinR scope 

For all ils deaiest, fondest schemes, 

I See the forcjoin^ Note, p. B5, I. 

1 rylhaeoras; who was supposed to have a power 
of wnline: upon Ihe Moon by Ihe means of a magic 
mirror. — See Bayle. ait. Pylhns:. 

Thai not Verona's child of song. 
When fl\ in» from the Phrysiin soore, 

Wilh liehler heart could bound alon^, 
Or pant to be a wanderer more I^ 

Even n"w delusive hope will steal 
Amid Ihe dark legrels I feel, 
Soothing, as yonder placid leam 

Tuisues the murniuTers of the deep, 
And tigh s them wilh consoling gleam. 

And smiles ihem into tranquil sleep. 
Oh ! such a blessed night as this, 

1 often think, if friends "ere near. 
How we shouid feel, and gaze wilh bliss 

Upon the moon-bright scenery here I 

The sea is like a silvery lake. 

And, o'er its calm the ve^sel glides 
Gently, as if it fear'd to "ake 

The slumber of the silent tides. 
The 01, ly envious cloud that lowers 

Hath hung ils shade on Pico's heishi,* 
Where dimly, mid the dusk, he loweis, 

And scowling at this heav'n of light, ' 
Fxulis 10 see the infant storm 
Cling daikly round his giant form ! 

Now, could I range those verdant isles, 

Invisible, at this soft hour. 
And see the looks, the beaming smiles, 

That brighten many an orange bovver; 
And c uld I lift each pious veil, 

And see the blushing cheek it shades, — 
Oh ! 1 should have full many a tale, 

To leli of young Azorian maids. 5 
Yes, S:rangford. at this hour, perhaps, 

^ome lover (not ton idly blest. 
Like those, who in llici' ladies' laps 

Mav ciadle every wih to rest,) 
Warbles, lo touch hi^ dear one's soul. 

Those madiigals, of breath divine, 
Which Camoens' hirp from Rapture stole 

And gave, all glowing warm, to thine.6 
Oh I conld Ihe lovet learn fromihee. 

And bieathe them with thy gracelul tone, 
Such sweet, beguiling niinstielsy 

Would make the coldest nymph his own. 

But, haik !— Ihe b^atsHain's pipings tell 
'T is lime lo bid my dream farewell : 
Eight bells: — the middle walch is set; 
Good night, niy Stiangfoid I — ne'er forget 
That, beyond Ihe wes'ern sea 
Is one, whose heart remembers thee. 


QviLOS is. 

• /i£ TTpocrdiw 

VtviuatcE TavO^wKua firj aiSuv ayav. 
^schyl. Fragment, 
A beam of tranquillity smil'd in the west, 

The storms of Ihe morning pursued ns no more i 

And Ihe wave, while il welcom'd Ihe moment of est, 

Slill heav'd, as rememhering ills that were o'er. 

3 Alluding to these animated lines in the 44lh Car- 
men of Catullus: — 

Jam mi"(>e praeterpidann ovet vacari. 
Jam lat-ti stuilio ^wdcs vigesount ! 
* A very high mnuntain on one of the Azores, fmm 
which Ihe isl 'ud derives its name. It is said by some 
to be as hig5 as Ihe Peak of Teneriffe. 

5 I believe it is Guthrie who says, that the inhabi- 
tants of the Azores are much addicted to gallantry, 
Ihl-' is an ;»B3eriion in ^vhtch even Guthrie ntay bo 

6 These jslands belong to the Portuguese. 



Serenely my heart took Ihe hue of the hour, 

Its passitnis utre sUepnisj, were uiu'e as the dead ; 

And the spirit bec.ihn'd but remember'd Iheir power, 
Ai the billow the fuice of the gale that was fled. 

I thouaht of those d.ivs, when to pleasure alone 
My heart ever graiVcil a whh or li sigh ; 

When the s:icl.ifsi einoljcin my bosom hud known, 
Was pily lor those who «ere wiser 1. 

1 reilecled, how soon In the cup of Desire 
The [learl u( the soul may be melted away; 

How quickly, alas, the pure sparkle of fire 

We inherit from heav'u, may be quenchM id the 
clay ; 

4od I pray'd of that Spirit who Ii?Tiled tlie flame, 
Thit Pleasuie no more mie:bt its purity dim j 

So that, sullied but little, or brisrhtiy (he same. 
1 migtit give back ilie boon 1 had b.iriow'd from 

How blest was the thought ! it appeared as if Heaven 
Had already an openiri;; lo Paradise shown; 

As if, passion all chasten'd ;in<l error forgiven, 
My heart then began to be puiely its ov\u. 

I lonkM to the west, and the be^u'Iful sky 

Which moinihg h.^d clouded, was clouded no 

** Oh ! thus" I exclaimed, ** may a heavenly eye 
**±3hed light ou the soul that wa^ darkcnM before." 


When 1 have seen thy snnw-whjte winj 
From the blue wave ;it evening spriii?,' 
And show those scales of silveiy white, 
So ffady to the eye of light, 
As if thy frame were fnrm'd to rise, 
And live amid Ihe gloiious skie-s; 
Oh ! it has made me pruidly feel, 
How like ihy wing*8 impaiient zeal 
Is Ihe pure soul, that rests not, pent 
Wiihin this world's gro-s element. 
But lakes the win^ ihat God hns given, 
And rises into light and heweu ! 

But, when I see that win?, so bright. 
Grow languid with a momenta flight, 
Attempt Ihe paths nf air in vain. 
And sink into the w.ives again ; 
Alas! the fluttering pride is o'er; 
Like ihee. awhile, the soul miy soar, 
But erring man ninst blush to think, 
Like thee, agxin the soul may sink. 

Oh, Virtue ! when thy clime I seek, 
Let not my spirit's th^Ut be weak : 
Let me not, hke this feeble thing, 
Wilh b ine still dropping from its wing, 
Just sp.irkle in the solar glow 
And plunge again lo depths below ; 
But, when I leave the grosser ihrnng 
With whom my soul halh dwelt so long, 

» It is the opinion of St. Austin upon Genesis, and 
I believe of nearly all tlie Fathers, that birds, like 
fish, were originally produced from the waters; in 
defence of which idea ttiey have collected every 
fanciful circumstance which can tend lo prove a 
kindred similiiude bet^^efn them ; rrvyycveiav rots 
jtsTOfitvoLS npos ra vijtcra. Wiih this thought in 
our minds, when we first ?ee the Flying-Fish, we 
could almost fancy, that we are prt-sent at the nio- 
nient of creation, '-.ud witness the binh of the first 
bird from the waves^ 

Let me, In (hat a-^piring day. 
Cast every lingering stain away, 
And, paiiline for thy purer air. 
Fly up at oiicti and fijc me iheie. 



In days, my Kafe, when life wns new. 
When, luli'd with innocence and you, 
1 heird, in home's beloved shade, 
^ din the world a^ di>t.iiice niide ; 


erynighl, I 

Anil, mild .as ev 
Looks on the fa 

And blu^s'd the 

eary head 
mthori;ed bed, 
ling's ma'roii hour, 
ily shutting flower, 
:• evelid^ close, 

— -... into pure repose; 

I nen. haply if a wetk, a day, 
I liiiger'd from tt,at home aw,iy, 
How long Ihe little absence seem'd ! 
How bright the lonk of welcome beam'd, 
As mute ynu heard, with eager smile, 
My tjies of all that pass'd the while I 

Yet now, my Ka'e, a gloomy sea 
Rolls wide between thai home and me, 
The moon may thrice be b^^rn and die, 
Ere ev'n that seal can reach uiine eye, 
Which used so oft, so quick H> come, 
Slill hre:iihing j]l the breaih of home,— 
As if. siill fiesh. tbecoidial air 
From hps betov'd were lingering there. 
But now, al is,— tar difl'erenl fale ! 
it comes o'er ocean, slow :md late. 
When the dear hmd that fill'd its fold 
With woids of bweetue^B may lie cold. 

But hence that gloomy thought ! at last, 
Beloved K iie, the wa\e^ are past : 
1 tread on enrth securely now. 
And ihegfeen cedars hung bough 
Brea'hes moie refre hnieni lo my eye» 
Thau could a Claude's divinest dyes. 
At length I touch the ha|ipy snheie 
To libeity and virtue dear, 
Where man looks up, and, proud to claim 
His rank williiu the social frame, 
Sees a grand system round him roll, 
Himself its centre, sun, and fouI ! 
Far ftom the shocks of Kurope— far 
From everv wild, elliptic star 
That, shooting with a devious fire. 
Kind ed by heaven's avenging ire, 
So oft ha'h into chaos huil'd 
The syitums of the ancient world. 

The warrior here, in arms no more. 

Thinks of the toil, ide confl-ct o'er, 
And glorying in the Ireedom won 
For hearth and t-hiinc, for f.irc and son, 
Smiles on the dusky webs that hide 
His sleeping sword's rememberd pride. 
While Peace, wiih sunny cln-eks of toil, 
Walks o'er the free, unlordcd soil, 
Effacing wilh her splendid share 
The drops that war had sprinkUd there 
Thrice b.^ppy land ! wheie he who fliej 
From the dark ills of other skies. 
From scorn or want's unnerving woes. 
May shelter him in pioud repose : 
Hope sings along the yellow sand 
Ilib welcome to a pairiol land ; 
The miehty wood, wilh p'^mp, receivei 
The stranger in it:> world of leaves. 



Which soon their barren plory yield 

To the warm shed and culiur'd field; 

And he. who came, of ail bereft. 

To whom maliffnaut fate had left 

Nor home nor f nenda nor country dear, 

Finds home aud friends and couniry here. 

Such 15 the picture, warmly ?uch, 
That Fancy .oii^, with (lurid touch, 
Had paiiiteJ to my sanguii:e eye 
Of maii's new world of liberly. 
Oh ! ask me not, if have yet 
Her seal on Fancy's pmniise s-t ; 
If ev*n a glimpse my eyes behold 
Of that mwgnrd as:e of gold j— 
Alas, not yet onegleiming trace! 1 
Is'ever did y u'h, who lov'd a face 
As sketcliM by some fnnd pencil's skill, 
And made by fancy lovelier still. 
Shrink back wnh more of sad surprise, 
When the live model iret his eyes, 
Than I have felt, in sonow felt. 
To find a dream on which 1 've dwelt 
From boyhood's hour, thus fade and flee 
At touch of stern reality 1 

But, courage, yet, my wavering heart 1 
Blinie not the temple's meanest part,** 
Till thou ha-st trac'd the fabric o'er; — 
As yet, we have beheld no Diore 
Th.»n just ihe porch to Freedom's faoe; 
And, though a sable sp^t may ttain 
The vestibule, 't is wrong, 't is sin 
To doubt the gndhe>d re gus within ! 
So here I pause — and now, my Kate, 
To you, and those dear friends, whose fate 
Touches more near this home sick soui 
Than all the Pmvers from pnle lo pole, 
One word a( parting,— in the t 'ne 
Most sweet to you, and most my own. 
The simple strain I send you here, 3 
Wild th'ush it be, would charni y ur ear, 
Bid you but know ihe trance of thought 
In which my mind its numbers caught. 
»Tw;i9 one of those lialf-wakmg dieams, 
That haunt me oft, when music seems 
To btar my soul in sound along, 
And turn its feelings all to song. 
I thought of home, the according lays 
Came full of dreams of other days ; 
Freshly in each succeeding note 
I found some young remembrance float. 
Till fiiliowing, as a clue, that strain, 
1 wander'd back to home again. 

Oh ! love the song, and let it oft 
Live on your Up in accents soft. 
Say that it tells ym, smtpJy well, 
Ail I have bid its wild notes tell,— 

> Such romantic work- as " The American Farmer's 
Letters," and the account of Kentucky by Imlay, 
would sednce us into a belief, that innocence, peace, 
i and freedom had deserted the rest of the world for 
i Martha's Vineyard and the banks of the Ohio. The 
I French travellers, too, almost all from revolutionary 
motives, have contributed their share to the diffusino 
of this (lallering misconception. A visit to the coun- 
try is, however, quite sulficieni to correct even the 
most enthusiastic prepossession. 
o Norfolk, it must be owned, presents an unfavour- 
ble specimen of America. The characteristics of 
Virginia in general aie not such as can delight either 
the politician or the monlisi, and at Norfolk they 
; exhibited in their least a'tncrive form. At the 
le when we arrived the yellow fever hid not yet 
appeared, and every odour that assailed us in tlie 
streets very strongly accounted for its visitation, 

3 A trifling attempt at musical composition accom- 
panied this Epistle 

Of Memory's dream, of thoughts that yet 
Glow wiih the light of jny that»s set. 
And all ihe fond heart keeps in store 
Of friends and scenes beheld no more 
And nciw. adieu ! — this artless air. 
With a few rhymes, in t^a^^c^ipI fair 
Are all Ihe gif s I >et cin boast 
'Jo send yi u from Columbia's coast j 
But when the sun, with warmer smile, 
Shall lighi nie to my de^linM isle,* 
You shall have many a cowsIip-t>eII, 
Where Ariel slept, and many a shell. 
In which that gentle spiiildrew 
f rooi honey -flowers the moining dew. 




" They tell ofa youti^ 
death of a girl he loved, 

frnm hiu frit-nda, wtiM never aflciwards hrard ut. As he 
had frequently enid, in hia ravinpn, that the girl wa« not 
dead, but gone tu the Dismal Swamp, it is sujip^.Eed he had 
wandered into that dreary wittleriieBs, and had died of 
hunger, ur been loiit in some o( its dreadful 

** They made her a gmve, (oo cold and danip 

'* F'-r a snul so w.irm and irue ; 
" A nd <he > iroiie to the L ke of Ihe Dismal Swamp,* 
" Where, all nieht long, by a fire fly lamp, 

"She paddles her white canoe. 

** And her fire-flv lamp I soon f^hall see, 

" And her piddle I soon 5hali hear: 
•'Loi.g.Ui.l l-ving our life ^hill be, 
"And 1 '11 hide the maid in a cypress tree, 

'* Wtien the footstep of Death is near." 

Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds ~- 

His path was rugged and so-e, 
Thr ugh (angled juniper, beds of reeds, 
Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds. 

And man never trod before. 

And, when on Ihe earth he sunk lo sleep. 

If slumber his eyelids kneu. 
He lay, v\ here the deadly vine dofh weep 
Its venr:jnous tear and nightly steep 

The flesh with blistering dew i 

And near him the she-wolf slirr'd the brake, 
And the copper-snake bretth'd in his ear. 
Till he starting cried, from his dream awake, 
**0h ! when shall I see Ihe dusky Lake, 
"And tlie while canoe of my dear?" 

He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright 

Quick over its surface pl.y'd — 
"Welcome," he said, " mv dear-one*s light !* 
And the dim shore echoed, for many a uigbt, 

The name of the deaib>coId maid. 

Tin be hollow'd a boat of the birchen bark. 

Which carried him ofl" from shore; 
F-r, far he follow'd the meteor spark, 
The wind was high and the clouds were dark, 

And the boat return'd no more. 

< Bermuda. 

* The Great Dismal Swamp is ten or twelve miles 
distant from Norfolk, and the Lake in the middle of it 
v'aDoiit seven niileg lung) is cilled Druninioud's 



But oH, from the Indi»n hunter's camp 

This lover and maid so true 
Are seen al the hour of midnight damp 
To cross the Lak« by a fire liy lamp, 

And paddle their white cauoc! 



Lady ! where'er you roam, whatever land 

Wons tlie bright touches of that artist hand ; 
Whelher you sketch the valley's golden meaJs, 
Where mazy Lmth his lingering current leads j* 
Euaiiii'ur'd citch the mellow hues Ihat sleep, 
Al eve, on Meillerie's iinniorlal sleep ; 
Or niuMiig o'er the Lake, ai d ly's decline, 
Maik the last shadow on that holy shnne.^ 
Where, many a night, the hhide uf Tell complaiDS 
or Gallia's triumph aud Helvetia's chaius; 
Oh! hy the pencil for a momeol by, 
Tuin from the canvass th<t creative eye, 
And let iis splendour, like the morning ray 
Upon a shepherd's harp, illume my lay. 

Yet, Lady, no— for song so rude as mine, 
Chase noi ihe wonders of your art divine; 
Srill, radinnt eye, upm the canvass dwell ; 
Still, niiieic finger, we.ive your potent spell; 
And, while I !>iiig rhe Animated smiles 
of fairy nature in these sun-born isles, 
Oh, might Ihe song awake some bright design, 
Inspire a touch, or prompt one hippy line, 
Proud were my snul, to see iis humble thought 
On painting's miifor so divinely caughi ; 
While wondering Genius, as he lean'd lo trace 
The t.ual cnicepiion kindling into grace, 
Might love my numbers for the spark Ihey threw, 
Aud bless the lay lliat lent a charm to you. 

Say, have you ne'er, in nightly vision, stray'd 
To those pure isles of ever-blooniing shade, 
Which haids of old, wiih kindly fmcy, plac'd 
For hajipy spirits in th' Atlantic waste? 3 
There listening, while, from earth, each breeze that 

Brought echoes of their own undying fame, 
In eloquence of eye, and dre:inis of song. 
They charm'd their lapse of nighlless hours along: — 
Nor yet in song, thai mortal ear might suit, 
For every spirit was ilself a lute, 
Where Virtue waken'd, with elysian breeze, 
Pure tones uf thought aud mental harmonies. 

Believe me, Lady, when the zephyrs bland 
Floated our bark to this enchan eJ land, — 
Thee leafy isles upon the ocean thrown. 
Like siuds of emerald o'er a silver zone, — 
Not all the chmii, ihat ethnic fincy gave 
To blessed arbours o'er the western wa\e, 

1 Lady Donegall, I ha'I reason to suppose, was at 
this time still in Switzerland, where the well-known 
pouers of her pencil musl have been fiequeully 

a The chapel of Willi: 

I Tell on the Lake of Lu- 

3 M. Gebelin, says, in his Monde PrimiUf, "Lors- 
que Sirabon crnt que les ancieiis theoingiens et poetca 
placoient les champs elysees dans les isles de I'Ocean 
Atiaiiii(;ue, il n'emendit neu a leur doc'nne." M 
Gebelin'ii supposition, 1 have no doubi, is tfie more 
correct ; hut that of Strabo is, in the present ins'ance, 
most to my purpose. 

Could wake a dream, more soothing or sublime. 
Of bowers ethereal, and the Spirit's clime. 

Briglit rose the morning, every w^ave was still 
When the tir-t pe fume of a ctdar bill 
Sweetly a^ak'd us, and, wiih smiiing charms, 
The fairy harbour woo'd u-* to its arins.4 
Geiill\ we stele, befoie the whispering wind, 
'I'liiough pl^iniain shades, tb>«t round, like awoiaa, 

And kiss'd on either side the wanton sails. 
Breathing our welcome to these venal vales: 
While, far reflected o'er rhe wave serene, 
Each WdodeJ island shed so soft a gieen 
That the enanmur'd keel, wi h whispering pby, 
Through liquid heibage seeui'd tu steal its way. 

Never did weary bark more gladly glide, 
Or rest its anchor m a lovelier tide ! 
Along the margin, many a shining dome, 
Whi e as the palace of a Lapland ^nome, 
Brighien'd the wave ; — in every myrtle grove 
Secluded bashful, like a shrine of love, 
Snnie elfin mansion (sparkled through the shade; 
And, while the foliage interposing play'd, 
Lending the scene an ever-changing grace. 
Fancy would love, in glimp-es vague, lo trace 
The flowery capir;il, the shaft, the porch,* 
And dream of temples, till her kindling torch 
Lighted me back lo all the glorious days 
Of Attic genius; and I seem'd to gaze 
On marble, fmm the rich Pentelic mount. 
Gracing the umbrage of some Naiad's fount. 

Then thought I, tno, of thee, mnst sweet of all 
The spiiit race thai c< me al poet's call, 
Delica.e Aiiel ! "ho, in brigtier hours, 
Liv'd nn Ihe peifume of these honied bowers, 
In vtlvel buds, at evenii g, lov'd to lie, 
And win Willi music evtry rose's sigh. 
Though wtak the ma^ic of my humble strain 
To charm your spii it from iis orb again, 
Yet, oh, for her, bentalh whose smi e 1 sing, 
For her (whose pencil, if your rainbow wing 
Were dinim'd or rultted by a winlry sky, 
Could smooth its feather and relume iis dye,J 
Descend a moment from y-ur starry sphe e, 
And, if the lime-tree giove that once was dear. 
The sunny wave, the bnuer, the breezy hill, 
The sparkling grotio c>m delight you still. 
Oh, cull their choicest tints, their softest light, 
Weave all these spells into one dream of night, 
And, while the lovely artii^l slumbering lies. 
Shed Ihe warm picture o'er her mental eyes; 
Take for the task her own creative spells. 
And brightly show what song but faintly tells. 

4 Nothing cm be more romantic than the little har- 
bour of SI. George's. 'I he number of beautilul islets, 
the singular clearness of ihe water, and the animated 
play of the graceful little boats, gliding for ever be- 
tween the islai d^, and seeming lo ^all fom one cedar- 
grove into anoiher, formed altogether as lovely a 
uiiniature of nature's beauties as can well be ima- 

5 This is an illusion which, lo the few who are 
fanciful enough to indulge m it, renders ilie scenery of 
Bermuda particularly interesting. In the *hort but 
beautiful Uvilighlof their spring evening-i, the while 
cotages, scattered over the islands, and but partially 
seen'thnugh the trees that snrround them, assume 
often the appearance of li'tle Grecian temples; and a 
vivid fancy njay embellish Ihe poor fisherman's hut 
v^ith columns such as the pencil i f a Claude might 
imitate. 1 had one favourite object of this kind in 
my walks, which the liospitali'y of its owner robbed 
me of, by asking me to visit him. He a plain 
good man, and received me well and warmly, but I 
could never tuiu his house into a Grecian temple 






KtivTj d^ t]Vifiot<r<ra /cat arpoffo?, otti -5-' dXiffXr^g, 
AiOviTfi^ Kat fjtaWov Eitidofios flJETrep lirnoiSt 
n.ov7(i> tvi<rT7}i<raL. 

Catlimach. Hyrmij in Dd. v. II. 

Oh, what a sea of stnrm we 've pa's'd ! — 

Hi£;h mouiitaiu wave* and fj.miy showeri, 
Aiiil bntlling Winds whose swage blast 

But ill agrrees with one whose hnure 

Have passed in old Anacrenn's bowers. 
Yet think do( poesy's bright cliarm 
F'Tsook me in ihis rude alarm : '^ — 
When close they reePd the timid sail, 

When, every f.laiik coniplaiinng loud. 
We lahour'd in the n.idnishi gale, 

And ev'n our h iughi\ main-niaat bow'd, 
Even then, in that imlovtly hour^ 
The Muse sdlt brought her soothing power, 
And, midst the war of waves and wind, 
In song's Elysium lapp'd my mind. 
Nay, when no numtjers of my own 
Responded to her wakening tone, 
She npKuM, with her golden key, 

The casket where my memory lays 
Those gems of classic poesy, 

Which time has sav'd fiom ancient days. 

Take one of these, to Lais sung, — 
I wrote it while my hammock swung, 
As one mislit wi ile a di^sertatinn 
Upon "i>ui>pended Animation ! " 

' This gentlemcin is attached lo the British consu- 
late at Nbifolk, His talenis are worthy of a mucl 
higher sphere; but the excellent disposi ions of thi 
family with whom he resides, and the cordial repose 
he enjoys amongst some of llie kindest hearts in the 
world, should be almost enough lo atone to him for 
the worst caprices of fortune. The consul him-^elf, 
Colonel Hamilton, is one among ihe very few instan- 
ces of a man, ardently loyal lo his king, and yet be- 
loved by the Americans. His house is (he very tem- 
ple of hospitali'y, and I sincerely piiy Ihe heart of stranger who, warm fnim the welcome of such a 
board, could sit d^wu to write a libel on his host, in 
the t ue spirit of a modern philosophist. See the 
'J'ravels of Ihe Duke de la Rouchefuucault Liaucourt, 
vol ii. 

2 We were seven days on our passage from Nor- 
folk to Bermuda, during three uf which we were 
foiced lo lay-to in a gale of wind. The Driver sIoo[ 
of war, in which 1 went, was built at Bermuda of 
cedar, and is accoun'ed an excellent sea-boaf. She 
was then conmianded l»y my very much regretted 
friend, Capttin Complon, who in jiily laM was killed 
aboard the Lily in an action with a French privateer. 
poor Compton ! he fell a victim to the str.uige im- 
pclicy of allowing such .i miserable thing as the Lily 
to remain in the service; so small, crank, and 
manage:ible, that a well-manned merchautman 
at any time a match f-r her. 

3 This epigram is by Paul 'he Silentiarv, and may- 
be found in the Analt-cla of Brunck, vol' lii. p. 72, 
As the reading Iheie is somewhat diflVrent from what 
I hive foMowed in this iransla'ion, 1 shall give it as I 
had it in my memory at the lime, and .-is it is in 
Heinsius. who, 1 believe, first produced the epigram. 
See his Foem.>ta. 

Hdv fitv t(T7i <}nXij^a TO Aaidos' fjdv St avruv 

Gush from your eyelids, such as start 
When those who 've dearly lov'd must part. 
Sadly you lean your head to mine, 
And mute Iho^e arms around me twine, 
Ydui hair adow n my bosom 8i)read, 
All ;;iittering with the tears you shed. 
In vam Pvekiss'd those lids of snow, 
For stilll, like cease!e,^s founts they flow, 
Bathing our clieeks, whene'er they meet. 
Why IS it thus ? do, tell me, sweet ! 
Ah, Lais! are my ly> tigs right? 
Am I lo lose you? .,-night 

Our last go, iAise lo lieaven and ma I 

Your very tears are tieachety. 

Such, while ir jlt I floating hung, 

buch was the strain, Moigante miol 
The muse and I together sung, 

Wiih Boreas to make out the trio. 
But. bless the liltle fairy isle ! 

How sweetly afler all our ills. 
We saw the sunny morning smile 

Seenely o*cr its fragrant hills j 
And felt the pure, delicious flow 
Of airs, Ihrtt round Ibis Eden blow 
Freshly as ev'n the gales that come 
O'er our own healthy bills at home. 

Could you but view (he scenery fair, 

That now beiiea h my window lies, 
You 'd (hink, that nature lavish'd there 

Her purest wave, her softest skies. 
To nnke a heaven for love to sigh in, 
For bards to live and saints to die in. 
Cl'ise to my wooded bank below, 

In glassy c.ilm the waters sle^p, 
And lo Ihe sunbeam proudly show 

The coial rocks they love to steep.4 
The fainting breeze of morning fails ; 

The d^ow^y boat moves slowly past, 
And I can almost touch its sails 

A' loose they flap around Ihe mast. 
The noontide sun a (.plendour pours 
That lights up all these leafy shores ; 
While his own heav'n, i's clouds and beams 

So piclured in the waters he, 
That each snail l»ark, in parsing, seems 

To float along a burning sky. 

Oh for the pinnace lent to thee,* 

Blest dreamtT, who, in vision bright. 

Didst sail oVr heaven's solar sea, 
And touch at all ils isles of light. 

Koi rroXv KixXt^ovca aoSeis iv€o<ttdvxov oiyAi/v, 

'llfLiTipa Kt<paX7)v d7]()OV Eoito-afici't], 
Mfpo/i£f jjv 6* t<}>iXi)(Ta' Ttt d' ois fpocrtpi/j airo 

AaKQva iiiyvvfitvuiv Trmrt Kara <TTOfiaTtuv* 
Eirrt d' aviiQOfitvcj, Ttvog ovvcxa daKpva Aa^ttg ; 
Attdia fii] (It XltctjS' tcTfi yap dpnaTrarai. 

* The w.iter is so clear around the island, that the 
rocks are seen beneath to a very great depth; and, as 
we entered the harbnur, they appeared lo us so near 
the 5urface that it t^eemed impossible we should not 
strike on them. There is no necessity, of course, for 
heaving the lead; and the negro pilot, looking down 
at the rocks fmm the bow of the ship. lakes her 
through this difficult navigation, wi'h a skill and con- 
fidence which seem to astonish some of the oldest 

* In Kircher's " Ecstatic Journey to Heaven," Cos- 
miel, the genius of the world, gives Thendidactus a 
boat of asbestos, wilh which he embarks into the re- 
gions of the sun. *'Vide5{^ays Cosmiel) banc ashes- 
tinam naviculam commodita'i tuae pras|-aratani." — 
Hmtrar. L Dial. i. cap. 5. This work of Kircher 
abounds w ith strange fancies. 



Sweet Venus, what a clime he found 
W'i hin Ihy orlj's ambrosial round!— l 
There spring the breezes, rich and warm. 

That 8is:h around Ihy vesper car j 
And angels d\«ell, so pure of form 

That each appe-*rs a living star.* 
These are the >prites, celestial queen I 

Thou semlest nightly to the bed 
Of her I love, with t.ucli unseen 

Thy plantt's brighiening lints to shed ; 
To lend Ihat eye a iifflit still clearer, 

To Kive thai cheek'one rose-blush more, 
And bid that blushing lip be dearer, 

Which had been all too dtar before. 

Ei, whither means the muse to roam? 

'Tib time to call Ihe wandeier home. 

Who cnuld have thought the nymph would perch her 

Up in Ihe clouds wi-h F^ither Kiicher ? 

So, health and love In all your niausioii ! 

Lont; may tlie biiwl that pleasures bloom in, 
The (low of heart, the snuIN expansion, 

Mirth ai'd sone, your board illunilne. 
At all your feas's. remember too, 

When cups are sparkling to the brini| 
Thai here is one who drinks lo yny, 

And, oh \ as warmly drink to him. 


That sky of clouds is not the sity 
To light a lo\er lo the pillow 

Of her he loves — 
The swell of ynnder foaming billow 
Hesembles n»t the liappy sigh 

That rapture moves. 

Yet do I feel more tranqiiil far 
Amid the gloomy wild, of ocean, 

Inthi- dark hour, 
Than when, in pa^siol^s young emotioiii 
I 've stolen, beneath the evening etar, 

To Julia's buwer. 

Oh '. there 's a holy calm profound 
In awe like this, that ne'er was given 

To pleasure's th. ill; 
'T is as a solemn voice from heaven, 
And tlie soul, lis'ening to Ihe ^ouud, 

Lies mule and btill. 

»Tis true, it lalka of danger nigh, 

Of slumbering with ihe dead to-morrow 

In Ihe cold deep, 
Where pleasure's Ihrob or (ears rf norrow 
No more sh dl wake the heart or eye, 

But all must sleep. 

Well '. — there are some, thou stormy bed, 
To whom thy sleep would be a treasure; 

Oh ! most to him, 
Whose lip hath drain'd life*3 cup of pleasure, 
Nor left one hoiiev-drop to shed 

Round s ' " " 

I When the Genius of the world and his fellow-tra- 
veller arrive at the planet Venus they find an i^laud of 
lovfcline-s, full of odours and mielligences, wheie an- 
gels preside, who shed the cosmetic influence nf this 
planet over the earth ; such bein?, according to .islro- 
fogers, the "vis intiuxiva" of Venus. When ihey 
are in this part of the heavens, a casiii^Hcal question 
occurs to TheoJidacius, and he asks, •' Whether bap- 
tism may be pei formed » ith the valers nf Venus ?" — 
** Anaquis globi Veneris bap ismus instilui possit ?" to 
which the genius answers, " Certainly." 

1 This idea is Faiher Kircher's. "Tot aniraatos 
soles dixisses.'*— Itinerar. I. liial. i. cap. 5, 

Yes — he can fniile serene at death: 

Kind heaven, ilo thou but chase the tveepinr 

Of friends who hive hini; 
Tell thein that lie lie? calmly sleeping 
Where sorrow's stin^ or envy's Lreath 

Is'u more shall niove h.m. 



NEA iv^avvEi. 

Euripid. Media, t. 967. 

Nay, tempt me not to love again, 

'1 here was a lime when love was flweet: 
Dear Nea ! had 1 known Ihee then, 

Our ^ouls had not been slow lo meet. 
But, oh, this weary heart hath run, 

JSo many a time, the rounds ot pain. 
Not ev'n for thee, lliou lovely one. 

Would 1 endure such pangs again. 

If there be climes, where never yet 
The piint nf beauty's fool was set. 
Where man may (la^s his loieless nights, 
Ui.fever'd bv her false delighls. 
Thither my wounded soul would fly, 
Where ro-y clietk or r .diani eve 

Shnuld bri 



: to e 


Ith agii 

r pam, 

: eyes of li^hl, 

ny own, 

Thnuirb li'tlepn 
Now fl ,at before n 

As » hen they tiist ei.aniouriii^ shone,— 
What hours and d.iys have I see~n glide, 
While fix'd. enchained, by thy side, 
Unmindful of the Heeling day, 
1 've let life's dream dissolve away. 
O bloom ol youih iinrfu>ely shed ! 

moments ! simply, vainly s| ed. 
Yet sweetly loo — for Love perfum'd 
The flame which thus my life cnsum'd ; 
And brilliant w is the chain of tioweis, 
lu which he led my vic'im-hours. 

Say, Nei, say, couldst thou, like her. 
When warm to feel .riid quick lo err, 
Of loving fond, of rovrng fonder. 
This ihoughtless soul might wish to wander,— 
Couldst thou, like her, the \\\A\ reclaim, 

Endearing still, reproaching never, 
Till ev'n this heari should burn with shame. 

And be thy own more fix'd than ever? 
No, no— on earth there 's only one 

Could bind such faithless folly fast; 
And sure on earlli Iiut one alone 

Could make such virtue lalseatlasti 

Nea, the heart which she forsook. 

For thee were but a worllilesa shrine — 

Go, lovely irirl, angel look 
Must thrill a soul more pure than mine. 

Oh ! thou Shalt be all else lo me. 
That heart can fee! or tongue can feign, 

1 '11 praise, admire, and worship thee. 

But must not, dare not, love again. 

Tale iter omne cnTe. 

Propifrt, lib. It. ellf. 6. 

I pray you, let us roam no more 
Along that wild and lonely shore. 



Where late we Ihonghtlets stray'd ; 
T was not for us, wJiotii heaveo intends 
To be no mnre ihnn simple ttiends, 

Such lonely walks were made. 

That little Ray, "here turning in 
Froiii ocean's i iidc ar d angry din, 

As I'lveis -teai lo bliss, 
The billows ktss Ihe •■, and thea 
Flow back inin ihe deep again, 

As thuugh ihey did nut kibs. 

Remember, o'er its circling floaj 

In ^vha' a dangerous dream we stood — 

Ihe.-siieur sea befme us, 
Around u*, alt ilie gloom of grove, 
That ever lent its sliade to love, 

Wo eye but heaven 's o'er us ! 

I saw you blush, ynu felt me tremble. 
In vain w^.uld luniul art dissemble 

All ue then lookM and thought; 
'T was more than Inngue could date reveal, 
'T was ev*iy thing that young hearts feel, 

By Love and Waiure taught- 

I stoop'd to cull, with faltering hand, 
A shell that, on the golden sand, 

Before us faintly gleam'd; 
I trembling rais'd it, and when you 
Had kist the shell, I kist it too — 

How sweet, how wrong it seem*d ! 

Oh, trust me, 't was a place, an hour, 
The worst that e'er the templer'i power 

Could tangle me or yuu in ; 
Sweet Nea, let us mam no more 
Along that wild and lonely >hore, 

£ucli walks may be our rL.iu. 

You read it in these spell-bnnnd eyes, 

And there alone shnuld love be read ; 
You hear me say it all in sighs. 

And thus ainne should love be s.iid. 
Then dread no more; I will not speak j 

Although my he.irt lo angnish thrill, 
I '11 spare the burning of your cheek, 

And look it all in silence still. 
Heard you the wi^-h I dar'd to name, 

To murmur on that luckles night. 
When px-si' n broke the bonds of shame, 

And Inve grew madness in your sight? 
Divinely through the graceful dance, 

Vou seenrd to fi0:Tt in silent snng. 
Bending to earth that suony glance, 

As if to hght your steps along. 
Oh ! how could others dare to touch 

That hallow'd form with hand so free, 
When but to look was bliss too much. 

Too rare for all but Love and me ! 
With smiling eyes, "hat little thought 

How fatal "eie the beams they threw, 
My trembling hands you lichtly caught, 

And round me, like a spirit, flew. 
Heedless of all, but you alone,— 

And yoii^ al lea-t, should no; condemn. 
If, whfn such eyes before me shniie, 

My soul forgot all eyes but them, — 
I dar'd to whisper passion'!: vow, — 

For love had ev'n of thought beref: me,— 
Nay, half-w .y bent to kiss thii binw. 

But, with a bound, yotj blushing left me. 
Frtnfrt, forget thai night's ofiWnce, 

Forgive it, if, alas! you can; 
T w;t9 love, 't was passion — f^oul and sense — 
T W2a all tliat 's best and worst in oian. 

That moment, did th' asgcmblcd eyes 
Of heaven and earth my madness view, 

I should have seen through earth and skisty 
But you alone — but only you. 

Did not a frown frnm you reprove, 
Myiiads of eyes lo me were none; 

Enough f'tr me to win your Inve, 
Aiid die upon the spot, wheu won. 


I just had turn'd Ihe classic pnge, 

And irac'd that happy period over, 
Wiien blest ;tlike weie youth and age, 
And love inspiied the wisest s.ige. 

And wtiidom graced the leuderest lover* 

Before I Ind me down to sleep 

Av\hilel from the lattice gaz'd 
Upon ihal stdl ai d m<ionlii:h det^p. 

With isles like floating gaideiis rais'd. 
For Ariel there his spcrls to keep ; 
While, gliding 't wixt their leafy shores 
The lone highl-ii;her phed his oars, 

I felt,— so strongly fancy's power 
Came o'er me in that witching hour, 
As if the whole bright scenery there 

Were lighted by a Grecian sky. 
And 1 then breath'd the blissful air 

That late had Ihrilld to Sappho's sigh. 

Thus, waking, dreamt I,— and when Sleep 

Canie o'er my sense, the dream went on 
Nor, through her curtain dim and deep, 

Hath ever lovelier vision slione. 
I thought that, all enr.<pt, I stray'd 
Through that -erene, luxurious shade,* 
Whfre Epicurus taught (he Loves 

To pidish virtue's native biigh'ness,— 
As pearls, we 're told, that fondling di.ves 

Have play'd wiih, wear a smoother whitenea*.* 
»T was one r.f those delicious nights 

Sn common in the climes of Greece, 
When day withdraws but half ite lights, 

And alt is moonshine, balm, and peace. 
And ihou wert ihere, my own belov'd, 
And by ihy side I fondly rovd 
Through many a temple's leverend gloom, 
And many a bower's seductive bloom, 
Where Beauty learn'd what Wisdom taught, 
And sages sigh d and lover* thought ; 
Where schoolmen conn'd no maxims stern. 

But all was fnrm'd to soothe or move, 
To make the dullest love lo learn. 

To make (he coldest learn to love. 

And now the fairy pathway seem'd 
To lead us through enchanted ground^ 

Where all that bard h^s eve? dream'd 
Ofl ve or luxury blonm'd around. 

Oh! 'twas a bright, bewildering ^cene — 

Along the alley's deepening green 

Soft lamps, that hnng like burning flowers. 

And ; ' - ' " ■-■ "- •-- - 

nted and illum'd the bowt 

1 Gassendi thinks that the girdens, which Pausa- 
nlas nieritioiis, in his first book, »ere tho-e of Epicu- 
rus; and Stuart says, in his Antiquities of Athens, 
'*Near this convent' ithe convent of Hagios Asomatos) 
is the I I'ce called at picenl Kepoi, or the Gardens; 
and Anipelos Kepos. or the Vineyard Garden : these 
v*ere probably the gardens which Pausanias visited." 
Vol. i. chiip. 2. 

^ This method of polishing pearls, by leaving them 
awhile to be played with by doves, is men ioiied b^ 
the fanciful Cardauus, de Kerum Varietal, lib. Tii> 
cap. 34. 



Seem'd, as to him, who darkling rovet 
Amid the lone Hercyoian grove?, 
Appear those countless birds of light, 
That sparkle in the leaves at night. 
And from their witi^s difl'use a lay 
Along the traveller's weary way.i 
'T was light of ihat Miy>terious kind, 

Thrnugh which the soul perchance may roam, 
When It has left this world helund, 

AnJ gone to seek its heavenly home. 
And, Nca, Ihou wert by my side, 
Tlirough all Ihis heav'ii-ward path my guide. 

But, lo, as wand'ring thus we ranged 
That upward patli, the vision chang'd ; 
And now, inetlumglii, we stole along 

Through halls of more vuluptuous glory 
Than ever liv'd in Ttian song, 

Or wantoii'd in Milesian story. « 
And nymphs were there, whose very eyes 
SeemM sotten'd o'er wiih breath of sighs; 
Wh'se evry ringlet, as it wiealh'd, 
A mute appeal to passion breath'd. 
Some flew, with amber cups, around, 

Touring the tlowery wines of Crete ; 3 
And, as they pa<-sM with youthful bound. 

The onyx shone beueaih their feet.* 
While others, waving arms of snow 

Eutwiu'd by snakes of burnish'd gold,' 
And showing charms, as loih to show. 

Through many a thin Tarentian fold.s 
Glided among the festal throng 
Bearing rich urns of flowers along. 
Where roses lay, In Languor breathing. 
And the young beegrape,^ round them wreathing, 
Hung on their blu!.he5 warm and meek, 
Like curls upon a rosy cheek. 

Oh, Nea! why did morning break 

The spell Ihat Ilius divinely bound me? 

Why did i wake? how cmild I »ake 

With thee uiy own and heaven around me ! 

Well — peace to thy heart, though another's it be, 
Aud health to that cheek, though il bloom not for v.r 

1 In llercynio GermaniiP sallu inusitala genera ah* 
turn accepimus, quarum plumse, ignium luudo, collu* 
ceant noctibus, — /"iin. lib. x. cap. 47, 

^ The Miiesiacs, or Milesian fables, had their ori- 
gin in Miletus, a luxurious town of Ionia, Aristides 
was the most celebrated author of these liceniinus 
fictions. See Plutarch (in CrassoJ, who calls them 
OKoAacTa fSiSMa. 

3 " Some of the Cretan wines, which Athenaeua 
calls Oivo? avOotTfuas, from their fragrancy restni- 
biing that of the finest flowers." — Bairy mi H'itiiSt 
chap. vii. 

4 It appears that in very splendid mansions, the 
floor or pavement was fiequenily of onyx. Thus 
Martial : ■* Calcatusque tuo sub pede lucet onyx.-' 
£pig.50, lib. xii. 

3 Bracelets of this shape were a favourite ornament 
among the women of amiqui y. ()i tniKapJTiot ofpti^ 
Kai ai ;vP''-'*'«' f «'5ttt BaiCos Kai Afno-Tayopay «ai 
AatCo<i <l>ap^t.aKa.— Philostrat. Epist. xl. Luclan, 
too, tells'us of the ppaxioia-t tTpa^covTcj. Sec his 
Aniores, where he tlesciiljcs the dressing room of a 
Grecian lady, and we lind the ** silver vase." the 
rouge, the tooih-pjvvder, and all the *' mystic order" of 
arondcra toilet. 

vov ano ttjs 'I'agavrtvtuv XPW^'^S Kat Tpu^Tjj, 
— PoUvx. 

' Apiana, mentioned by Pliny, lib. xiv. and " now 
called the Muscatell (a muscaru'm tclis)", says P.mci- 
rollus, book i. sect. I. chap. 17. 

To-morrow I sail for those cinnamon grove8,8 
Where nightly the ghost of (he Carribee roves, 
And, far from the light of those eyes, 1 may yet 
Their allurements forgive and their splendour forget 

Farewell to Bermuda, 9 and long may the bloom 
Of the lemon and myrtle its valleys perfume j 
May spring to eternity hallow the shade, 
Where Ariel has warbled and Waller lo has stray'd. 
And thou— when, at dawn, tliou shait happen to roam 
Thn-ushlhe lime-cover'd alley thtt leads to thy home, 
Where oft, when ihe dance and the revel weie done, 
And the stars were beginning to fade in the sun, 
I have led thee along, and have told by the way 
What my heart all the night had been burning to say— 
Oh! think <if the past —give a sigh to ihose times, 
And a blessing for me to ibat alley of limes. 

If I were yonder wave, my dear, 

And thou the ivle it clasps around, 
I would not let a foot come near 
My laud of bliss, my fairy ground. 

If I were yonder conch of gold, 
And thou ihe pearl within if plac'd, 

1 would not let an eye belmld 
The sacred gem my arms embrac'J. 

If I were yonder orange-tree, 

And thou the blossom hUmming there, 
I would not yield a biealh of thee 

To scent the most imploiing air. 

Oh ! bend not o'er the water's brink, 
Give not the wave that odorous sigh, 

1 of thine eye, 

Th-it glossy hriir, Ihat glowing cheek, 
So pictur'd in the wafers seem. 

That 1 could sla.lly phwige lo seek 
Thy image in the glassy stieani. 

Blest fate! at once my chilly grave 
And nuptial bed that s'reain might be; 

1 Ml wed thee in i's mimic wave, 
AnJ die upon the :>hade of thee. 

Behold the leafy mane^rove, bending 
O'er the walers blue and hlipht, 

Like Nea's silky lashes, lending 
Shadow to her eyes uf light. 

Oh. my bclnv'd I v;\ 
Some irace of Ihei 

•n every star thy gla 
Thy blush on eve 

■ I turn, 

y flow'ret lies. 

9 The inhabitants pronounce the n»me as if il were 
written Hermooda. See the comnienlalors on the 
words "still-vex'd Rermodthes," in the Tempest. —I 
wonder it did not occur to some of Ihose all-reading 
geritlcn.eii tliat. p *sil ly, llit- di-c.'veier of this •• island 
of iv^-. H, I .1, 1.1, ■■ iMi :l,t hur l.ri'ii no le^s a per- 

sniu-, I I, 111. .■ . ,1 .' l,n ];. iini.!.;-, w|iO, ahoul lllC 

saiiM- ;- I ■, !. M I 1 I, ,,, ,-enlh century), 

w.i-. I .III-. Il I III I |||:, .1 ui.'l, 111 Elhi.ipia, 

and U^s li-ll us must u-u .l.i li,l i,t..i hs i.f tlie Amazons 
and tin; Gridius which hi- i iicoiinUied. — Travels of 
the Jcmits. vol. i. I am afiaid, hoivever. it would 
lake Ihe Patriirch rather too much out of his way. 

10 Johnson does not think Ihat Waller was ever at 
Berniuila; but Hie "Account of the Eumpean Settle- 
ments in America " affirms it conridentij-. (Vol. ii.) 
I mention this work, however, less for its authority 
ttian for Ihe pleasure I feel in (jiinlin^ an unacknow- 
ledged produclion of the great Edmuiid Burke. 



Nor find I in creation aught 
Of bright, or beautiful, or rare, 

Sweet to"the sense, or pure to thought, 
But thou art found reflected there. 


No. ne'er did the wave in its element steep 

An island of lovelier chirms ; 
It blooms in the giant embrace of the deep, 

Like Hebp in Hercules' arms. 
The blush of ynur bowers is light to the eye, 

And their melody balm to the ear; 
But the tiery planet of day is ton nigh, 

And the Suuw Spirit never comes here. 

The down from his wing is as while ae the pearl 

That shines through thy lips when they part, 
And it falls on the greei, earth as melting, my girl, 

As a murmur of Uiine on Ihe he.irt. 
Oh ; fly to the clime, where he pillows the death, 

As he cradles the birth of the ; 
Bright are ynur bowers and balmy their breath, 

But the Snow Spirit cannot come here. 

How sweet to behold him, when borne on the gale, 

And brightening ihe bosom of morn, 
He flings, like Ihe priest of Diana, a veil 

O'er the brow of e^ch virginal thorn. 
Yet thiok not the veil be so chillingly casta 

Is the veil of a vestal severe; 
No, no, thnu wilt see, uha' a moment it lasts, 

Should the Snow Spint ever come tjere. 

But fly to his region — lay open thy zone, 

And he'll weep all his brilliancy dim, 
To think that a bosom, as white as his own, 

Should not melt in the daybeam like him. 
OhI lovely the print of those deiicite feet 

O'er his luminous path will appear — 
Fly, my beloved ! this island is sweet. 

But the Snow Spirit cannot come here. 

EvravBa Se Kadwpfiia-Tat i/fiiv* Kat 6, rt jitv 
ovoita Tjf vr)<T(f>, ovk. oida' %pvo-ij d* av rrpoj ys 
sfAOV ovofia^oiTo. — Philostrat. Icon. 17. lib. ii. 

I stole along the flowery bank, 
"While many a bending seagrape > drauk 
The sprinkle of the feaiheiy nar 
That wing'd me round this fairy shore. 

'T was noon ; and every orange bud 
Hung languid o'er the crys'al flood. 
Faint as the lids of maiden's e>e3 
When love-thnughts in her bosom riso 
Oh, for a naiad's sparry bower, 
lo shade me in that glowing hour] 

A little dove, of mllk^ hue, 
Before nic from a planliin flew, 
Ar.d, light along the water's brim, 
I steer'd niy genlle bark by him ; 
lor fancy Inld me, Love had sent 
This gentle bird with kind intent 
To lead my s'eps, where I should meet — 
1 knew not what, but something sweet. 

And— bless the little pilot dovel 
He had indeed been sent by Ijive, 
To guide me to a scene so dear 
As fate allows but seldom heie: 

: grnpe, a iiative of thi 

One of those rare and brilliant hours, 
That, like the aloe's^ lingering flowera, 
May blossom to ihe eye of man 
But once in all his weary span. 

Just where the margin's opening shade 
A vista from ihe waters made, 
My bird re|.os'd tiis silver plume 
Upon a rich banana's bloom. 

Oh vi^^ton bright ! oh spirit fair \ 
What spell, what magic rais'd her there? 
'TwasNea! slumbering calm and mild, 
And bloomy as the dimpled child, 
Who-e spirit in elysium keeps 
Its playful sabbath, while he sleeps. 

The broad banana*s green embrace 
Hung shadowy round each tranquil grace 
One little beam alone could win 
The leaves to let it wnnder m, 
And, sterling over all her charms. 
From lip to cheek, from neck to arms, 
New lustre to each beauty lent, — 
Itself all trembling as it went ! 

Dark lay her eyelid's jelly fringe 
I'pnn thai cheek v^hnse roseate tinge 
JSlix'd ;vifh Its fhade, like evening's light 
Just touching on the verge of night. 
Her eyes, though thus in slumber bid, 
Seem'd glowing ihrough the ivory lid. 
And, as I thought, a lustre threw 
Upon her lip's reflecting dew, — 
Such a^ a night-iamp, left to shine 
Alone on some secluded shrine, 
Miy shtd ut on ihe votive wreath, 
Which pious hands h.^ve hung beneath. 

Was ever vision hnlfso sweet! 
Think, think how quick my heart-pulse oeat, 
As o'er tlie rustling bank I stole; — 
Oh ! ye, that know'the lover's soul, 
ll is for ynu alone lo guess, 
That momenl's trembling happiness. 


Behold, mv love, the curious gem 

Within "this simple nng of gold ; 
»T is hallow'd by ihe touch of them 

Who liv'd m classic hours of old. 

Some fair Athenian girl, perhaps. 
Upon her hand tins gem di^play'd, 

Nor thought that time's succeeding lapse 
Should see it grace a luvelier maid. 

Look, dearest, what a sweet design ! 

The more we gaze, it charms the morej 
Come — closer bt-ing that cheek to mine, 

And trace with me i's beauties o'er, 

Thnu seest, it is a simple youth 

Ry some eiiamour'd nyniph enibrac'd — 

Look, as she leans, and say in sonth 
Is not that hand most fondly plac'd ? 

Upon his curled head behind 

II seems in careless play to lie, 3 
Yet presses gently, hall inclin'd 

To bring the iruanl's lip more nigh. 

^The Agiive. This, I am aw. re, is an errore 
notion, but it is quite t^ue enough fr)r poeiry. Plato, 
I think, allows a poet to be "three removes fiom 
truth ; " TptTttTo? atio Tr}<i a^'q^aa^. 

3 Somewhat like the symplegma of Cupid and 
Psyche at Floience, in which the position of's 
hand is flnely and delicately expressive of alTectioo. 



Oh happy maid ! too happv boy ! 

TIte one eo fond and little loth, 
The other yieldine; slow to joy — 

Oil Hire, mdted, but blissful both, 

Imngine, love, that I am he, 

And jUit as warm as lie is chilHng; 
Imigine, loo, thou art she, 

Hut quite as coy as she is willing: 

So may we try the graceful way 

III which theii geutle arms are twiuM, 

And thus, like her, my haud I lay 
Upon thy wrealhed locks behiud : 

And Ihus 1 feel thee breathing sweet, 
As slow to miue thy head 1 move j 

And thus our lips together meet. 
And tlius,— and thus,— 1 kiss thee, love. 

Ai-islot. Khttor. lib. iii. cap* 4. 

There 's not a look, a word of thine, 

My soul hath e'er forgot ; 
Thou ne'er hast hid a ringlet shine, 
Nor ^iv'n thy locks one sraceful twine 

Which I remember not. 

There never yet a murmur fell 

Fnim that beguiling tnngi.e, 
Which did nut, with a liuseriiig spell, 
Upon my charmed sell^es dwell, 

Like songs fri<m Kdeu suug. 

Ah I that I could, at once, forget 

All, nil that haunts me so — 
And yet, thou witchin;; ^irl,— and yet, 
To die weie sweeter tha:. to let 

The lov'd remembrance go. 

No ; if this slighted heirt musi see 

Its f.uthlui pulse decay. 
Oh let it die, remt^niheiing Ihce, 
Arid, Irke the burnt aroiua, be 

Consum'd in sweets away. 



" The daylizht Is gooe — but, before we depart, 
" One cup shall go round to the friend of mv heart, 
" The kiiid(;st, the dearest —oh ! jud^e by the tear 
^*I now ^hed while 1 nauie bim, how kiud and bov 

See the Museum Florentinnm, torn. ii. lab. 43, 44. 
There are few subjects on which poetry could be mo 
interestingly employed than iu illustrating some of 
these ancient statues and gems. 

« Pinkerlnn has said ihat "a ^nnd Iii^tory and de- 
scription of the Bermudis miirbl atVnid a plea 
addition lo the geoj;r.iphical lib ary ; " but there ct;r- 
tatnly are not materials fir such a work. 'I he island, 
since the lime of ils discovmy, has experienceil so 
very few vicJssitu'ie-i, ihe i e pie have been so in-io- 
lent, and their liade sn limited, that there is but liitle 
which the historian could amplify into importance; 
and, with respect to 'lit? iiaUral [r reductions of the 
country, the few which the inh.ibitanis can be in- 
duced to cultivate are o conmrtii in ihe West Indies, 
that they have been dcsc ibed by rvery natuialist who 
has writ'en any account of those i^l.^nds. 

It isofien asserted bv the mtic politicians 
that this little colony deseivei moie at euiion from 
the mother-country than it lecei'ves, and it ceriamly 

was thus in the shade of (he Calabish-Tree, 
With a few, who could feel and remember like me, 
I he charm that, to sweeten my gobtel, 1 threw 
Was a Sigh to the past and a blessing un you. 

Oh ! sav, is it thus, in the mirth-bringing hour, 
When fi lends are assembled, u lien wit, in Cull flower, 
lis fuith from the lip, under H.'Cchus's dew, 
losvom^ of ihouaht ever spriN^ing and new — 
nu sometimes tenieiT.^er, .md halhnv the brim 
Of your cup with a sit-h, as >ou crown it to him 
Who IS lonely and ^ad in ihese valleys so fair, 
And would pine in clysium, if friends weieaol there 

Last niglil, when we came from the Calabash-Tree, 
When my limbi were at lest and my spirit was free, 
The glow of the gr-ipe and the dreums of the day 
Set the magical ^p^ings of niy fancy in play, 
And oh,— such a vision as haunted me theu 
1 would slumber for ages to witness again. 
The many I like, and the few I adore. 
The friends who were dear and beloved before, 
lim nuver lilt now so beloved and dear. 
At the call of my F-ncy, suironnded me here j 
And soon,— vU, at once, did (he light of their smiles 
To a paiad se brighten this region of isles; 
More lucid the wave, as they louk'd on it, flow»d, 
And blighter the rose, as they g:Uher'd it, giow'd. 
Not tlie'valle;s Heiaen (though water'd l)y lills 
Of the pea best Mow. from ih "se pastoral hills.1 
Where the Song ri the .^hepherd, and wild, 
Was taught to the nymphs by iheir mystical child,; 

po-8es=es advantages of situation, to which we should 
not be long insensible, if ii were once in the hands of 
an enemy. I was told by a ceteltraied friend of 
Washington, at New York, that they had furn.ed a 
plan f.T i:s capture towards the conclusion ol the 
American War; »' with the in'enlion (as he expIe^sed 
hum^elf, of making it a ne>t of hornets fc<r the aniH-y- 
ance of British trade in thai pari of ihe woild."' And 
there is no doubt it lies so convenun-iy in the liack lo 
the VVest Indies, that an enemy might with ease con- 
vert it into a ver; harassing impednntnt. 

The plm of liish-p lierkeley fur a college at Per- 
muda, where Amcric-in sa^a-es might be converted 
;*nd educaled, lhuui;h concurred in by the go\ernment 
of the day, was a wild and u-eless speculation. Mr. 
Haiiiiltr n. who was g.tvenior ^f the island some 
years snce, p'Oposeii, if I mist-ifce not, the esablish- 
ment of a marine academy for the i. stiucfion of (hose 
children of West Indians, who might be intended for 
:tny nautical empb yn.enf. This was a more lational 
idei, and for son.elhing of this nature the island is 
admirably calculated. But Ihe plan should be much 
more extensive, and embrace a geneial system of 
ednCition; which *»ouid lelieve Ihe c touisis from 
the alternative lo which ihey aie reduced .>t niesent, 
of either sending llieir sons to tngland (or iiislruc'ion, 
or iuirusiinglhtm to colleges in the sfa'esof Anieiica, 
where ideas, by no meius favourable to Oieat Britain- 
are ve.y sedulously inculc..:ed. 

The wnnien of lit-rniuda, though not generally hand- 
sf>nie. have an affection ile 1 mguor in their look and 
manner, which is always iniere ting. What the 
French imply by ihuir epithet aimautt seems very 
much the character of the young Bertnndian girla — 
tin' prtdisposiiion to loving, which, with' ut beiu 
awakened by any particular object, tliliuses itself 
ttirou-h the general manner in a tone of lendernesi 
that never ftjls o fascinate. 1 he men of the island, 
I confess, are not very civilised ; and ihe old pbilnso. 
pher. who imagined that, after Ihi^ life, men v.ould 
he chansed in'o niules, and women in'o lurlie-dovc-*, 
wr. ul! linl the metamorphosis in some degree anlici- 
p ted al lierniuda. 

^Mountains of Sicily, upon which D-iphnis, Ihe 
first inventor of buccdic poetry, \v;ts tiuised by tlie 
nymphs. See the lively description of ihe-e moun- 
tains in Di' duriis Siculus, lib. iv. 'W^aia yap opi) 
*caro Tqv Et/crXiav EffTtv, it, i^affi KaAAet, K. r. A." 



Could boast such a luslre o'er HnA and o'er wave 
As (he magic of love lo this priradise gave. 

Oh. maitc of love ! unembellish'd by you, 
H^ttl) liiegaidfii a blusji or Ihe landscape a hue? 
(Jr shines there a visa in nature or art, 
Like ihat which Love opes thro* the eye to the heart ? 

Alas, that a vision so happy should fade ! 
That, when innrnin? around me in brilliancy pJay'd, 
The rnse and the stieam I had thought nf at night 
Should still lie before me, imfadingly bright ; 
While the friends, who had seeni'd to hang over the 

And to gather the roses, had fled with my dream, 

Bui look, *vhere, ali ready, in sailing array, 
[ The bark that 's to carry these pages away^t 
Impatiently flutters her wing to the wind, 
And will Foori leave the^e islets of Ariel behind. 
What billows, what gales is she fated to prove. 
Ere she >leep in the lee of the land that I love ! 
Vet pleasaril the swell of the billows would be, 
And the roar of those gales would be music ?o me. 
Not the trai.quill«t ajr that the winds ever blew, 
Not Ihe sunniest tears of the summer-eve dew, 
Were as sweet as the storm, or as bright as the foam 
Of the surge, that would hurry yuur wanderer home. 


ii8TH APRIL.'i 

When freshly blous the northern gale, 

And under courses snug we tly ; 
Or when liglii breezes suell the sail, 

And ro)aIs proudly svveep the sky ; 
*Longside the wheel, unwearied s'lU 

I stand, and, as my waictiful eve 
Doth mark the needle's faithful thrill, 

I think of her 1 love, and cry, 

Port, my boy! port. 

When calms delay, or breezes blow 

Ri^ht from the point we wish to steer; 
When by the wind cIo--e-haui'd we go. 

And s'rive in v >in ihe poit to near; 
X think *t is thi;s the faies defer 

My bliss with one that's faraway, 
And while remembrance springs to her, 

I watch the sails and sighing say. 

Thus, my boy ! thus. 

But see the wind draws kindly aft. 

All hands are up the yarJs to square, 
And now the floating stu'n-sails wall 

Our stalely ship through waves aisd air. 
Oh ! then I thmk that yet fnr me 

Some breeze of fortune thus may spring, 
Some breeze to waft me, love, to thee — 

And in that hope 1 smiling sin;, 

Steady, boy ! BO. 


U morning, when the eirth and sky 
Are flowing with the Mih' of spring, 

,Ve see thee not, fhou humble fly ! 
Nor think upon ihy gleaming wing. 

> A ship, ready to sail for England. 

5 I left Bermuda in the Boston about the middle of 
April, ill company with the Cambrinn and Leander, 
aboard the lalter of which was the Admiral, Sir 
AziiTerr Mitchell, who divides his ye^r between 
Halifax and Bermuda, and is the very soul of society 

But when the skies have lost their hue, 
Anfl sunny lights no linger play, 

Ob, Ihtn we see and bless thee too 
For sparkling o'er the dreary way. 

Thus let me ho)ie, when lost to me 
The lighls Ihat now my life illume, 

Some milder joys may come, like thee. 
To cheer, if not to warm, the gloom 1 



If farmer times had never left a trace 

Of human fnilty in their orll^ard race, 

Nor o'er their pathway wriiten, as thev ran, 

One dark memorial of the crlme^ of man j 

If every age, in new unconcinus prime, 

Rose, like a phenix, from ihetites of time, 

To wing Its way unguided ai.d alone. 

The future smiimg and ihe p^st unknown ; 

Then ardent man would to himself be new, 

Eai th at his foot and heaven within his view : 

We 1 might the novice, the sanguine scheme 

Of full perfeclion prompt his daring dream, 

Ere cold experience, with her veleran lore, 

Could itll him, foots had dreamt as much before. 

But, tracing as we do, through age and clime. 

The plai s of virtue midst the deeds of crime. 

The ihinking follies and the reasoning rage 

Of nian. at once the idiot and the sage ; 

When still we see, through every varying frame 

Of arts and polity, his course ihe same. 

And know thit ancient fools but died, to make 

A space on earth for modern fools lo take ; 

'Tis stiantie, how quickly we ihe past totget; 

That Wisdom's self j^hould not be tu'or'd ye', 

Nor tire of w.tching for the monstrous birth 

Of pure perfection midst the sons of earth I 

Oh ! nothing but Ihat soul which God has given, 
Could lead us thus to look on earth for heaven: 
O'er dross to shed Hie light within, 
And dream of virtue while we tee but sin. 

Even here, beside Ihe proud Potowmac's stream, 
Might vagts s ill pursue he flattering theme 
Of d.iys to come, when man shall conquer fate, 
Ri=e o'er tlie level of hi? mottal state. 
Belie the monuments v{ fiailty past, 
And plant perfection in this world at last! 
*' Here," might they say, "shall power's divided reign 
"Evince thai patiiols have not lied in vain, 
'* Here godlike liberty's herculean >nulh, 
*' Cradled in peace, and nurtured up by truth 
"To full maturity of nerve and mind, 
"Shall crush the giants that bestride mankind.* 

and good-fellowship to both. We separa'ed in a few 
days, and ihe Boston alter a shoit ciuise proceeded to 
New York. 

3 The livelv and varying illumination, wr'h "hirh 
these fire fl es I'ght up the wood- at night, gives quite 
an idea of enchantment. *'Puis ces mnuches ae 
developpant de I'obscurite de c^-s arbres et s'appro- 
chani de nous, nous les voyinns 'ur les orangers voi- 
sins, qu'ils melloent toui en feu, nous rendant la vue 
de leiirs beaux fruits dores que la nuit avojt ravie," 
&c. &c. — See VUiUoirc dts Antilles, art 2. chap. 4. 
liv. i. 

* Thus Mope. " Here the sciences and the arts of 
civilised life are to receive Iheir hiehest improve- 
ments : here civil and religious liberty are lo flourish, 
unchecked by the cruel hand of civil or eccles asiical 
tyranny: here penius, aided by all ihe imprnvemeiitB 
of former age!<, is to be exerted in humanBing niaa- 



** Here shall religion's pure and balmy draught 
** Jn form no more from cups of sta'e be quatl'd. 
*' But flow fnr all, through nation, rank, and >ect, 
'• Free as that heaven its tranquil wave^ retted, 
"Around the columns of the public shrine 
*• Shall growing arts their srauml wreath entwine, 
" Nor breaihe corruption from ihe flowering braid, 
" Nor MKiie that fabr.c which they biooni In shade. 
*' No longer here shall Jus:ice bound her view, 
"Or wrong the many, while she nghis the few ; 
*' But take her range through all the social frame, 
** Pure and pervading as thar vital flnme 
** Which warms at once nur best and meanest part, 
** Aud thrills a hair while it expands a heart T' 

Oh golden dream ! what soul that loves to scan 
The bright disk ra'her than the dark of man, 
That ort ns Ihe good, while sniarting wiih the ill, 
And loves Ihe woi Id with all its frailty still,— 
What ardent bosom doc not spring lo meet 
The generous hi'pe, with all that heavenly heat. 
Which makes the soul uawilting to resign 
The thoughis of growing, even on earth, divine 1 
Yes, dearest friend, I see thee glow lo think 
The chain of as;es yet m.iy a link 
Of purer texture Ihwi Ihe world hns known, 
And lit to bind us lo a Godhead's throne. 

But, is it thus ? dnth even the glorious dream 
Borrow from truth Ihat dim, uncertain eleani, 
Which tempts us still to t;ive such lai cies 5Cope, 
As chock not reason, while they nourish hnpe? 
No, no, believe me, 'tis not so — ev'n now, 
While yet u(>on Columbia's rising btow 
The showy smile of young presump'ion plays, 
Her bloom is poison'd and her heait decays. 
Even now, in dawn of life, her sickly breath 
hums with Ihe taint of enjpires i^ear their death ; 
And, like the nymphs of her own wiihering dime, 
She 's old in youth, she 's blasted iu her prime. & 

Already has the child of Gallia*s school 
The foul Fhiloy phy tliat sins by rule. 
With all her Ir.uti of reasoning, damning art% 
Begot by brilliant heads on worthless heaifs, 
Like things Ihat quicken after Nilus' flood, 
The venoiii'd biilh of sunshine and of mud,— 
Already has she pour'd her poison here 
O'er every ch irm that makes existence dear ; 
Already blighted, with her blackening trace, 
The opening bloom of every >ocial giace, 
And all those courtesies, that love to shoot 
Hound virtues s'em, Ihe flow'rets of her fruit« 

And, were lhe?e errors but the wanton tide 
Of young luxuriance or uncha;ten'd pnde ; 
The fervid follies and the faults of such 
Ab wrongly feel, because they feel loo much; 
Then misht experience make Ihe fever less. 
Nay, graft a virtue on each warm excess. 
But no ; 't is heanless, speculalive ill, 
All youth's trangression with all age's chill; 
The ap;iihy of wrong, the bosom's ice, 
A slow and cold stagnation into vice. 

iind, in expanding and enriching their minds with 
religious and philosophical knowledge," &c. &c. — P. 

» ** What will be the old a?e of this government, if 
it 19 thus earlv dicreprt !" Such the rennik nf 
Fauchei, the French minister at Philadelphia, in that 
famous des[>atch to his government, which was inter- 
cepted by one nf nur cruisers in Ihe \ear 1794. 1 his 
curi>us mem rial ni:»y i et mnd in Porcupine's Woiks, 
vnt. i. p. 279. It remains a striking m-nuinent of 
republican intrigue on one side ai d rep hMcaii prnflj. 
g.icy On the other; and I woidd recommend the peru- 
sal of it to every honesi politician, who ma\ labour 
under a moment's delusion with respect to the purity 
of American patriotism. 

Long has the love of gold, that meanest rage, 
And latest folly of man's sinking age. 
Which, rarely venturing in the van of lift, 
While nobler passions wage their healed strife. 
Comes skulking l;ist, with selfi»hness and fear. 
And dies, collecting luniber in the rear,— 
Long has it p:ilsied every g^J^ping hand 
And greedy spirit through this b.irtering land; 
Turn'd life to traffic, set the demon gold 
So loose abroad that virtue's self is sold, 
And conscience, truth, and honesiy are made 
To rise and fall, like other wares of trade.^ 

Already in this free, this virtuous state. 
Which, Frenchmen tell us, was ordain'd by fate, 
To show the world, what high perfection springi 
From rabble senators, and merchant kings,— 
Even here already patriots learn lo steal 
Their jwivate perquisi es from public weal, 
And, guardians of Ihe country's saciedfire, 
Like Afric's priest, let out the flame for hire. 
Those vaunted demagogues, who nobly rose 
From England's debiois to be England s foes,3 
Who could iheir monarch in iheir purse forget. 
And break allegiance, but to cancel debt, 4 
Have prov'd at length, the mineral's templing hue. 
Which makes n patriot, can unmake Iiini too.a 
Oil! Fieedoin, Freedom, how 1 hate Ihy cant! 
Not Eastern Unmbast, not the savage rant 
Of purpled madtnen, were lliey iiumber'd all 
From Unman Nero down to Russian Paul, 
Could grate upon my ear so mean, so base, 
As the rank jargon of that factious race, 
Who, poor of heart and prodigal (>{ word*, 
Foim'd 10 be slaves, ye^ struggling to be lords, 
Sfru! forth, -fs p.ttilnis, Tom their negio-maits, 
And shout for rights, with lapine in their hearts. 

Who can, with pafience, for a moment see 
The medley mass of and misery, 
Of wiiips and charters, nianacles and rights, 
Of slaving blacks and demcvcjaiic white9,(> 

*^ '* Nous voyons que, dans les pays on Ton n'est 
afTec'e que de Fesprit de cummerce, on trafique de 
toules les actions huniaines et de ton es les vertus niO- 
rales." — Montesquieu^ dc VEsprit des Lois, liv. xx. 
chap. 2. 

3 I trust I shall not be suspected of a wish lo justify 
those arbitrary steps of the English government which 
the colonies found it so necessary to resist ; my only 
object here is to expose the selfish motives of some of 
the leading American demagogues. 

* The most persevering enemy lo the inferesfa of 
this country, amongst the politicians of the western 
world, has been a Virginian meichant, who, finding 
it easier to settle his conscience than his debts, was one 
of the first to raise the s'andard against Great Britain, 
and has ever since endeavoured to revenee upon the 
whole country the obligations which he lies under to 
a few of its merchants. 

* See porcupine's account of the Pennsylvania In- 
suirection in 179-1. In short, see Porcupine's works 
throughout, for ample coirobnration of every senti- 
ment which I have ventured to express. In saying 
this, 1 refer le-s to the comments of Ihat writer ihan 
to the occurrerjoes wliich he has rcia ed aid the docu- 
ments which he has preseived. Opiiiion may be sus- 
pected ot bias, but fac s speak for themselves. 

6 In Virginia the eflec's of ihis s\stem begin to be 
frit rather seriously. While t),e master ra^es of 
iibtriy, the slave carmot bul catch the contagion, and 
accordingly Iheie seldom elapses a moith without 
son^e alarm of insurrection amongst the negr'^es. The 
acct'-sion of Louisian:*, ii is feared, will increase 'his 
embar-assnicnt ; as the numerous emigrations, which 
are cxpeci'd lo take place, from the southern sta'es to 
this nev\ly acquired leriitory, will consideralily 
diminish the white population, and thus strengthen 
the pioportion of negroes, to a degree which must 
uli'mately tie tutnous. 



And all Ihe piebald polity that reigns 

111 free cnnfusion o'er Columbia's plains ? 

To thii^k that man, thou jus and genile Gnd ! 

Should stand before thee wiih a tyrant's rod 

O'er creatures like himself, with s -ula fiom thee, 

Yet dare to boast of ptifect liherry ; 

Away, aw.iy— i *d lather h"ld my neck 

By doubtful tenure a sul an'* beck, 

la climes, where liberty has scaice leea nam'd, 

Nor any right but th:it uf ruling cUini'd, 

'Vhrin ihus lo live, where bastard Freedom waves 

Her fustian fla? in mockery over slaves ; 

Where — molley laws admiiting no degree 

Betwix' the vilely shiv'd and aiidty frte — 

Alike the bor.d.ige and Ihe license suit 

The bru;e made ruler and the inau made brute. 

But, while I thus, my fiiend, in flowerless song, 
So feebly paint, wiiat yet I feel so strong, 
The ills, the vices of the land, where first 
Those rebel fiends, that lack the world, were nurst, 
Where treason's arm by n)yaHy was nerv'd, 
And Fieuchmeii learu'd to crush the throne they 

set v'd - 
Thou, calmly lull'd In dreams of classic Ihoughti 
By birds illumrn'd and hy ^agea taui^ht, 
l^^nfst to be all, upon ibis mortal scene, 
That bard hath fancied or that sage hath oeen. 
Why should I wake Ihee? why severely chase 
The lovely forms i<f virtue and of grace, 
That dwfil before thee, like he pictures spread 
Ry Spartan matrons round the gen al bed, 
Moulding ihy f.ncy, and with tradu^il ut 
Brightening the young conceplums of thy hearf. 

Forgive me, Forbes — and should the song destroy 
One genep'us hope, one thiob of social jny, 
One high pulsation of the zeal for mnn, 
Which few cm feel, and bless that few who can,— 
Oh ! turn to him, beneath wh"se kindred eyes 
Thy talents open and ihy virtues use. 
Forget where nature his been dark or dim. 
And proudly study all her lights in him. 
Yes, yes in him the ernng world forget, 
And feel Ibat man may leach perfection yet. 



Aijjyjjo'o/iat Jnjyij/tara icrwy aniCTa. Koivojva <i>v 
KtnovOa ovK txuiv. 
Xtnvphont. Ephes, Ep/iesiac. lib. v. 

'T is evening now ; beneilh the western star 
Soft sighs Ihe lover through his sueet segar, 
At.d fills the ears of some consenting she 
With puffs and vows, with sntoke and constancy. 
The patriot, fresh fmin Freedom'^ councils come, 
Now pleas'd retires lo lash his slaves at home j 
Or won, perliaps, some black A-pasia's charms. 
And dream of freedom in his bondsmaid's arms.* 

In fancy now, beneath the twilight gloom. 
Come, let me lead thee o'er this ''second Rome ! "5 

1 The " black Aspasia " nf Ihe present ****## of 
the Uniied Slates, inter Avernales hand ignotissima 
nymph;is. has t;iven rise lo much pleasantry among 
tlie anti-democrat wiis in America, 

■* On the original location of the grnund now 
allolted for the seat of the Federal City (says Mr. 
WeldJ tlie idenlcal spot on which ihe capitol now 
stands was called Home. This anecdote is rela'ed by 
many ag a certain pfognostic of the future magnifi- 
cence of this city, which is to be, as it were, a second 
Rome." — fVe/d'5 Travels^ letter iv. 

Where tribunes rule, where dusky Davi bow, 

And what was Goose-Creek once is Tiber now : * — 

This embryo capital, where Fancy eees 

Squares in morasses, obelisks in trees; 

Winch secnudsigh ed seers, ev'n now, adorn 

With shrines unbuilt and heroes yet unborn. 

Though nought but i^oods 4 and J n they see, 

Where streets should run and sages ought to be. 

And look, how calmly in yon radiant wave, 
The dying sun prepares his golden grave. 
Oh, mighty river I oh, ye banks of shade! 
Ye inatchiess scenes, in nature's morning made, 
While still, in all th' exuber.mce of prime, 
She pour'd her wonders, lavishly sublime, 
Nor yet had learn'd lo sloop, with humbler care, 
From grand to so:t, from wonderful to fair ; — 
Say, were your towering hills, your boundless floods, 
Your rich savannas and majestic woods, 
Where bards should meditiie and heroes rove, 
And woman cliaim, and mari deserve her love,— 
Oh, say, was world so bright, but born to grace 
Its own half -organised, hill-minded race 5 
Of weak baib.irians, swarmitig o'er its breast, 
Like vermin gender 'd on the linn's crest? 
Were none but brutes to call th»l soil their home. 
Where none hut demigi ds should dare to roam ? 
Or worse, thou wondrous world ! oh ! doubly worse, 
Old heaven design thy lordly land to nurse 
The m' tley dregs of every dis'ant clin.e, 
Kach blast of anarchy and taint of crime 
Wh'ch Europe shake? frf m her perturbed sphere, 

In full malii 

' to I 

nkle here? 

3 A litde stream runs th-ough the cily, which, with 
intolerable attrclation, they have >tyled'lhe Tiber, It 
was originally called Goo^e-Creek. 

4 '*To be under the necessity of going through a 
deep wooti for one or two miles, perhaps,^in order to 
see a next-door neighbour, and in Ihe same city, is a 
curious and, I believe, a novel Circumslance.''— H'dd. 
letter iv. 

The Federal Cily f if it must he called a city) has 
not been much increased since Mr. Weld visited it. 
Most of tlie public buildings, which were then in 
some degree of forwardness, have been since utterly 
suspended. The hotel is already a ruin j a great pari 
of i's roof his f.illen in, and the rooms .ire left to be 
occupied gia'uilously hy the mi>eiable Scotch and 
Irish emigr.inls. The President's house, a very noble 
slruc'nre, is by no means suited to the jhilosophical 
humility of ilspiesent possessor, who inhabits but a 
comer of Ihe mansion hiuiself, and abandons Ihe rest 
to a stale of uncleanly desolation, which those who 
are not philos pliers cannot look at without regret. 
This giand edihce is encircled by a very rude pahng, 
through which a comui' n rustic stile introduces the 
visiieis of Ihe firs! man in America. With respect to 
all that is within Ihe house, I shall imitate the pru- 
dent foibeaiance of Herodotus, and say, za d iv 

The private buildings exhibit Ihe same charac- 
teristic dis|ilay of arrogaiit speculation ard premature 
luin ; and the few langes nf houses which were begun 
some yenrs ago have rema ned so long waste and un- 
limshed Ihat tliey aie now for the most part dilapi- 

s The picture which BuiTon and De Pauw have 
drawn of the Americ-n Indian, though very humiliat- 
ing, is, as far as I can judge, much more correct than 
the flattering repre-en'alioiis which Mr. Jellerson hai 
given us. See ihe Nrtes en Virginia, where this gen- 
tlern^m endeavours (o disprove in general the opinion 
maintained so strongly by some philosophers that 
nature (as Mr. Jelleison expresses it) bc-lilths her 
productions in the WLslcin world. M. de Fauw attri- 
butes the imperfection of animal life in America to 
Ihe ravages of a very recent deluge, from whose 
effec's upon its soil and atmosphere it has not yet 
sufficiently recovered. — Rccheiches sur Ics Jtmcrh 
cains, part i. torn. i. p. 102. 



But hold,— observe ynn litlle mount nf pines, 
Where the breeze niumm s and ilie fire-fly shines. 
There let thy fancy r.ise, in bold lehef, 
The Bculptur'd iriiaue of ihal ve fr.iii chief i 
VVhn lost thu rebel's in the hen.'s uame» 
And cIirV>'U o'er jimstrate loyalty 1(j fame; 
IJeiieath v: iOse sword Columbia's (lairiot train 
Cast oif their monarch, that Iheir mob might reigu. 

How shall we rank thee npon glory's page? 
Thou more than soldier and just less than sage I 
Of peace too fond lo act the conqueror^ pirt, 
'I'ou long in camps to learn a staiesman's art, 
Nature designed thee for a hero's mould, 
llut, ere she cast Ihee, lel the stufl"gruw cold. 

While loftier snuls command, nay, make their fate, 
Thy fate made ihee and forc'd thee to be great. 
Yet' Foi tune, who so oft, so blindiv sheds 
Her brightest halo round the weakest heads, 
Found l/tee undazzled, tranquil as befoie, 
Proud to be useful, scorning lo be more ; 
Less mov'd by glory's than by dut\'s cl;um, 
Ki nnwn the meed, but (-elf-applause the aim; 
^11 that thou wert reflects less f mie on thee, 
Far less, than al! thou duhi fi.thcar to be. 
Nor yet the patriot of (tne land abne.— 
For, thine 's a name all na'i'ins claim their own; 
And every shoie, where brealh'd the good and brave, 
Eclio'd the plaudits thy own country g»ve. 

Now look, my friend, where faiut the moonlicht 
On yon Jer dome, and, in those princely halls,— 
If thou canst bn\e, as suie thai s')ul niusi hate, 
Which loves the viituons and reveres the great,— 
If Ihou canst loathe and execrate with me 
The poisonous drug of French phil sophy. 
That nauseous slaver of these f.aniic times, 
With which filse liber'y dilutes her cunies,— 
If thou has' goi, within thy freeborn breast. 
One pulse that bents moie proudly than the rest, 
Wilti honest scorn for that inglorious soul 
Which creeps and winds benea'h a mob's control. 
Which courts the rabble's smile, tlie rabble's nod, 
And makes, like Egypt, every beast its god, 
There, in those walls — but, buiniiig tongue, forbear! 
Rank must be leverenc'd. even the rank Ihit 's tliete: 
So here I pause — and now, dear Hume, we part; 
But oft again, in fr;iijk exchange of heart. 
Thus let' us meet, and mingle converse dear 
By Thames at home, or by Potowni:^c here. 
O'er lake and marsh, through fevers and through fogs, 
Midst bears and yankecs, democa's and fiogs, 
Thy fo()t shill follow me, thy heari ;tnd eyes 
With me sh:ilt wonder, and with me desidse.a 
While I, as oft, in fancy's dreim sliall rove. 
With thee conversing, through thai land I love. 

» On a small hill near 'he capitol there is to be an 
equestrian statue of General VVashinglon. 

2 In the ferment which the Ftench revolution ex- 
cited among the d-^moca's of America, and the licen- 
tious sympathy with which they shared in the wildest 
excesses of jacobinism, we may find one source of 
tha' vulgarity of vice, that hostiliiy to all the gnces 
of life, which disiinguishes the pre-ent demagogues 
of the United States, and has become irjdeed too gene- 
rally the characteris'ic of their countrymen. But 
there is another ciuse of the corruption of private 
niomls, which, eucnurased as it isbv the government, 
and identified with the in'erests of the comniunily, 
*icems to threaten the dec^iv of all honest princiide in 
Americi. I allude to tho-,e fraudulent violations of 
neutrality to which they are indebted for the most 
lucrative part nf Iheir Cf-mmerce. and hv which they 
h lye so long infringeil and counterac ed the maritime 
rieht? and advantages of this country. This unwar- 
rantable trade is necessarily abetted by such a system 
of collusion, imposture, and perjury, as cannot fail to 
ppread rapid c 'nlamination around it. 


Where, like the air that fans her fields of greeD, 
Her freedom spreads, unfevcr'd and serene; 
Andsoveieign man can condescend to see 
The throne and laws more sovereign still than be. 


T7}v6£ TTjv noXtv ^tAcoj 
Et^wv, tnalia yap. 

Sophod. CEdip. Colon, v. 758. 

Alone by the Schuylkill a wanderer rov'd, 
And bright were its flowery banks to his eye; 

But tar, very far were the friends th it he lov'd, 
And he gazed on its flowery banks with a sigh. 

Oh Nature, though blessed and bright are thy rays, 
O er the brow of creation enclian ingly (hVowni 

Vet faint are they all to the hisire that plays 

In a smile froi'n the heait that is fondly our own. 

Nor long did the soul of the stranger remain 
Unblest by the smile he had hntcuish'd lo meet ; 

Though scarce did he hope it would soothe him again. 
Till the threshold of home had been prest by his feet. 

But the Jays of his boyhood had slol'n to tlieir car, 
And they lov'd what they knew ol so humble a 
nanie ; 
And they told him, with flat'ery welcome and dear, 
That they found in his heart something better than 

Nor did woman — oh woman ! whose form and whose 

Are the spell and the light of each path we pursue : 
Whether S'mn'd in the tropics or chill d at the pole, 

if woman be there, there is happiness too: — 

Nor did she her enamouring magic deny, — 
That magic his heart had relinquish'd so long,— 

Like eyes he had lov'd was /itr eloquent eye, 
Like them did it soften and weep at his song. 

Oh, blest be the tear, and in memory oft 

May its spaikle be shed o'er the wanderer's dream , 

Thrice blest be that eye, and may passion as soft, 
As free from a pang, ever mellow its beam ! 

The stranger is gone — but he will not forget. 

When at home he shall talk of the toils he has 

To tell, with a sigh, what endearments he met, 
As he stray'd by the wave of the Schuylkill alone. 


e of morn (ill set of sun 
I tfie mighty Mohawk run ; 

3 There is a dreary and savage character in the 
country immediately about the^e Falls, which is much 
more in harmony with the wildness of such a scene 
than the cultivated lands in the neighhouihood of 
Niagara. See the drawine; of them in Mr. Weld's 
book. According to him, the perpendicular height of 
the Cohos Fall is fifty feet ; tut the Marquis de Chas- 
tellnx makes it seventy-six. 

The fine rainbow, which is contlnunllv forming and 
he spray rises in'o the light of tlie sun, 



And as I mark'd the woods of pine 

A!on5 his mirror darkly shine, 

Like tall and glnnniy fnrms hat pass 

Before the wizard's midniihl g'ass j 

And as I vie»M the huriying pace 

Wiih which he ran tiis lurbid race, 

Ruhhin^, ahke untir'd and wild, 

'I hrou^li shades ihai fro^n'd and flowers that s 

Flying by eve y gieeu recess 

That %vou'd him lo i(s calm caress, 

Yet, s nietimes lurning with the wind, 

As if to leave one- look behin5,— 

Oft have I thought, and Ihinkins si^hd, 

How like to thee, ihou lestless tide, 

M.iy be the lot, the life of him 

Who roims along thy waei's brim ; 

Through what alternate wastes of woe 

And flowers of joy my path may go j 

How niany a shelter'd, dim retreat 

May woo ihe while my weiry feet, 

While still pursuing, stdl unblest, 

1 wander on, nor dare to rest ; 

But, urgent as Ihe doom that calli 

Thy water to its deslin'd falls, 

I feel the world's bewilderiig forco 

Hurry my heirt's devoted course 

From lapse to lapse, tilt life be done, 

Aud the spent current cease to run. 

One only prayer I dare to make, 
As onward 'hus my course I lake ;— 
Oh, be my f.iUs as brigh' as thine ! 
May heaven's relenting rainbow bbine 
Upon the mi t thai circles me, 
As soft as DOW it hangs o'er ibee I 


Now the vapour, hot and damp, 
Shed by day's expiring lamp, 
Through the misy ether spreads 
Every ill the white mandieads; 
Fiery fever's thirsty thnll. 
Fitful ague's shiveiing chill 1 

Hark ! I hear the traveller's song, 
As he winds the wood-, along ; — 
Christian, 'i is the song of fear; 
Wolves are round thee, night is near, 
And the wild thou dat'st to roam — 
Think, U was once the Indian's home !* 

Hither, sprites, who love to harm, 
Wheresoe'er you work your charm, 
Bv the creeks, or by the brakes, 
Where the pale witch feeds her snakes, 
And the cayman 3 loves to creep. 
Torpid, to his wintry >leep : 

> The idea of this poem occurred 'o nie in pas-ing 
through the very dreaiy vvildeines-' between Batavis, 
a new settlement in the midst of the woods, and the 
little village of Buffalo upon Lake Erie. This is the 
most fatiguing part of the route, in travelling through 
the Genesee country to Niagara. 

« "The Five Confederated Nations fof Indians) 
were settled along the bniks of the Snsquehannah ai.d 
the adjacent country, until the year 1779, " hen Gene- 
ral Sullivan, wiih an army of 4000 men, drove Ihem 
from their country to Niagara, where, being c bligcd 
lo live on silled provisions, to which they were ui. ac- 
customed, great numbers of i hem died. Two hundied 
of them, it is said, were buiied in one grave, where 
they had eucumped,"— Morse's American Geography. 

s The alligator, who is supposed to lie in a torpid 

Where the bird of carrion flits, 
And the f-huddering murderer sits,* 
L' ne beneath a roof of blooJ ; 
While upon his po.son d food, 
Fiom the corpse of him he ^lew 
Drops the chill and gory dew. 

Hither bend ye, turn ve hither, 
E\eb ih-u blast nnd wings that witherl 
Cio^s the wandeiing Christian's way, him, eie the g.impse of day, 
Many a mile of mad'ning error 
1 h rough Ihe maze of night and terror, 
Till the n.orn behold hiju lying 
On the damp earth, pale and dying. 
Mock him, when his eager >ight 
Seeks the codial cotlage-light ; 
Gleam then, like Ihe lightning-bug, 
T empl him 10 the den ihal 's dug 
For the loul and fanij.-ih'd bniod 
Of the she wolf, gaunt f t blood ; 
Or. untu the dangemus jjass 
O'er Ihe deep and dai V, morass, 
Where the trembling Indian brings 
Belts of porcelain, pipes, and rings, 
T ributes to be hnng in air. 
To the Fiend pie&idiiig itieie!* 

Then, when night's long labour past, 
VVildei'd, faint, he falls at last, 
Sinking where the causeway's edge 
Moulders in the hlimy sedge, 
There let every noxious ihmg 
Trail i's filth and tix its t>ting ; 
Let (he bull-toad taint him over, 
Round hmi let mu quiloes hover, 
In his ears and eyeballs tingling, 
With his blood their poison mingling, 
Till, beneath the solar fires, 
Rankling all, Ihe wretch expires 1 


Nee venlt ad durra musa voeaia Getafl, 

Ovtd. ex Ponto, lib. L ep. 6. 

Thou oft hast told me of the happy hours 

Enjoy 'd by thee in fair Italia's bouers, 

Where, lingering \et, the gho^t of ancient wit 

Mids modern mniiks jirofanely dnres to flit, 

And Fagan spirits, by the Pope unlaid, 

Haunt every stream and smg through eveiy shade. 

There still the bard who (if his numbeis be 

His tongue's light echo) must have talk'd like thee,- 

vtateall Ihe winter, in the bmk of snme creek or pond, 
having prevmu ly sw^llnwed a large nuniber of pr 
knots, which are his only sustenance during the lii 

* 1 his was the mode of punishmenl for mu'der (« 
Charlevoix tells us) among Ihe Huron'. ** 'I hey laid 
the dead body upon poles at the top of a cabin, and ihe 
murderer was obliged lo lemain several d.iys t"getht 
and to receive all that dropped from the carcass, not 
only on himself but on his food." 

6 '* We find also collars of porcel-Tin, tobacco, ea; 
of m.Vi7e, skins, &c. by the side of diftkuli and danse 
ous ways, on mcks, or by the side of the falls j an 
these are t-o many offerings ni:tde to Ihe spirits whic 
preside in these places."— See CAnrZeuo/x'j i£»er o 
the Traditions and the Kchgion oj the Savages of 

Fa her Hennepin loo mentions this ceremony j he 
als' says, *' We took notice of one barbarian, v ' 
made a kind of sacrifice upon an oak at ihe Cascade 
of St. Anthony of Pndus upon the tivfr Misaissipi 
— Sec Iltnncjjin's yoyage into North America, 



The courtly bard, from whom tliy mind has caught 
Those playful, stinsliiue liolyilays of thouglit, 
In which the S|)irit laskm^ly n dines, 
Iiri§h( wUhnut elf..rt, resim^ while it shines,— 
There sliil he roves, :»iui laiighins h>ves to see 
How modern piiesis wilh ancitiil rakes a^ree; 
How, 'neath the cowl, Ihe iL&tal tcarland shir;es, 
And Xxive siill liuds a niche in ChribtiAU shrines. 

There silll, too, romi those oiher souls of song, 
With whom t^iy spjnt hath commuii'd so long, 
That, quick as lis^lit, their i-arest gems of thought. 
By Memory's niasjtc to thy lip are brought. 
Hu' here, alas ! by Erie's sturuiy like, 
As far tntni such bright hautits my course I take, 
No proud remembrance o"er the fancy jjlajs, 
rio classic dream, no star of other diys 
Hath left that visionary light behind, 
Thai lingering radl^mce ot intmorlal mind, 
Which gilds and hallows even the rudest ^cene, 
The humblest shed, where Genius once has been I 

All that creation's varying mass assumes 
Of grand or lovely, heie aspires and blooms j 
Bold rise the mountains, rich the gardens glow, 
Bright lakes expand, and conquering i rivers dow j 
But mind, inimort'il mind, witliout whose ray 
This world 's a wilderness and man but clay, 
Mind, mind alone, in barren, still repose, 
Noi blooms, nor rises, nor ex)iands, nor flows. 
Take Chiistians, Mohawks, democri s, and all 
From the lude wig-wam to tlie congress-hall, 
From man the savage, whetlier slav'd or free, 
To mau the civiliz d, less tame than he,— 
'T is one dull chaos, one ui. fertile strife 
Bet^vixt half-polish'd and half-baibaroua life ; 
Where every ill tlie ancient world c >uld brew 
Is mix'd with every giossne^s of the new ; 
Where all corrupts, though little can eoiice, 
And Qoughl is known of luxury, but its vice 1 

Is this the region then, is this the clime 
For soaring fancies? fT those dnams sublime, 
Which all iheir nii-ncles of litjht reveal 
To heads that meditate and heatls ihat feel ? 
Alas ! not so — the Muse of Nature l.ghts 
Her glories round ; she scales the mountain heights, 
And roams (he f.*re8ts ; every woiid'rous spot 
Burns wiih her step, yet man regar.ts it not. 
She whispers round, her words are in the air. 
But Io>t, unheard, thev linger freezing there,^ 
Without one breith of soul, divinely strong, 
Une ray of mind to thaw them into song. 

Yet, yet forgive me, oh, ye sacred few. 
Whom late by Delaware's green banks 1 knew; 
Whom, known and lov'd through many a sncial eve, 
*T was bliss to live with, and 'I was pain to leave. 3 

!■ This epithet was suggested by Charlevoix's strik- 
ing description of the confluence of tl-e Missouri with 
Ihe Mississippi. "I believe this Is the finest conflu 
ence in t^ie worH, The two rivers are much of the 
same breidih, each ab ut half a league ; but the Mis- 
souri is by far the most rapid, and seems to enter (he 
Mississippi like a conqueior, thinuih which it catries 
its white waves to the opposite shnie, without mixing 
them : afterwirds it gives its colour to the Mississippi, 
which it never loses again, but carries quite down to 
the sea." — Leter xxvii. 

* Alluding to the fanciful notion of " wordi con- 
gealed Ml northern air." 

3 In Ihe society of Mr. Dennle and his friends, at 
Philadelphia, I passed the few agiee«ble momtn't 
which my tour through the St 'les atTnded nje Mr. 
Dennie has succeeded inditfusinir through this culti- 
vated liitle circle that love for go d li t^ra ure and 
sound politics, which he feels so zealously himself, 
and which is so very rarely the characteristic of his 
countrvnien. They will not, I trust, accuse me of 
illiberality for the picture which I tiave given of the 

Not with more joy the lonely exile scanned 
The writing traced upon the desert's sand, 
Where his lone heart but liltic hop'd lo hnd 
(ine hace of life, one slamp of human kind, 
'I ban did I hail the pur.-, th' enlu^hten'd ze,.I, 
Tiiubtien'^rh to reason and the wamith to fccL 
Tliennihly poll hand ilie ilUiniinVl fsie, 
Wliich."»mid (he nulanili<-lv, heatt ess wast© 
My toot ir>ver.'d — oh, )ou -acied few! 
1 found by Delaware's gieen b.uik» with y> u. 

Long may you loathe the G;tliic dross Ihat runp 
Throutch your fair country and conup s its sons: 
Long love the ar:9, (he gh rius which adorn 
Tliose fields of freedom, wheie your sires were born. 
Ob ! if America can ye; be great, 
If neither chun'd by choice, nor dnom'd by fate 
To the mob-nnnia which mibru'es her now. 
She yet can raise the crown'd, yet civic brow 
Of Single majesty,— cin add the grace 
Of Bank's rich capital lo Freedom's ba^e, 
Nor feir the rnighiy shaft will feebler prove 
For the fair ornament ihat flowers above ; — 
If yet releas'd from all that pedant throng, 
So vain of error and so pledged lo wrong, 
Who hourly teach her, like themselve?, to hid* 
Weakness in vaunt, and btrreiiness in pride, 
She yet can rise, can wieathe the Attic chirnis 
Of 8 ifi rehiienient round the ponip of arms, 
And see her poets flash the flies of son?. 
To light her waniors' thunderbolts along j^ 
It is to you, to souls that favouring heaven 
Has made like yours, the glorious tjsk i^- given : — 
Oh ! but for sxtch, Colnmbia's day:, were done; 
Rank without iipeness, quicken'd witlK.utsuu, 
Crude at the surface, ro'ten at Ihe core. 
Her fruits would fall, before her spiing were o'er. 

Believe me, Spencer, while I wiiig'd the hours 
Where Schuylkill winds his way through banks of 

Thoueb few the days, the happy evenintrs few. 
So warm with heart, so rich with mn d ihey flew, 
'Ihai my charm'd soul forgot lis wish to roam, 
And res ed there as in a dream of home. 
And looks I uiet, like looks I'd lov'd before. 
And voices too, which, as ihey trembled o'er 
1 he chi id <if memory, foui d full many a tone 
Of kindness there in concoid with 'heir own. 
Yes,— ue had nights lif that communion free, 
'Ihat flow of heart, which I have kno^n with thee 
So o(t, BO warmlv; nights of mirth and mind, 
Of whims that taught, and follies Ihat rclin'd. 
When shall we both renew them ? when, re-'lor'd 
'io the g.iy feast and inlellecual board, 
Shall I once more enjoy « i h thee and ihine 
Those whims :hat teach, those fnlhes that refine? 
Even now, as, wandering np n Kne's shore, 
I hear Niagara's dis'ani cataract roar, 
I sigh for home — alas! thee we^ry feet 
Have many a mile to journey, ere we meet. 



I knew by the sm-^ke, that so gracefully curlM 
Above the green elms, that a collate was near, 

And I said. ••If there's peace lo be found lu Ihe 
woi Id, 
**A heart that was humble might hope for it here !', 

ignorance and cnrrup'ion that sui round them. If I 
did nol lute, as I ought, the rabble to which they are 
opposed, 1 could not value, as 1 do, the spirit with 
which Ihey defy it; and in learning from them what 
Americana can /le, 1 but see with the mure indignation 
whiit Americans are. 



It was noon, and on flowers that lan^nish'd around 

In silence repos'd the volupluous hue ; 
Every leaf was at re>t, and I heaid nnl a sound 

But the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech-Ires. 

And. '• Here in this lone little wood," I exclaimM, 
" Wi'h a m.iid who was lovely lo soul and to eye, 

*'\Vho would blu->h when 1 prais'd her, and weep iT 
I hlani'd, 
" How blest could I live, and how calm could I die ! 

*' By the shade of ynn sumach, whose red berry dips 
"III ihe gush of ihe founi;iiii, how sweet to recline, 

»*And to knoiv ihat I sighM upon innocent lips, 
" Which had never been sigh'd on by any Lut 
mine I " 

£t remigeni ( 

Faintly as Inllg the evening chime 
Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. 
Sotm as the woods on shore look dim, 
We 'II sinff at St. Ann's our parting h\ mn.* 
Row, bn'thers, row, the stream runs fast, 
The Rapids are near and the daylight 's past. 

> I wrote these words to an air which nur boati 
snng to us frequen'ly. The wind was so uufavourable 
that they were obliged to row all the way, and we 
Were hve days in de-cending; the river frnm Kingston 
to Mon'real. exposed to an intense ^un during the dav, 
and at night fo'ced to take shelter fiom Ihe dews in 
any iniserable hut upon the banks that would receive 
U9. But tlie maiinificent sctuery of the St. Lawrence 
repays all such diflicullies. 

Our voyageurs had good voices, and sung peifeclly 
in tune tngetlier. The original words of the air, to 
which I adapted these stanzas, appeared to be a long, 
incoherent btory, of whicli I could understand bai 
Utile, from the barbarous pronunciation of the Cana- 
dians. II begins 


And the refrain to every verse was, 

I ventured to harmonise this air, and have published 
it. Without that charm which associaiion gives to 
every little memorial of scenes or feelings that are 
pa?;t, the melody mav, perhaps, be thought common 
and triHmg; but I lemt-mber whsn we hiive entered, 
at sunset, upon one of those beautiful hikes, into u hich 
the St. Lawrence so grandly and unexpectedly opens, 
I have heard this simple air with ;i pleasure which 
the finest compositions of the lirst masters have never 
given me ; and now there is not a note of it which 
dnes not recall to mv memnry the dip of our oars in 
tlie SI. Lawrence, the flight of our boat down the 
Rapids, and all those new and fanciful impressions to 
which my heart was alive durmg Ihe whole of this 
very iniere^tiog voyage. 

The above stanzas are supposed to be sung by those 
i?o?/Qgein* whogo to the Grand Portage by the Uia- 
was River. For an account of this wonderful under- 
taking see Sir Alexander Macke-zie's General His- 
tory of the Fur Trade, piefixt-d to ha Journal. 

« " At the Rapid of St. Ann they are obliged (o take 
out part, if not the whole, t.f iheir lading. It is from 
this spot ttie C^indiaiis consider 'hey t^ke (heir d. par. 
ture, as it pr.ssesses Ihe last chuich on the island, 
which IS d(dicated to the tutelar saint of voyagers.'' — 
Mackenzie, General History of the Fur Trade. 

Why should we yet our s^il unfurl ? 
There'is nnt a breaih the blue wave to curl, 
Bui, when the wind blows oif the shore, 
Oh I sweedy we'll re&t our weary oar. 
Blow, breezts. blow, the stream runs fast, 
'ilie Rapids are near and the daylight 's past. 

Utawas' tide! this treniblin^ mof>n 
Shall see us rioat over ihy surges soon. 
Saint of this green isle! hear our jnayers, 
Oh, grant us cool heavens and favouring airs. 
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, 
The Rapids are near and the daylight 's past 



Not many months hnve now been dream'd away 
Since yrnder sun, bei eath whose evening ray 
Our l)oat glides swiftlv p:*st these wooded shores, 
S'W me where Trent nis mazy current poura, 
And Doningtoii'fi old oaks, to every breeze. 
Whisper the tale of by-gone centuries; — 
Those oaks, to me as sacred as Ihe groves, 
Beneath whose shade the pious Persian roves, 
And heais the spint-voice of aire, or chief, 
Or loved mistiess, sigh in every leaf.3 
'Ihere, oft, dear Lady, while thy lip hath snn^ 
I\Iy own luipolisii'd lays, how pioud 1 've hung 
On every tuneful acceni ! prnud to frel 
That notes like niine should have the fate to steal, 
As o'er Ihy hiiMowing iip ihey sigh'd along, 
Such breath i>i passion and such soul of song. 
Yes,— I have wondei'd, like si>me peasant boy, 
Who sings, on Sabbath eve, his stiaiiis of jtiy, 
And when he hears the wild, unlutor'd note 
B ick to his ear on softening echoes flo;it. 
Believes il still sonie at.sweiing spirit's tone, 
And thinks it all too sweet lo be his own ! 

I dreamt not then that, ere the rolling year 
Had fiil'd its circle, 1 should wander here 
In musing awe J should (read this wondrous world, 
See all its store of inland waers huri'd 
In one vast volume doivn Niagara's steep, 
Or calm behold them, in transparent sleep, 
Where the blue hills of old Toronto slied 
1 heir evening shadows o'er Ontario's bed ; 
Should trace the grand Cadaraqui. and glide 
Down the while lapids of his lordly tide 
TIiTOugh n assy woods, mid islets flowering fair, 
And blooming glades, wtisre the fi s' sinful pair 
Fur cnnsnlaiinii mi^hi have weeping 'rod, 
When laiiish'd fiom the garden of their God, 
Oh. L-idy ! these are miracles, which, 
Cag'd in the bounds of Europe's pign-y sf^an, 
Can scarcely dream of,— which his eye must sea 
To know how wonderful this world can be I 

But lo,— the last tints of the west decline, 
And nigh' falls dewy oVr these banks of pine. 
Among Ihe reeds, in which our idle boat 
Is rock'd to rest. Ilie wind's complaining note 
Dies like a half-hreath'd whispeting of (lules ; 
Along the wave the gleaming porpoise shoots, 
! AnJ I can trace hinC like a waieiy ^ta^,4 
': Down the s'eep current, till he fades afar 
Amid the foaming bieakers' silverv light. 
Where yon rough rapids sjarkle through the night. 

3 ** Avendoessi percos'umediaverein venerazione 
gli alberi grandi et nntichi, quasi che si.itio spesso 
riceltpccoli di ariiime Iiea'e."— Pic/ro della I'alle, parL 
second., leHera 16 da i giardini di Sciraz. 

* Anburey, in his Travels, has noticed (his shoot- 
ing illumiriHiion which porpoises ditfuse at ui^bt 
through Ihe river St. Lawrence. — Vol. t. p. 29. 



Here, aa alon^ this shadowy bank I stray, 
And the snin(ith glass snake i gliding o'er my way, 
Slious the dim nimjnlie:lit ihrmigh his scaly form, 
Fancy. wiMi all 'he ^celle"s enchantnietil warm, 
Heaisiii the nmriuiir dJ the nightly breeze 
Some Indian Spinl waible words like these : — 

From the land beyond the sea, 
Whi htrh:\|ii.y spiii s flee ; 
Where, traiisform'd to sicreJ doves,** 
Many a blessed Iniliaii rove^ 
Through ihe air on wini, as whito 
As those w nd'nius stones of li^ht,3 
Which ihe eye of morning counts 
On the Apall chiin mounts,— 
Hither »fi niv flight I take 
Over HumnVlucid lake, 
Where the wave, as clear as dew^ 
Sleeps beneath the lii,'lil canoe, 
Whicli, rcfleced, flouiig there, 
Looks as if it hung in air.* 

Then, when I have stray'd awhile 
Through ihe Muiatatilin i Ie,» 
Breathing all i^s bloom, 
Swift I mount me on the plume 
Of my WakOM-nird.Saiid (ly 
Where, beiea'h a burning sky. 
O'er the bed of Erie's lake 
Slumbers many a wa'er-nake, 
AViant within the web of leaves, 
Whiih the uater-Iily weaves.i 
Next 1 chase the fiow'ret-king 
Through hia rosy reilm of s[)ring; 
See him now, while diamond hues 
Soft his neck and wings su£['u e, 
In the leafy chalice sink. 
Thirsting fur hi> balmy d'ink; 
Now behold him all on fire. 
Lovely in his l.joks of ire, 

t The glass-snake is brittle and transparent. 

5 '*The deparied spirit goes into Ihe Country ff 
Souls, where, according to sotne, it is tran-formed into 
a dove," — Charlevoix^ npon the Traditions and the 
Relisio7i of the Savaa:cs of Canada. See the curious 
fable of the American Orpheus in Lafitau, tom. i. p. 

3 "The mountains appeared to he sprinkled with 
white stones, which glistened in the sun, and were 
called by the Imliaris luai etoe aseuiah, or spirit- 
stunes."— Mackenzie's Journal. 

• These lines were suggested bv Carver*^ description 
oforieof the Ameiican lakes. ** When it was ealin." 
he says, '*and the sun shone bright, 1 cnuld sit in my 
canoe, where the depth was upwards of six fa'homs, 
and plainly see huge piles of ^time at the boifoni, of 
dilVert-nt shapes, some of which appeared as if they 
had been hewn ; the water was at lh'5 time as pnre 
and transparent as air. and my canoe seemed as if it 
hung suspended in that element. It was impossible to 
look attentively through this limpid medium, at the 
rocks below, without finding, before many minutes 
were elapsed, your heid swim and >our eyes no 
longer able to behold the dazzling scene.'' 

* Apres avoir traverse plusieurs isles pen conside- 
rables, nous en Imuvanies le qu.Ttrieme jour une ta- 
meusc nnmmte ri>le de Marritoualin. — k'oijai(es du 
Baron de Lahmitan, torn. i. let. 15. Mana'aulin sig- 
nifies a Place of Spirits, and this island in Uke Huron 
is held sacied by the Indians. 

6 "The Waknn-Bird. which probably is of the 
same species with the bird of Paradise, receives its 
name from the ideas the Indiana have r.f its superior 
excellence ; the Waknn-Bird beine, in their language, 
the Bird of the Great Spiri'," — Morse. 

1 The islands of Lnke Erie are surrounded to a con- 
siderable distance by Ihela'^ge pnnd-lily, whose leave* 
spread thickly over the surface of the lake, and form 
a kind of bed for the water-snakes in Bummer. 


Breaking every infant stem, 
Scatleriiii; everv velvet gem, 
WliL-re lus little tyrant lip 
Had not found enough to sip. 

Then my playful hand I steep 
^Vliere the 8 loves to creep. 
Cull troin thence a tangled wicalh, 
\Vonls <,f Miagic round it breathe. 
And the sunny chap'el spread 
O'er Ihe sleeping liy-bird's head, 9 
Till, wi'h dremis of honey blest, 
Ilaunied, in his downy nest. 
By the garden's fairest spells. 
Dewy buds and fragrant bells, 
Fancy all his soul embowers 
In Ihe fly-biid's heaven of flowers. 
Oft, when hoar and silvery flakci 
Meit along the ruQItd lakes, 
Wlien the g ay moose sheds his horas, 
When the t ack, at evening, warug 
Weary hunters of Ihe way 
To the wig-wain's cheering ray, 
Then, alofl through frecziuV air, 
With the snow. bird 'o sofi and fair 
As t!ie ihece that heaven fiinga 
O'er his litlle pearly wings, 
Lrghl above tiie rocks I play. 
Where Niagara's stariy spiay. 
Frozen on the cliH', appears 
Like a giant's siaiting tears. 
1 heie, amid the island-sedg«. 
Just upon tlie cataiact's edge. 
Where Ihe hflt of living man 
Never trtd since time began, 
Lone 1 sit, at close of day. 
While, bencalh the g,dden ray, 
Icy columns gleam below, 
Fe.ither'd roui,d wilh filling snow. 
And .an arch of glorv springs. 
Sparkling .IS Ihe chain of rings 
Round Ihe neck of virgins hung, — 
\'ir,in3,»i who have wanJer'd young 
O'er Ihe " aters of Ihe west 
To tile land where spirits rest ! 
Thus have I charm'd, with visionary lay. 
The lonely moments of Ihe nicht away ; 
And now, fiesh daylight o'er the v*afer beams ! 
Once more, embark 'd upon the elitlering slreami, 
Our boat flies lisht along ihe lealy slinie, 
Shontine the falls, wi houl a dip of oar 
Or brealh of ze| hyr, like the mystic bark 
The poel saw. in dremis divincl'v dark, 
Borne, without sails, along the dusky flood,"a 
While on ils deck a pilot angel stood. 

8 ''Thegnld-tliread is of the vine kind, and grows 
in swamps 'I he roots spread themselves ju>l under 
Ihe suiface of the mora-ses, and are easily drawn out 
by handfuls. 'I'hey resemble a large eniangled ikeiu 
of silk, and aie ofa bright yellow."— A/orie. 

9 " L'oiseau mouche, gros cnmme un hanneton, est 
de tou'es coulenrs. vives et changeantes : il tire sa 
subsistence des fleurs coninies lea alieilles ; son nid eat 
fait d'un colion Ires-tin suspendu a une branche d'ar- 
bre.'— (-'o^ngc! aux Inila Occidcntales, far M. 
Bosnc, secon.le part, lett. xx. 

■ Eniberiz.x hyemalis. — See Iml(iy''s Kcntuchi/, p. 
280. ■' 

*t Lafilan supposes 'hat there was an order of ves- 
tal, esinblishe I among Ihe Iroquois Indians. —Mduri 
dts Sauvages Americains, ^c. torn. i. p. 173. 
H Vedi che sdcgiia eli argomenli uniani : 
.Si che renin non vuol. ne altro velo, 
Che 1' ale sue tra lit! si lonlani. 

Vedi come I' ha drilte verso 'I cielo 
Tiatiando I' aerc con 1' elerne penne ; 
Che uou si niutan, come mortal pelo. 

Dante, J'urgator. cant. il. 



And, with his win?t of living light nnfurt'd, 
Coasted the dim shores of aiiother wuild ! 

Yet, oh ! tielieve me, mid Ihia mingled maza 
Of natures bcaunes. where Ihe ta-cy sttays 
From cliarni to chann, where evefy finvv'rel's hue 
H)ih soiiieliitig stnnge, and every leaf is uew,— 
I never feel a joy to pme anJ s ili, 
So (iiiy f^lt, as when some bruok or hil!» 
Or veteran oak, like hise rtmemberM well, 
Smie niouutani ecl;0 or some wild-dowers smell, 
(For, who c^n siy by what small fairy tiei 
The mem'ry clings to pleasure as ii flies?) 
Reminds mv heart of many a svlvan dream 
I once indufg'd by Trent's iiis^piring stream 
Of all my sunny moms and moonlight nights 
On Djningtou's green lawns and breezy heighti. 

Whether I trace the tranquil moments o'er 
When I have seen thee cull the fruns of lore, 
With him^ the pnlish'd warrior, by thy side, 
A sister's idol and a nation's pride ! 
When thou hasi read of heroes, tn>phied high 
In aiiciei.l fame, aid I have seen thine eye 
Turn to the living hero, while it read, 
F'>r pu'e and brightening comments on the dead ;— 
Or whether memory lo my mind reraHi 
The fes'al zjraucieur of those lordly halls. 
When gues's have met around Ihe spa kling board, 
And welcome wami'd the cup I hat luxury pour'dj 
Whe-i Uie biight future Star of England's throne, 
With magic smile, hath o'er the bmqiiet shone, 
Winning respect, nor claimms: whai he won, 
Rut tem|ieriiig greatness, like an evening sua 
Whose light the eye can tranquilly admire, 
Radiant, but mild, all softness yei all fire ;— 
Whatever hue my recllectionN take, 
Even the regret, the very pam they wtke, 
Is mix'd vvith h:ippines5 ; — but. ah ! no more — 
Lady ! adieu — my heari has lingerM o'er 
Those vanish'd times, till all that round me lie*, 
i}treaui, banks, ai.d bowers have faded ou my eyes ! 


'T was but for a moment — and yet in that time 
She crowded lli' impressions of many an hour: 

Her eve had a glow, like the sun of her clime. 
Which wak'd every feeling at once into (lower. 

Oh ! could we have borrow'd from Time but a day, 
To renew such impre-sions again arid a>iain, 

The things we should look and imagine and say 
Would be worth all the life we had wasted (ill then. 

What we had not the leisure or language to speak, 
We should find some more spiritual mode of re- 

And, between us. should feel just as much in a week 
As others would take a nullenuiuot in feeling. 





See you, beneath yon cloud so dark, 

Fast gliding along, a gloomy bark ? 

Her sails are full,— tliough the wind is still. 

And there blows not a breath her sails to fill ! 

Say, what do'h that vessel of darkness bear? 
^ he Silent calm of the grave is there, 
Save nou and again a dea'h knell runic. 
And the Hap of the sails with night-fog hung. 

There llctli a wreck on the dismal shore 
Of cold and pitiKss Labrad-.r; 
Where, under Ihe umnn, upon mounts of fros^ 
Full many a mariner^ boue& ate tost. 

Yon shadowy hark hath been to that wreck, 
And the dim' blue fire, that lights her deck, 
Doth play on as p:»le and livid a crew 
As ever yet drank the churchyard dew. 

To Deadman's Isle, in the eye of the blast, 
To Ueadmau's Isle, she speeds her (ast ; 
By skeleton shapes her sails are furl d, 
And (he hand that steers is not of this world . 

Oh ! hurry thee on — oh ! hurry thee on. 
Thou terrible bark, ere the njght be gone, 
Nor let mnrning look on to foul a sight 
As would blanch for ever her lo^y light I 


OCTOBER, 1804. 

NooTov ffpo^aciS yXvKcpov. 

Pindar. PyiK 4. 

With triumph this morning-, oh, Bos'on ! I hail 
The slir of thy deck and Ihe spread of thy sail, 
F^r they tell me 1 suon shall be wafted, m thee, 
To the flourishing I'sle of the brave and the free, 
And that chill Nnva^Scotia's unpromising strand 3 
Is the last I shall (read of American land. 
Well— peace to the land ! may hersonski!Ow,at length. 
That ill hiiih-minded honour lies liberty's strength, 
That though man be as fiee as the fetterless wind, 
As the wantonest air that the norlh can unbind. 
Yet, if health do not temper and sweeten the blast, 
If no harvest of mii.d ever sprung wheie it pa»s'd. 

1 This is one of the Magdalen Islands, and, singu- 

larly ennugh, is the property of Sir Isaac CofTin. 1 he 
above lines were suggested by a superstition very 
common among sailors, who call this ghost-ship, I 
think, *' the Flying Dutchman." 

We uere thirteen days on our passage from Quebec 
to Halifax, and 1 had been so spoiled by Ihe truly 
splendid hospiiality of my friends of (he Miaeton and 
Boston, thai I w..s but ill prepared for Ihe miseries of 
a Canadian vessel. 'I'he we,»Iher, however, was 
pleasant, and the scenery al"i.g ihe river delightful. 
Our passage through the Gut of Canso. with a bright 
sky and a fair wind, was particularly striking and 

5 Commai;ded by Captain J. E. Douglas, with 
whom I returned lo Engiaid, and to whom I am in- 
dtbteit for many, many kindnesses. In truth, I shculd 
but offend the delicacy of niy fiiend Douglas, and, at 
the same time, do injustice to my own feelings of 
gratitude, did 1 at;enipt lo say how much 1 owe to 

3 Sir John Wentworlh. the Governor of Nova- 
Scotia, veiy kindly allowed me to acconipany him on 
his vi^it to the College, which they haie la'ely 
ps'ablished at Windsor, about forty miles from Hali- 
fax, and I was indeed most pleasantly surprised by 
(he beauty and fertili y of the country which opened 
upon u^ after the bleak and rocky wildcness by which 
Hahfay is surrounded.— I \\as told that, in travelling 
onward*, we should find the soil and the scenery im- 
prove, and it gave me much pltasure lo know that the 
worthy Governor has by no means such an '* mama- 
bile legnum " as 1 was, at first sight, iuclined lo 


Then unbtest is such freedom, and b'sltfiil its mighty — 
Free only ti> luin, and strung but to b!ie;ht! 

Farewell lo the few 1 have left with regret ; 
Miy Iliey snmeiinu-b rt-call, what I wimot for-ret, 
'I'he di:li:tht of llmse evenings.— too bi lef a delight ! 
When in converse and srmg wehavestol'non tlie nigh'; 
When they 've askM me the m^Doers, the iniudt or 

the mien 
Of some bard I had known or some chief I had seen, 
Whose glory, thonijh distant, tliey long had ador'd, 
Whose name had oft hallow'd the wine-cup they 

pour'd ; 
And still as, with sympathy humble but true, 
I have told of each bright son of f;«me all I knew. 
They have lis en"d. andsighM ihat the powerful stream 
Of America's empire should pass, like a, 
Without leivingone relic of genius, to say 
How sublime was the tide which h:id vamsh'd away! 
Farewell to the few — though we never may meet 
On this planet a^in, it is soothing and sv^eet 
To think that, whenever my song or my n;ime 
Shall recur to their ear, they 'II lecalt me the same 
1 have been to them now, young, unthouglitful, and 

Ere hope bad deceive me or sorrow deprest. 

But, Douglas ! while thus 1 recnll to my mind 
The elect of the land we sh -ll soon leave behind, 
I can read in the weather-wise glance of thine eye, 
As it fnllows the r.irk fiiitinc "ver tne sky, 
'I'haltbe faint conimg breeze will be fair fnr our flight, 
And shall steal us away, ere the falling of nighi. 
Dear Dougl is ! thou kiiowest, w ilh thee by my side, 
With thy frrend>.liip tnsoothe me, thy cnur.ige lo guide, 
There ie not a bleak isle in those sumineiless aeas, 
Where the day cnmes in daikness, or shines but to 

Not a tract of the line, not a barbarous shore, 
'ihat I could not wKh patience, with pleasuie explore! 
Oh, think then how gl;.dly I T llow thee new. 
When Hope smooths the billowy path of our prcw, 
And e.ich prosfterous sigh of the west-springing wind 
Takes me nearer the home wliere my heftrt is 

enshrin'd ; 
Where the smile of a father shall meet me again, 
And the ears of a mother turn bliss into pain -j 
Where the kind voice of sisters shall steal to my heart, 
And ask it, lu sighs, bow we ever cuuld part ? — 

Rut see ! — the bent top-sails are ready to swell — 
To the boat-l am with thee-Columbia, farewell I 

END or VOL. II. 


The three satirical Poems with wliich this Volume 
coniHieiices, were jujblislied originally wittiout thi 
author's name; *• Corruption " and •* Intolennce" ii 
the yeir 1803, and "The Sceptic" in the year follow 
ioa:. The poli'ical opinions adop-ed in the first of 
tliesc Satires— the Poem on Corruption — »ere chiefly 
caught up, as is inlmialed in the original Preface, 
from the wri inss of Bolingbroke, Sir William 
VVyndham, and other s atesinen of that factious 
petind, when the sinie sort of alliance took place 
between Toryism and what is now called Radicali-m, 
which is always likely to ensue on the ejection of the 
Tory party from power. » In this sfjnewhat rash 
elfusion, it will be seen that neither of the two great 
Kngllsb parties is handled with niuch respect ; and ! 
remember being taken to task, by one of the few of 
my Whig acquaintances that ever looked into the 
poem, fur the following allusion lo the silencing 
efl'ecls of official station on certain orators ; — 

; their hum. 

But these attempts of mine in the stately, Juvenal ian 
style of sitire. met with but little success — never 
having attained, 1 believe, even llie honours of a 
second edition; and I found that lighter form of 
weapon, to which I afterwards betook myself, not 
only mote easy to wield, but, from its very lightness, 
perhaps, more sure to reach its mark. 

It would almost seem, too, as if the same unembit- 
tered spirit, the same freedom from all real malice 
with whicti, in most instances, this sort of squib- 
warfaie has been waged by me, was felt, in some 
degree, even by those who uere themselves the 
objects of it; — so generously forgiving have I. in 
must instances, found them. Eventhe high Peison 
age ag'inst wliom the earliest and iierhaps most sue- 
ce.sful of my lighter missiles were launched, could 
refer to and quote tliem, as I learn from an incident 
mentioned in the Life of Sir Walter Scott, wih a 
degree of gn„dhutn..ur and plavfuliiess which was alike to his temper and good sense. At a 
memorable dinner given by the Regent to Sir Walter 

> Bolingbroke himself acknowledges that "both 
parlies weie become factions, in the strict seme of the 

in the year ISlo, Scott, among other stories with 
which his royal host I'as much amused, told of » 
sentence passed by an old friend of his, the Lord Jus- 
lice Cleik Biaslield, atiended by ciicums ances in 
which the cruelty of this waggish judge was eveD 
more conspicuous than his humour. *' 'J he Regent 
laughed heartily," says the bingiapliir, "at this speci- 
men of Brixfields brutal humour; and "I' faith, 
Wal er," said he, "this old big-wig seems to have 
taken things as coolly as my tyrannical self. Don'i 
vou remember Tom Moure's descripiioo of me at 
breakfast ? — 


In reference to this, and other less exalted Instances, 
of the good-humoured spirit in which my "innocui 
sales ' have m general been taken, I shall venture to 
cite here a few Haltering sentences which, coming as 
they did from a poliiical adversary and a stranger, 
touched me far more by their generosity than even by 
their prai>e. In sr>eakiiig of the pension which had 
jnst then been conferred upon me, and expressing, in 
wainMernis, his approval of the grant, the editor of 
a leading Tnrv journal ^ thus lilierally ex|iresses him- 
self:— " We know that some will blame us for our 
prejudice— if it be prejudice, in favour of Mr. 
Mnorej but we cannot help it. As he tells us him- 

the most obdurate political antipathies. # # # We do 
not believe that anyone was ever hurt by libels so 
witty as those of Mr. Moore:— great privilege of wit, 
which renders it impossible even for Ihosa vihoso 
enemies w its are, to hate iheni ! " 

To return to the period of the Regency : — In the 
numerous allacks from the sovernmcnl press, which 
my volleys of small shot against the Couil used lo 
diaw down upon me, it was constaiillv alleged, as an 
aggravation of my misdeeds, Ihat 1 had been indebted 
to tlie Royal | ersonage thus assailed by me for many 
kind aud substan ial services. Luckily, the list of llie 
henciils showered upon me from Ihat high quarter 
may be despatched in a few seuteuces. At the re- 

a The Standard, August 24, IS35. 


quesl of Lord M'>ira, nne of my earlicet and best 
friends, his Royal Urghue-s graciously fjerjuitted me 
to dedicate to liim^iny 'Iranslatioi. of ihe Odes of 
Anacreon. I was twice, I llniik, admittfd to the 
honour of dining at Carlton Houst; and when the 
frince, on his being made Recent m t81I, gave his 
memiirible fete, I was one of the crowd— ab<,ut 1500, 
1 believe, in number — who enjojed the privilege of 
bein^ his guests ou the occasion. 

There nccur some allusions, indeed, in the Two- 
penny Z'osl-B.ig, to the absurd la^ite displayed in the 
oinniients of the R-yal supper (able at that fete ; i 
and this violation — for such, to a certain extent, I 
allow it to hnve been— o( Ihe reverence due to the 
lites of the Ho-pi:able Jove,* which, whether ad- 
ministered by prince or peasant, ought to be sacied 
from puch expo^uie. I am by no means disposed tu 
defend. But, whatever may be thought of Ihe taste 
or piuderice of some of these satires, there exists no 
longer, I ai'prebend, much ditterence of opinion re- 
spectuig the chiracler of the Royal personage against 
whom ihev were aimed. Aheady, indeed, has the 
stem verdict which (he voice ot History cannot but 
pronounce upon him, been in some degree anticj- 
paled,^ in a sketch of the domestic events of his 
reign, supposed to have proceeded fiom the pen of 
one who was himself an acior in some of iis most 
painful scenes, and who, from hi'^ prt fesaional posi- 
tion, commauded a near iUbight into the character of 
that exalted individual, both as husband and father. 
To the same hi^h authority I must refer for an ac- 
count of the mysterious " Book," 4 to which allusion 
IS more than once made in the following paees. 

One of the first and m bt successful of the numer- 
ous trifles I wrote at tliat perioi, was the Parody on 
Ihe Regenl*s celebrated Letter, announcing tu the 
world that he "had no predilections," &c. Th s 
very opportune squib, at firs', circulated pri- 
vately; my friend, Mr. Perry, having for some lime 
hesifa'ed to publish it. He got some copies of it, 
however, prin'ed otf for me, which I sent round to 
se\er.»l members of the Whig party; and. havir.g to 
meet a number of theni at dinner immediately after, 
found it no easy mailer to kepp my couniei^ance while 
they were discussing am 'i-g them llie merits of the 
Parody. One of Ihe party, i recollect, having quoted 

t The same fanteuUs and girandoles — 

The same g"M avses, preMy sou's. 

That, in this rich and cl issic dome, 

Appear so peifectlj at home ; 

The same bright tiver, 'mong Ihe dishes, 

But not — ah ! not the same dear fishes. 

Late hours and claret kill'd the old ones; — 

So, steid nf silver and of gold ones, 

(It being rather hard to raise 

Fish of "thai sptcte now a-days) 

Some sprats hive been, by V— rm— h's wish, 

Promoted Into silver fish, 

And gudgeons (so V— ns— tt— t told 

The Reg— tj are as good as gold. 

Twopenny Post-Bag, p 136- 
a Ante oresslabat Jovis Hospitis aia. Ovid, 

3 Edinbrirgh Review, No. cxxxv., George the 
Fourth and Qiuen Caroline — '* When the Prince 
entered ui>on put)lic life, he was fm-id to have ex- 
hausted the resourceiiof a career of pleasure; to have 
gained followers wilhout making friends; to have ac- 
quired much envy and some admiration among the 
unthinkine ni'iltitude of polished society; but not to 
command in any quarter either respect or e-ii'eem. * * 
The porttait which we have pam'ed of him is un- 
doubtedly one of tiie daikest shades, and most repul- 
sive form." 

4 " There is no doubt whatever that The Book, 
written by Mr. Perceval, and privaleiy prinied at his 
house, under Lord Eldon's superintendence and his 
own, was prepared in concert with the King, and was 
intended to sound Ihe alirm against Carlton House 
and the Whigs." — £(i. Review, ib. 

to me Ihe following description of the stale of both 
King and Regent, at that moment,— 

grew rallier provoked with me for not enjoying the 
fun of the parody as much as himself. 

While thus th^ excitenient of parly feeling lent to 
the political trifles contained in this volume a reliit 
and pungency not their own, an eti'ect has been aitri- 
buted to two squibs, wholly unconnected with politics 
— the Letters fiom the Dowager Countess of Corke, 
and from Me-srs. Lackinglon and Cn.^ — of which 1 
myself had not the slightest notion till 1 found it thus 
alluded to in Mr. Lockhart's Life of Sir Walter Scotl. 
In s|teaking of the causes which were supposed to 
have cot.tiibult-d to ihe comparative failure of the 
Poem of " Roktby," the bii'gi.i]>lier says, "It is fair 
to add till', anions the Louden circles, at least, some 
sarcastic llings. in Mr. Mooies Two-penny Post-Bag, 
must have had an unfavourable intluence on this occa- 
sion, '"6 

Among Ihe translations that have appeared on the 
Continent, of the geaer pari of my jioeiical works, 
there has been no attempt, as far as I can learn, to 
give a version of any of my satirical writings, — with 
the single exception of a squib contained in this vo-, eritiiled " Little Man and Little Soul," i of which 
there is a translation into Geman verse, by the late 
distmgu shed oriental scholar. Professor Von Bohlen.8 
'1 h 'Ugh unskilled, myself, in Germ^m, I can yet per- 
ceive—sufficiently to marvel at il— the dexterity 
and ease wiih which the Uld Ballad metre of the on- 
cinal is adopted and managed in the translation. As 
thistrijie may be considered curious, not only in itself, 
but still more as connected with so learned a name, I 
shall here present it to my readers, premising that 
the same eminent Professor has left a version also of 
my very early Jacclix^ "The Rdbbinical Origin of 

{Translated 'ty Professor von Bohletu) 

Es war fin kleiner Mann 
L'nd iler hall 'ij kleinen Geist 
Und er sprach : kleiner GeiBt sehn wlr zu, 2a, 2o, 

6 Twcpenny Post-Bag, p. 135- I avail myself of 
the nienlion here of this lafer squib, lo recant a cor- 
rection which 1 too hastily made in the two follovviug 

Forgetting that Pope's ear wa-^ satisfied with the sort 
of rhyme here used, I foolislily altered (and spoiled) 
the whole couplet to get rid of it. 

6 "See, for instance," says Mr. Lnckhart, "the 
Epistle of Lady Corke ; or thai of Messrs. Lacking- 
ton, bioksellers, to one of their dandy auUiJts: — 

'ShoulJ yrrn fer! any touch oT poetical glow, 
We 've a wchenif lo sufc'Eetit :— Mr. So— it, you muftt kncm, 
(Who, wc 're HOrry to say it, nnw wurkH fnr the Row,*) 
Having quilted tlie Biirdere, to seek new renown, 
Ifl comiijp. by louu Quarto (slages, lo Town ; 
And beginning wiUi Rnkeby (tlic job's sure to nay) 
Meaos to ^ — " - " ■■ - ■ - - 
Now, Ihe 

g coachc»— 

To etarl a fresh Poet through Highgate to 
Who. by ra-ans <,f qiiiik prrKjfs— no revises- 
May d ' a few villas, bcfoie Sc— 11 jippro-ich,-i'd, ir.iur Pepasus be nol . urst sl.abliy, 
He'li reach, without fimnd'iing, III least Wuburn Abbey.'" 

t Alluding to a speech delivered in Ihe year 1SI3by 
the Right Hon. Charles Abbot (then Speaker) against 
Mr. Giattan'H motion for a Committee on the ciaiius 
of the Catholics. 

8 Author of " The Ancient Indian.*' 

* Paternoster Row. 



Ob uas moglich wchl wird eeyn 

Su eiu kleiues K('(;t:leiii 
Dm wir liallttii, icii und kk-iiter clti. du, do, 

Dan w]r hullcii. Kleiner iili uud kkiutr ilu. 

Und der kleinc Oei^t, der brarh 

Aua Ucrin Luch« »iiiii und Kpruch : 
let tehaui.-rn. kitit:-' Mi^uo, du bint kecit, kecki ktck, | 

Niiom uicljt ubA Hijsj /wfiicU 

Abt-r siifje mir, 2uiii Teufel, 
Hat die klelne kiciiie Kt-d' eiiicii iN^fe-li, 7weck, xweck. 

Hat die kli^iiie kk-iiie Ked' t:iiit:a z week I 

Uod er uprach : kleintri Geist sey t;eHcheut, Birheot.acheut ; 

KlciiRT k'ti utid kk-iiter du 

tiiiid berurtfii ja duzu 
Zu V(.Td:tmineu uinl bt-kthrt^n alle Leut', Lpiit*, Leul* 

Zu veiOamiiii^u und btrkctireu alle Lcuk' 

Uud Hie linger) beide ao 

Der kli-in« Ueist und kleiDU Mann. 
Paukleu ab ibre lltde bo kleiu. klein, klein; 

Uud die ganz Welt fur wahr 
Meintt das auf^cbhnt'iie Vaar 
Musst eiH wmiigtB Pfivtleltin iiur eeyn» Beyn, B«y% 
Mutibl triu wiDZiKVH I'fait'clein, uur seyii 

H.ivinR thus brought togetlier, aa well from the re- 
cords of others, as (lOni luy own rtcollection, what- 
ever iiicideiilal lights could be thrown Iruni those 
sources, on bome of ihe satirical ettusions coutamcd 
ill thtsc pages, I sliall now reseive all auch itiniuis- 
cences and notices as relate to the Irish Melodies, for 
our next vuluine. 

It 13 ri^ht my readers should here be apprized, that 
the plan of classing my poetical works accoiding: to 
the o der of their hrst publication, Is pursued no fur- 
ther (haii the Second Volume of this Collection ; and 
Ihai, therefore, Ihe arrangement of the contents of the 
succeeding Volumes, though not, in a general way, 
departing much from this rule, is uut to be depended 
upon as ob&erving it. 





The practice which has been lately introduced into 
literature, nf writing very long no es upon very indif- 
ferent verses, a))pears to me raher a liappy inven- 
tion ; as it supplies us with a mnde of turning dull 
poetry to account ; and as hoTsts too heavy for tiie 
saddle may yet serve well enough to draw lumber, no 
roenisof this kind make excellent beasts rf burden, 
and will bear notes, though they may not bear read- 
ing. IJesides, the comments in such cas-es are so lilile 
under the necessity of pnying any servile deference to 
the text, that they may even adopt that Socratic dogma, 
" Quod supra nos nihil ad n"s. 

In the hrst of ihe two foliowinc Poems, I have ven- 
tured to speak of the Revolutinn of IbSS, in language 
which has sometimes been employed by Tory wi iters, 
and which is Iheiefore neither very new nor popular. 
But however an Englishman might be reproached 
with ingratitude, for depreciating the n«nis and re- 
sults of a measure, which he is taught to regard ;is the 
souiceof his liberties — however ungrateful it might 
appear in Alderman R— reh to ijuestion for a moment 
the purity of glorious era, to which he is indebt- 
ed (or the seasoning of so many orations — yet an 
Irishman, whu has none of Ihe^e obiit;aijous to ac- 
knowledge ; to whose c uniiy the Revolution brought 
nothing but injury and insul', and wlio lecollecls that 
the book of Molyneus was burned, by order of VViI- 
iiam\ Whig Palianient, for daring to extend to un- 
fortunate Ireland principles on which Ihe Revo- 
Julion was professedly founded— an Irishman may be 
allowed to cri icise freely the measures of that period, 
without exposing himself other to Ihe tmpu aiion of 
ingraritude, or to ihe suspicion of being iniluenced by 
any Pupi h remains of Jacobitisin. No nation, it is 
true, WIS ever blessed with a more golden opportunity 
of establishing and securing i(s libeilies foi ever than 
the conjuncture of Eighty-eight pre'ented to the peo- 
ple of Great Biitain. But t^he disgraceful reigns of 
Charles and Janies had weakened and degraded Ihe 
national charader. The b(jld notions of popular 
right, which had arisen out of the snuggles belween 
Charles the First and his Parliament, were gradually 
supplanted by those slavish d ctrines for which Lmd 
H— kesb— ry eulogises the cliurchmen of that period ; 
ar.d as the Rertrniation had happened too sor>n for the 
purity of religion, so the Revolution came too ia'e for 
the spirit of liberiy. Its advantages accordingly were 
for the wost part specious and transitory, while the 

I evils which it eotailed are strU felt and slill increas- 
I ing. By rendeiing unnecessary Ihe frequent exercise 
j of Preiogalive,— that unwieldy power which cannot 
I move a step without alarm,— it diminished the only 
i interference of the Ciown, which is singly and inde- 
: peiidenily exposed before tlie people, and w^hose 
. abuses tlierefoie are obvious to their se^^es and capaci- 
lies. Like the myrlle over a celebrated statue in 
Minerva's temple at Aihen^ it skilfully veiled from 
the ptblic eye the only obtrusive feature of royalty. 
At the same time, however, (hat the Revolution 
nbridged this i.npopular aitnbute, it amply compen- 
sated by Ihe Sibslitntiun of a new power, as much 
more potent in its elVect as it is more secret in its ope- 
rations. In Ihe disposal of an immense revenue and 
the extensive [almnage annexed to it, the liist foun- 
dations of ihis pov\cr of the Cmwn were laid; the 
innovation of a tlmding army at once increased and 
strengihened it, and ihe few slight barriers which the 
Act of Settlement opposed to ils progiess have all 
been gr,. dually removed dming the whiggish reigns 
Ihat succeeded ; till at length this spirit of influence 
has become Ihe vital principle of the state,— an 
agency, subtle aiid unseen, which pervades every pad 
of the Cuns itution, lurks under all its forms and 
regulttes all iu movements, and, like Ihe invisible 
sylph or grace which presides over ihe motions of 

The cause of Liberty and the Revolution are so hahi- 
lually associated in the mmds of Englishmen, ihat 
probably in objecting to the latter I may lie thought 
hostile or inJifierent to the former. But assuredly 
nothing could be more unjust than such a suspicion. 
The very object, indeed, which my humble animad- 
versions would attain is, that in the crisis to which I 
think EiiEland is now hastening, and between which 
and foreign subjugation she niay soon be conipeiled lo 
choose, Ihe errors ai;d omissions of 168S should be 
remedied ; and, as it was then her f..te to experience 
a Revolution with Reform, so she m;iy now endeavour 
10 accomplish a Ref rm wilhou' a Revolution. 

In speaking of the i arties which have so long agi- 
tated England, it will be observed that I lean as litlle 
to the Whigs as to their adversaries. Bolh facr'.ons 
have been equally cmel to Ireland, and perhaps 
equally insincere m iheir efforts for the liberties c' [ 



England. There is one name, indeed, connected with 
whiggi-in, of which I can never think but with vene- 
ration and tendernos-;. As justly, however, might the 
light of the sut) be claimed bv any pariicular nation, 
as the sinclinn of that name he monnpdiized by any 
par'y whatsoever. Mr. Fox l'eh)[:ged tu maukiod, 
and they h.ive lost in him their ablet frie d. 

With respect to the few lines ufmn Intolerance, 
which I have tubjoined, ihey are but the imperfect 
beginning of a Ion? series of Essays, with wh ch I 
lie:e menace my readers, upcn the same important 
subject, I shall look lo no higher n)eril in the task, 
than that of giving a new form to claims and remon- 
Btrances, which have often been much more eh que ntly 
urged, and which would long ere now have produced 
their effect, hut that 'he minds of jome of our states- 
met, like the pupil of the human eye, contract (hem- 
seKes (he more, the stroi ger light there is shed upon 



TaVTa' avTEKXrjKTat 6e avTi toutujI', i;0' wv 
anoXoiXe Kaf. vcvuaijKiv i/ 'EXXag. Tavra d' 
t<jTi Ti ; ^TjXos, « Ttq EtXrjtpt tl- ytXo}<; av bfioXo' 
yij- avyy vui fLTi TOii tXsyxofit'^oiS /iicro?, av rov 
Totj T(5 fntTiixa,' raAAa Trat'ra, taa zk tov (Jui- 
go6o<uv ijQTijTOi. Dtmosth. Philij)p, iii. 

And feel, though close our wedded countries twicfl| 
More sorrow for my own than pride from tkinc 

Yet pause a moment — and if truths severe 
Can find an inlet to that courtly ear, 
Which hears no news but W— rd's gazetted lies, 
And loves no politics in rhyme hut Pye's,— 
If ausht can please thee but ihe good nld saws 
Uf '*Chuich and Slate," and '^AViUiam's niatchle« 

And " Acts and Rights of glorious Eighty-eight,"— 
Things, which though now a century out of date, 
Still serve to ballast, with convenient words, 
A few crank arguments fur speeching lords,— * 
'I'urn, while I tell how England's freedom found, 
Wheie most she look'd for life, her deadliest wound j 
How biave she struggled, while her foe was seen. 
How faint since Indiitnce lent ihal f ■ e a screen ; 
How strong o'er James and Popery she prevad'd, 
How weakly fell, uheu Whigs and gold assail'd.* 

While kings were poor, and all those schemes un- 
Which drain the people, to enrich the throne j 
Ere yet a yielding Commnt s had supplied 
Those chains of gold by which themselves are tied ; 
Then proud Prerogative, untaught to creep 
Wiih btibeiy's silent foot on Freedom's sleep, 
Frank'y avowM his bold enslaving plan, 
And claim'd a right from God lo trample man I 
But Luther's schism had loo much rous'd mankind 
For Hampden's truihs m liigefclong behind ; 
Nor ihen, when king like popes had f.tllen so low, 
Could pope-like kings ^ escape the levelling blow. 

Boast on, my friend — though stript of all beside, 
Thy struggling na'ion still retains her piide : i 
Thai ptide, which once in genuine glory woke 
When Marlboiough fought, and brilliant St, John 

spoke ; 
That pride which still, hy time and shime unstung. 
Outlives even Wh— tel-cke's sword and H— wk— a- 

bVy's tongue 1 
Boast on, my friend, while in this humbled isle ^ 
Where Honour mourns and Freedom fears to smile, 
Where the bnght light of England's fame is known 
But by the shadow o'er our fortunes ihrown ; 
Where, doom'd ourselves to nought but wrongs and 

We hear you boast of Britain's glorious rights, 
As wretched slaves, thtt under hitches lie, 
Hear th'tse on deck extol the sun aid sky ! 
Boast on. while wandering thrnugh my native haunts, 
I coldly listen to ihy patriut vaunts ; 

I Angli suos ac sua omnia impense mirantur; cae'e- 
ras nptiones de^pt'ctui habent. — Barclay (as quoted 
in one of Drydeu's prefaces). 

* Kngland b*-gan very eirly to fee! the efTects of 
cruelty towards htr dependencies. " The severity of 
her government (says Mscpher.on) contributed mon 
to deprive her of the continental dominions of ihi 
familv of Flantageiiet thaa ihe arms of France."— See 
tiR ^iJtOTT,', vol. i. 

3 " Bv Ihe total relnclion of Ihe kingdom r,f Ireland 
in I69r{says Burkes the ruin of Ihe naiive Irish, and 
in a gieat measure, too, t f the fir^t races of the Eng- 
lish, was completely accomplished. The new Eng- 
lish interest wasse'tled with as solid a stability .ts any 
thing in human alfairs can lo<<k for. A the penal 
laws of that unpanlleied code of nppressinn, which 
were made after the event, were manifestly the 
effi-c's of national hatred and scorn towards a con- 
quered penple, " honi the victors delighted lo traniple 
\ upon, and we^e md at a.l afiaid to piovoke." Vet 
I thi'4 is the era to which the wise common council of 
I Dublin refer ut for *^ invaluable blessing^' ^c. 

* It never seems to occur to those oiators and ad- 
dres ers "ho round ofl' so mai y sentences ar d para- 
grajihs with ihe Bill of Rights, the J.ct of Seiilement, 
&c , that most of the prnvisioris which ihese Ads 
cnnt:itned f'T ihe preservation of parliam^ntaTy inde- 
petdence have been long la^d aside a^ lomantic a:;d 
troublesome. I never meet, I conTe^s, wiih a politi- 
cian who quotes Fcinnsly the I)eo!aration of Rights, 
&c., tn prove the aduai existence fif English liberty, 
that I do not think of that marqui?, whom Montesqideo 
men'ion>-,* who set abnut looking for niiiie* in the 
Pyrenees, on the strength of authorities u hich he h-td 
rend in sonie ancient authors. The poor marquis 
toiled and searched in vain. He quo ed his authori- 
ties to Ihe last, but found no mines after all. 

i The chief, perhaps the only advantage which has 
resul'ed fmm the s\s em of influence, is ihat tianqnil 
course of unin'errupied ac ion which it has given lo 
the administration of gDvernmenl. If kings mutt be 
paramount in the state (and their minis ers for the 
time being always think so), the country is indebted 
to Ihe Revolution for enabling them to become so 
quietly, and for removing skilfully the danger of those 
shocks and collisions which the alarming eflbrts of 
prerogative never failed to prcHliice. 

Instead of vain and disturbing efforts to establish 
that speculative b.ilance of the constitution, which, 
perhaps, has never existed but in the pages of Montes- 
quieu ai d De Lnlme, a prepnnderance is now silently 
yielded to one of Ihe three es'ates. which carries the 
other two almost insensibly, bul still efTecfually, along 
with it; and even though the path nay lead eventu- 
ally to destruction, vet its specious and gitded smooth- 
ness almost atones for the danger; atid, like Milton's 
bridge over Chaos, it may be ^aid to lead, 

•'Smooth, eosy, Inoffensive, down to .'* 

6 The drivelling correspondence between James I, 
and his *'dng Steenie" (the Duke cf Buckingham), 
which we find anmng Ihe Hardwicke Papers, suffi- 
ciently shnws. if we wanted any such illustration, 
in wh;*t doting, idiotic brains the plan of arbitrary 
power may enter. 

Liv. ixi. chap. 2. 




That prnderous sceptre (in wliose place we bow 

To Mie light lalisniiiii of iufluence now), 

Too gross, too visible to work the spell 

Which modern pnv\er pertoims, in fngmerits fell: 

In fragments lay, fill, pa'ch'd and painlej o'er 

With Ueurs-de-lys, it shone and scourged once more. 

*T\vas then, my friend, thy kneeling na'inn quiff'd 
Long, lonu: and deep, the cliurchnian'sopia'e draught 
Of p 'ssive, jiroiie obedience — then took (light 
AM sense of man's true dignity and right; 
And Hrilnns slept so sluggish in their chain, 
That Fieedom's watch-viiice cali'd almost in vain. 
Oh England ! Englind < ivhat a chance was thine, 
Whenlhe last tyrant of that ill*slarr*d line 
Fled from his sullied crown, and left thee free 
To found thy nwn eternal liberty I 
How nobly high, in that propitious hour. 
Might patriot hands have rais'd the triple tower * 
Of British freedom, on a rock divine. 
Which neither force could bt-irm nnr treachery mine ! 
But no — the lumi.oiis, the lofiy plan. 
Like mighty B^bel, seein'd too bold for man ; 
The cuise of jar. ing ti.ngues again was given 
To thwart a work whicti raised men nearer heaven. 
While Tories mair'd wliat VVhigs had scarce begun, 
While Whigs undid what Whigs themselves had 

I Tacitus has expres>ed his opinion, in a passage 
very freqrently quoted, that such a distribution of 
power as the theory of th<; Brlti^h c-nsti ution exhi- 
bits is me ely a subject of bright speculation, •* a s}s- 
lem more easily praised than praciised, and which, 
even could it happen to exist, would certainly not 
prove permanent ," and, in truth, a review of Eng- 
land's annals would dispose us to agee u ilh the gteat 
historian'-, remark. For we find that at no period 
wlia ever hn tins balance of the three estates exis ed ; 
that the nobles predomimted till the policy oi Henry 
VII. and his juccessor reduced theirweighi by break- 
ing up the feuJal ststem of properly ; that the power 
of the Crown became then supreme and absolute, till 
the bol.l encroachments of the Commons subverted the 
fabric altogether; that the alternate ascendency of 
prerog.tiie and privilege districted the period which 
followed the Restoraiion : and Ih.d, lasily, the Acts of 
16b8, bv laying the fonidalion of an unbounded court- 
infliience, have secured a prepordeiance to the 
Throne, which evoiy succeeding year incroases. So 
that the vaunted British coiis:itution has never per- 
haps existed but in mere theory. 

* The monarchs of Great Biitain can never be suf- 
ficiently grateful for that accommodating spirit vi liich 
led the Revoluiioi ary Whiits to give ,iway the crown, 
without imposing any of those restraints or stipula- 
tions whcli othei men might have taken advantage of 
so f.Tvnurable a moment to eiif .rce. and in the fiaming 
of which they bad so good a modrl to follow as the 
limitations proposed by the I.nrds Essex and Halifax, 
in the debate upon ihe Exclusion Bill. They not 
only condesceiiiled, however, to accept of places, but 
look care that these di;nltio^ should be no impedi- 
ment to their ■' voice potential" in alTairs of legisla- 
tion : and although an Act was af er manv yeais suf- 
fered to I ass which hy one of its articles ill qualified 
pl.acenien from serving as members of Ihe House of 
Commons, it was yet not allowed to Imerferc witli 
the influence of the reigning monarcli, nor with that 
of his successor Anne. '] be purifving clause, indeed, 
Wis not to takeeaVct till ..fter Ihe deceaeof Ihe latter 
sovereign, and she very c 'nsiderately rejeahd it 
altogether. So that, as representation has continued 
ever since, if Ihe king were simple enough to send to 
foreign courts amba sadors who were nn st of them in 
the pay of those courts, he would be just as honestly 
futed as are his people. It 
umerate all the favours which 
were conferred upon Will am bv those "aposiale 
Whgs." TI.ey c impl.meiite.i Iiim with the sjs- 
peuiioo of the Habeas Corpus Act which had been 

The hour was lost, and William, with a smile. 
Saw Freedom weeping o'er Ihe unhnish'd pilel 
Hence all the ills you suffer,— hence remaia 
"uch galling fragmems of thai feudal chain,3 
Whose links, around yon by ihe Isiorman Hung, 
Though loo.ed and broke >o oflen, still have clung. 
Hence sly Prerogative, like Jove of old. 
Has tunrd liis thunder into showers of gold. 
Whose silent courtship Wins secuier jo)'s,* 
Taints by degiees, and ruins without noise. 

h.azarded since the confirmation of that privilege ; and 
this example of our Deliverer's reign has not been lost 
upon any of his successois. 'J iiey promoted the 
establishment of a .standing army, and circulated in 
its defence the celebrated '* Balancing Letler," in 
which It is insinuated that England, even llien, in her 
bo.isted hour of regeneration, was arrived at such a 
pitch of taction and coriuption, thai nolhiiig could 
keep her in order but a Whig ministry and a standing 
aiiiiy. They refused, as long as they could, toshoiteu 
the duration of paiiiamenis; and though, in the 
Declaiation of Rigtits. Ihe necessity of sucli a reform 
was acknowledged, they were able, by arts not un- 
known to modem minisieis, to brand those as traitors 
and republicans who urged i .* Hut the arand and 
dis'ingttisliing trait of their measures w,is the power 
they besowed on the Crown of almost aninhilaling 
tne freedom of elections,— of turning tioni its course, 
and for ever dehliiig that great slieain of Represent.a- 
tion. which had. eieii in Ihe most apitalid | ei lods, 
rcflec'ed S"me fe.itiires of the people, but which, from 
tlieiiceforth. became the P. clolns, Ihe "aurifer am- 
nis," of the couit, and seived as a minor of Ihe 
nation. I will and popular feeling no longer. We 
need but con ull the wiilings of that lime, to under- 
stand the astonishment then excited by nieasuies. 
which lhe])r..ctice of a century ha- rendered not only 
familiar but necessary, tee a pamphlet called " The 
Damier of inercenarv Parliaments," IbSS; Sbale 
Tracts, Will. HI. vol. li. ; see al,o "Some Paradoxes 
presented a= a New Year's Gifi," (Stale Poems, vol. 

3 The last great wound given to Ihe feudal system 
was the Act of the I2ih of Charles II., which abol- 
ished Ihe tenure of knight's service in atjjilc, and 
which Blackslone comp.ares, for its salutary influence 
upon properiv, to the boasted provisions of Magna 
Chaila itself.' Yet even in this Act we see Ihe ettects 
of that counteracting spirit which has contrived to 
weaken every ellbrt of the English nation lowaids 
liberty. The exclusion of copvholders fiom their 
share tf elective tights was permit'ed to icmaiu as a 
brand of feudal servitude, and as an ob<tacle to the 
rise of that which an equal re- 
presentation of property would opoose to Ihe weight 
of the Crown. If the maimgers of the Revolution 
had been sincere in their wishes for reform, they 
would not only have taken this feber oil" Ihe rights of 
election, but would ha>e renewed the mode adopted 
m Cromwell's time of increasing the number of 
knigbtsof tlie shire, lo the exclusion of those rotten 
insignificant borougln which have t iiited the whole 
mass of the constitution. Lord Clarei.din calls this 
measure of Cromwell's "an alteration hi to be more 
w.arraiitable made, and in a better lime." It formed 
part of iMr. Pitts plan in I7S3; but Pi t's plan of re- 
form was a kind of announced dramatic piece, about 
as likely to be ever acted as Mr. Sheridan's " Furtsl- 
ers " 

* fore enim lutum iter et patens 

Converso in pietiurn Deo. 

Aurum per medios ire satellites, &c. 


• See a pamphlet published in IGS3, upon the King's 
refusing to sign the Triennial Bill, called "A Dis- 
course between a Yeoman of Kent and a Knight of a 
Shire."- '• Hereupon (says the Ihe gentle- 
man grew angry, and said that 1 talked like a oase 

allh man." 



While parliament?, no more those sacred things 
Which make and rule the destiny of kings, 
Like loaded dice by ministers are thrown, 
And each new set of sharpers cog tlieir own. 
Hence ihe rich oil, that from the Treasury steals, 
Drips smooth o'er all Ihe Consiiiution's wheels, 
Giving the old njaclilne such ).liaut play.l 
That Court and Comirrnns jog m.e joltless way. 
While Wisdom tieiiiMes for the crazy car, 
So gilt, so rotten, carrying fools so far j 

It would be a task not uninstructive to trace the his- 
tory of Prerogrlive from the date of its strength under 
the Tudor princes, wlien Her.rv Vll. and his succes- 
sors " laught Ihe penple (as Nathaniel Bacon says)' 
to dance to Ihe tune of Allegiance," to the period of 
the Kevolutlon, when the '1 hrone, in i!s a'lacks upon 
liberty, began to exchange the noisy expl sions of 
Prerogali\e for the slenl and eli'ectual air gun of In- 
fluence, In following its course, too, since that 
memorable era, we shall hnd that, while ihe royal 
powt-r lias been ab idged in branches where it might 
be made conducive to the in'eresis of ihe people, it 
has been lefl m full and un-hackled vigour against 
almost every point where the iiilegiity of the consti- 
tution is vulnerable. For instance, ihe pouer of 
chartering boroughs, to whose capricious abuse in Ihe 
hands of the Stuarts we are indebled for most ■ f ihe 
present anomalies of represenlation, might, if suG'er- 
ed to remain, have in some degree atoned for ils mis- 
chief, by restoiing the old unchar erpd biroughs to 
their rights, and widening more equally the basis of 
Ihe legi;ialurc. Hu', by Ihe Aci of Union with Scot- 
land, this pait of the prerogative was removed, lest 
Freedom should have a chance of being tiealed, even 
by Ihe rust of the spear which had formerly wound- 
ed her. 1 he dangerous power, however, of creating 
peers, which has been so often exercised for the gn- 
vemmerit against the constitution, is still left in free 
and unqualified activity; nolwithslaiiding the exam- 
ple of ihai celeb a'ed Bill for the limilaiion of ihis 
evei-budding branch of prerogative, which was pro- 
posed in the reign of George I. under the jieculiar 
sanction and recommendation of the Crown, but 
which the Whigs ihought iight to reject, with all that 
characteristic delicacy, which, in gi-neral. prevents 
them when enjoying Ihe sweets of oifice themselves, 
from taking any rincourtly advantage of ttie Throne. 
It will be recollected, however, that the crea'ion of 
the twelve peeis by Ihe Tories in Anne's reign (a niea- 
sure which Swift, like a true party man. defends) gave 
these upright Whigs ail possible alarm for their liber- 

With regard to the generous fit about his preroga- 
tive which seized so unroyally the good king George 
I., hisloriaiis have hinted Ihat the paroxysm originated 
far mure in haired to his son ihau in love to Ihe oni- 
slitution.t This, of course, however, is a Cilumny: 
no loyal person, acquainted with the annals of the 
three Gei rges, could possibly suspect any tme of those 
gracious monarclis either of ill-will to his heir, or in- 
diflereiice for the consiiiution. 

I '-They drove so fist (says Welvpood of the minis- 
ters of Charles I.), that it was no wonder that the 
wheels and chariot broke.'* (Memniys, p. 35.) — But 
Ihis fatal accident, if we may jud^e from experience, 
is to be imputed far less to the fnlly and impetuosity 
of the drivers, than to the want of Ihat suppling oil 
from the Treasury which has been found so necessary 
to make a government like that of England run 
smoothly. Had Charles tieen as well provided with 
this article as his successors have been since the happy 
Revolution, his Commons worrld never have merited 
from him the harsh ajinellalion of " seditious vipers," 
but would have been (as they now are, and 1 trust 
always will be) "dutilul Commnns," "loyal Coni- 

« Historic, and Politic. Discourse, &c. part ii. n 
114. '^ 

And the duped people, hourly doom'd to pay 

The sums that biibe Iheir liberties away.'i 

Like a young eagle, who has lent bis plume 

To fleilge the shaft by which lie meets his doooi,- 

See their ow ii fealheis pluck'd, to wing the dart 

Which rank corruption destines for their lieartl 

But soft ! nielhiiiks I hear thee proudly say, 

" What I shall I listen to the impious lay, 

" That daies, with lory license, to profane 

" The bright bequests of William's glorious reign? 

" Shall Ihe great wi.-dom of our patriot sires, 

" Whom H— wks— b— y quotes and savoury B— nil 

"Be slaiider'd thus? shall honest St— le agree 
'■ With virlucus R-se to call us pure and free 
" Vet fail to prove it ? Shall our patent pair 
" Of wise slate-poeis wasie ihtir words in air, 
' And I'—e unheeded bieathe his prosperous strain, 
And C— nn— ng lake t/ie peojiles seme in vain ?" a 

,. J*"^ f.?"''''^ ' ~ '''• """ Freedom's form should slay 
Wheie freedom's spiiit long hath pass'd away ' 
That a false smile should play aiouud Ihe dead,' 
And Hush the features when the soul hath tied ' 4 

him ship, 
light have 

mons," &c. &C-, and would have giver 
money, or any other son of money he 

Ji Among those auxiliaries which the Revolution of 
16SS marshalled on the side of the Throne, Ihe bug- 
bear of I'opery has not been Ihe least convenient aiid 
serviceable. Those unskilful tyranLs, Charles and 
James, insleid of profiling by that useful subserviency 
which has always distinguished the minislcrs of our 
religious esLabhshmeni, were so inlalualed as to nlan 
the ruin of ihis best bulwark of their power and 
moreover, connec ed llieir designs upor the Church sc! 
undisguisedly with their attacks upon the Consiiiu- 
tion, they identilied in the minds of Ihe reonle 
Ihe luieresis of their religion and their liberties 
During those limes, therefore. " No Fopeiy " the 
watchword of freedom, and served to keep the public 
spiiil awake against the invasions of bigoirv and nre- 
rogalive. The Revolulinn, however, by removing 
this object of jealousy, has produced a reliance on the 
orthrdoxy of the '1 hrone, of which the Throne has 
not failed to lake advantage; and Ihe cry of "No 
I'opery "having thus lost ils power of alarming the 
people against the inroads of the Crown, has served 
ever since Ihe very difl'erenl pi.rpose of siieiigthening 
tlie Crown ai;aiiist Ihe pretenioi.s and stiu'glcsof the 
people. The danger of the Chuich from Papis's and 
Pretenrlers was the chief pretext for Ihe repeal of the 
Triennial Bill, for Ihe .adoption of a standing army, 
lor the numerous suspensions of Ihe Habeas Coipus 
Act, and. in short, for all those spiriied infractions of 
the constitution by which the reigns of the last cen- 
tury were so eminently distirgui-hed. We haie seen 
very lately, loo, how the Thione has been enabled 
by the same scarecrow s rt of alarm, to select its 
ministers from among men, who,e servility is their 
only claim to elevation, and who are pledged (if such 
an alternative cnuU arise) to take pari with the 
scruples of the King against the salvation of the em- 

3 Somebody has said, " Quand tons les pnelM 
seraient noyes, ce ne seraient pas grand dommage •" 
hut I am aware that this is not fit lansuage to be held 
me when ourbirth-dav odes and staie-papeis are 
Ml by such pretty poets as Mr. P-e and Mr. 
C— nn— ng. All I wish is, that the latter gentleman 
would change places with his brother P-e, by which 
s we sh'.uld have somew hat less prose in our 
and certainly less i oetry in our politics. 
' It is a scandal (said Sir Charles Sedley in Wil- 
liam's reign) that a government so sick at heart as 
ours IS should look so well in the face ;" and Edn-und 
Buike has said, in the present reign, " When tht peo- 
ple conceive Ihat laws and tribunals, indeven p„pular 
-"■'"''■'■■" '" perverted from the ends of Iheir insti- 



When Home bad lost hep virtue with her rights, 
When her (mil tyrant sat on C^tprea-'s lit- i^hts i 
Amid his rufllan spit-s, and dooniM to dL;illi 
K-vch noble nan.e ihey hl;»st<-d witli iheir brfath,— 
Even then, (in mockery «'f that ko den, 
When the Uepnhlic rose revered, sublime, 
And hi:r [iroiui sons, dill'u-ed f r tni zone to zone, 
Gave kins:^ (o every na'inn but their own,) 
Even ihe.i the senate and the lrih:ines stond, 
In-nltins ma-ks, m show how hi;;h the (loud 
Of Freedom flowM, iii t;lorys l)y-ffone day, 
And how it ebb'd,— for ever ebb'd away I * 

Lf'Ok but around — thnueh vef a tyrant's swnrd 
Nor haun's >Mir >lepp nor -jlitters o'er our board, 
Thnus;!! hiood be bi-t'er d-awn, by nmtlern q-iacks, 
With Ircnry leeches Ihan uith sword or axe; 
Yet s^y, could even a prostrate ir Imiies poHer, 
Or a mock semte. in Rome's servile hour, 
lu'ult SI much the clami-i. 'hf 'igtits nf man, 
As doth that fL-lrerM mob. ih it free divan, 
Of III tilr 1 .1.1, and honnur.ih e ki ;ivfs. 
Of perisit.n'd pUriofs aud prlvile^el 'lives;— 
ThaT parly-C'I'iirM mass, whicti nought can warm 
But nnk corruption's hett — whose q'ticken'd swarm 
Spread their li.^ht wings in Bribcrv's goMen sky, 
Unzz for a peri- d lay their e^gs, and die ;— 
That greedy vampite, which from Freed >m's tomb 
Comes f .r h, with Ml the mimicry of bloom 
Upon its lifeless cheek, and suck-; and drains 
A people's blood to feed its putrid veins I 

Thou stariV, mv friend, afpic'ure drawn so dark— 
" Is there no light?" Ihon ask'st— '■ no lingering spark 
'* Of ancient fire to warm us? Live? there none, 
" To act a Marvell's part ?"3_ab9 ! not one. 
7*0 place and power all public spirit tends, 
In place and power al! public spirit ends ; < 

tuMnn, they ti-d in 'hesc name? of degenerated estab- 
lishments only new motives In discontent. Those 
bodies which, wlien full of life and beauty, lay in 
their arms and were their joy and cmfo-t, when dead 
ore loathsome from remenibrance 
nts.'* — Thoughts on the prcserit 

and putrid become i 
of former endeirm 
DifC07iCentSt 1770. 

i Tutor habcri 

Principis, Augustri Caprearnm in mpepedcntls 
Cum gresce ChnUaex Juvenal. Sat. x. v. 92. 
The senate still ct>ntiniied. durir^g the reign of Titie- 
rius, to n-ana!<e all the bu-ineas of the public; the 
money was then anJ I ng after coined by their author- 
iy, and every other public affair received their sanc- 

We are told by Tacitus of a ceitain race nf men, 
who made themselves particularly us- ful to the Ro- 
man emperors, and were IhertTnre railed " instru- 
iiienta regni," or "couil tonls." From this; it ap- 
pears, that my Lords M , C , &c. &c. are by 

no means things of modern invention. 

^ There is something very touching in what Tacitus 
tells us of ihe hopes th^t revived in a few patriot 
bosoms, when the death of Augustus was near ap- 
proaching, and the fund expec'ation with which (hey 
already becan " bom liber atis incassum disserrere." 

Accoriiiig to Ferguson, Caesar's inleiference with 
the rights of election '-made the subversion of the 
republic moie felt thin anv nf the former acts of his 
power." — Rimnn RepxibUc, book v. chap. i. 

3 Andrew Marvell. the hftnes' oppn^er of the court 
during the reign of Charles the Second, and Ihe last 
member nf parliament who, according to the ancient 
mode, look wa^es from his cons iiuents. The Com- 
mons have, since then, noich chinged their pay- 
ma'slers. — See the Slate Poems for iome rude but 
spirited effusions of Andrew Marvell. 

* The following arlles-J speech of Sir Francis Win- 
nington, in the reign of Charles the Second, will 
amuse tho^e who aie fully aware .T the porfeciion we 
have since attained in that system of government 

Like haidv plants, that love (he air and sky, 
When o«( 'I will thrive— bjt takca ih, 'twill die I 

Not bolder truths of sscred Freedom hung 
From Sidney's pen or burn'd on Fox's tongue, 
Than upstart Whigs produce each market-night. 
While yet their coiiscience, as their purse, is Iij''t ; 
While debts ai home exci'C their care for those 
Wh ch, dire to tell, their much-lovM country owes, 
And loud and upright, till iheir prize be known, 
They thwart ttie King's supplies lo raibc their own, 
Hut bees, on flowers alighting, cease their hum — 
So, settling upon places, Whigs grow dumb. 
And, th()Ugh mo>t base is he wh'", 'nealh Ihe shade 
Of Kreedoin's ensign plies corruption's trade. 
And makes the sicied (lag he daies to show 
His passport to ihe market nf her fue. 
Yet, yet. 1 own, so venerably dear 
Are Freedom's grave old anihems to my ear, 
That I enjoy them, though by traitois sung, 
And reverence Scripture even froin Satan's tonjue. 
Niy. when Ihe consii'ution has eX[iired, 
I 'II have such men, like Irish wakers, hired 
To chant old " Habe;is Colpu^" l)y its side, 
And ask, in purchasd diities, why it died ? 

See yon smooth lord, whom nature's plastic pains 
Would seem tu 've f ^hionM for those Eastern rel^uB 
When eum.cii ilmi i h [, und such nerveless things 
As men ri-)r,ir I ^-,,1, u,, J,., sen of kings;— 6 
Even Ae, to.-., t,, , i, ir m, i. .Jail the worst!) 
Dared to a^.MlOM il:r pi [mil's name at first — 
Thus Pitt began, and ih'^s begin his apes: 
Thus devils, w hen /ir*i raised, lake pleading shapes. 
But oh, poor Ireland ! if revenge be swcel 
Fit centuries of wrong, for datk deceit 
And wilhering insult — for the Union thrown 
Into \h\ hitler cup. 6 when thd alone 
Of --laverys draught wanting t — if '"or this 
Revenge be sweet, thou hast that demon's bli^s : 

whose humble beginnings so much astonished the 
worthy barcnet. "1 did observe (savs he) that all 
those who had pensions, nnd most of those who h-Aii 
offices, voled all of a side, as ihey were directed by 
some great onicer, exactly as if their business in this 
House had been to preserve their pensions and offices, 
and not to make laws for the good of them who sent 
thein here."— He alludes to llinl pailianjeni which 
was called, jpar cxcdlaicc, the Pensionary P-irliamenl. 
fi According to Xenophon, the chief circumstance 
which recommended these creatures to the seivice of 
Eastern priices was the ignominious station they 
held in society, and the probability of their being, 
upon this account, more devoted to the will and 
caprice of a master, from whose notice alone they 
derived consideration, and in » hose favour lliey might 
seek refuge from the general conempt of mankind. — 
A(5o|ot ovTcs ol ivvovxoi Tzapa tol; aAAot? av- 
dpioTTOLS Kat Cia 70VTU Cito-noTov tniKovpov n'l-'Oj- 
dsovTQt.— Hut 1 doubt whether even an Eastern 
prince wi>uld have chosen an entire admiuis:ratioii 
upon this principle, 
6 "And in the cup an UiiioJi shall be thrown." 
t Among the many measures which, since the 
Revolution, have contributed to increase Ihe intluence 
of Ihe 1 hrone, and In feed up this ''Aaron's serpent" 
of Ihe constitution to its present healthy and rtsptcl- 
able magnitude, there hive been few more nutritive 
than the Scotch and Irish Unions. Sir John Packer 

j said, in a drb.tle upon the former question, tliai " he 
would submit it to the House, whether nun who h-id 

I basely betravcd Iheir trust, by giving ip Iheir ,'nde- 
pendent constitution, were fit to be admilied inli Ihe 
English House of Commons." But Si: John wnold 
have known, if he hnd not been out o( p'ace at the 
time, that the pliancy of such maieiials u as not among 
the least of their recommendations. Indeed, the pro 

1 molers of the Scotch Union weie by no nteans di^ap j 




For, sure, 't is more than hell's revenge to see 
That Kogland tru^is the men who 've ruin'd thee;— 
That, in these awful days, when every hr.ur 
Creates some new or bUsts some ancient power. 
When prnud Napoleon, like th' enchanted shield ' 
Whose lighi conipell'd each wondering foe to yield, 
With baleful lustre blinds the brave and free, 
And dazzles Europe into slavery, — 
That, in this hour, when patriot zeal should guide, 
When Mind should rule, and — fox ahould not have 

All thai devoted England can o- pose 
To enemies made liends and frieiids made foes, 
Is the rank refuse, ihe despised remains 
Of that unpilying power, wtmse whips and chains 
Drove Ireland tiisi to turn, with harlot glance, 
Tow'rds other slioies, and woo Ih' embrace of 

France ;— 
Those hack'd and tainted tools, so foully fit 
For the grand artisan of mischief, P— it, 
So useless ever but in vile employ. 
So weiik to save, so vigorous to destroy — 
Such are the men that guard thy ihrealen'd shore, 
Oh England ! sinking England : ^ boast no more. 

poitited in the leidins nblect of rheir measure, for the 
inumphaiit majiiriiiesof the courl-pariy m parliament 
m^y be dated from ihe admision of the 45 a d the lb. 
Once or twice, upon the alieiatioii of their la^v of 
treason and Ihe impogilion of the malt-tax (nieasure> 
which were m direct viola:ion of the Aci of Union), 
these worthy North Britons arrayed themselves in 
opposition to the court ; but finding thi^ effut for their 
countrv unavailing, they prudently determinei I" 
think thencefor\\arJ of themselves, and few men have 
ever kept lo a laudable resolution more ti inly. The 
eitecr of Irish rep. esent.*lion on the liberties of Eng- 
land will be no less perceptible and permanent, 

Ov5' 6y£ Tav^ov 

AemtTai avriKAovTos.' 
The infusion of such cher,p and useful ingredients as 
my Lord L.. Mr. U. B., &ic. ^c. in'o the legislature, 
cannot but act as a powe^ ful al'era ive on the consti- 
tution, and clear it by degrees of all tioublesome hu- 
mours of honesty. 
1 The magician's shield in Ariosto ; — 
E toltn per vt^rtu dello spttriiilore 

].a hbeil 

Cant. 3. 

We are lold that Csesar's corle of morality was con- 
tained in the following lint;s of Euripides, which thai 
great man Irecjuenlly repeated : — 

EtTrcp yap aditctiv XPV 7vpavvt.6os Tztpt. 

^ The following prophetic remarks occur in a letter 
written bv Sir R..bert Talboi, who attended the Duke 
of Bedford to Paris in 1762. Talking of states which 
have grown powerful in conimerce, he says, " Ac- 
coidintj 10 the nature and common cour-e of things, 
tliere is a confederacy againsl ttien), and consequently 
in the same proporiion as they increase in riches, 
ihev appro ich lo destruction. The address of our 
King VVilliam, in making all Eur-pe take the alarm 
at Fiance, has brought that country before us near that 
ineviiable period. We must necessarily have our 
lurn, ar.d Great Rri'ain will attain it as soon as France 
shall have a declaimer with organs as proper for ihat 
political purpose as were those of our William the 

Third With'>ut doubt, niy 

Lord, Great Britain must lower her tiight. Eurripe 

• From Aratus (v. 715.) a poet who wrote upcn 
aslrononiy, though, as Cicero assures us. he knew no. 
thing whatever "ahout the subject: just as the gre;il 
Harvey wine " De Genera:ione," though he hail as 
liMe to do with Ihe matter as my Lord Viscount C. 



"TMs clamour, which pretenda to be raiped for the 
Borely nf ri'ligion, has almost wi,rn out the very appei 
ance nf it, and ri-udercd us not only Ihe mo<it divided but 
Ihc must iinuiufhl people npnii the face of Ihe earth." 
Addtson, Freeholder^ Ho. 37. 

Start not, my frimd, nor think Ihe Muse V ill sta'n 
Her cbssic fingeiB with the dust jitofane 
Of Bulls, Decrees, and all those thundering scrolls, 
Which lonk such freedom once with royal souls,3 

will remind us of the balance of commerce, as she has 
reminded Ftance of the balu-ce of power. The ad- 
dress of our statesmen will in.morialjse them by con- 
triviiis f M us a descent wbich shall not be a fall, by 
making us rather rt-semble Holland than Carthage 
and Venice." — LetUrs 07i the French Natiori, 

3 The kinj-deposit.g doc'rine, notwithstanding its 
many mischievous ab^uid.lies, v^as of no liilie service 
to the cause of (..olilical libetty, by inculcating Ihf 
right of lesistairce to tyrants, and asserting (tie will of 
the people lo be ihe'i-nly true fountain of power. 
Bellarmine, the most violent of the .idvncales for 
I apal authority, was one of the ft'st to main'ain [Dc 
Punif. \\h. i. cap. 7,) "Ihat kings have not theii 
auibnntv or office immeiiia elv tiom G d nor his law, 
(,ut only from the law of rlation-;; » and id Kiig 
J-mes's "Delence of ihe H'shls of Kings a<(aiiist Can 
dinal Perron," we find Ins Majesty expie:^sing s'rong 
iridigi.aiion against the Cardinal inr having asserted 
** that to the deposing of a king the consent of Ihe 
people must be ob'ained" — "for by Ihe^e words 
(says James) the people are exal'ed above the king, 
;ind made the judges of the king's diposing," p, <124. 
Even in jMan.mas celebrated book whe^e the non 
st^nse of bigotry d^'es no' interfere, INere may be louid 
many liberal .uid eidigh'eoed views of the principles 
of government, of the resrraints wjiich should be nn- 
p'sed up -n royal power, of tl e suboidinaiinn of ihe 
Throne to the inieresls of the people. &c. &c. {De. 
Rege et Rt^is histiiutimic. See pariicuiaily lib. i. 
ca|. 6. 8. and 9.) It is la'her lemarkable, loo, thai 
Eiig'and sh' nlj be indebted to another Jesuit for the 
earliest defence of that principle upon which Ihe 
Revolulion was founded, namely, the right of the 
people lo change the succession. (See Dolem 
'*Conference--," vvrilten in suppmlof ihe title of ihe 
Infanta of S| ain agiinst that of James I ) When 
En:<lishmen, therefore, say that Popery is the relitiic 
of slavery, they should imt o. ly recollect that the 
own b 'asred cinsti'u'inn is the work and bequest of 
l-opish ancestors; they should not onlv ren.enpber Ihe 
lavs of Edward III., "under whoi'n (sa>s Bolrng- 
broke) the constitution of our mrlMinents. and tlie 
whole form of our g iveinmen',becinie reduced into 
bet'er f)rm;" but they should know that even the 
errors ch irged ( n Popery have leaned lo Ihe cauye r.f 
iibertv, and that Pap sis weie the [romnlgators 
of the doctrines wtuch led to Ihe RlvoIuIioo. " 
general, however, the poliiical piinciples of the 
Roman Ca bolica have been described as hippei.ed lo 
suit Ihe teo pora y conveniei ce of their oppressors, 
and have been rep'-esenled abernately as slavish or 
refracloiy, according a'< a prelrxi f -r tormenting them 
"as wanting. The same incotisistency Las ina'ked 
every other imputaiion a^iainsl them. 'I hey 
charged with laxi'y in the (ib>tTvaiice of oath?, though 
an (.a'h has been found sufficient to sbut them out 
from all worldly advantages 1! they reject certaii 
deci-ions <>( Iheir church, they are said lo be sceptics 
^nd Chri-tians; if they admit those ve y deci- 
sions, thcv are branded as bigo's and bad subjects. 
We are b'ld that confidence and kindncsa will make 
Ihem enemies to Ihe goveinmen', though we know 



When heaveu was yet the pnpe's exclusive trade, ( 

And kings were damn'd as fast as nuw they Ye made. 

No, no — let I)— jt-n— n search the papal chair * 

For fra^raiK treasures loii^ for^oiteii rhere; 

And, as tlie \viichot sunless L^ipland thinks 

'I hat little swarthy gnnmes delight in stinks, 

Let sallow p_rc-v-l snuti up the gale 

Which wizard U— gen— n's ealhei'd sweets exhale. 

Enough for nie, v\tinse heart has learn 'd to !.cora 

Bigots alike in Rome or England born. 

Who loathe the venom, whencesne'er it springs, 

From popes or lawyer-^,* p stry-cnoks or kings,— 

t^nough for me to laugh and weep by turns, 

As iitinh provokes, or indignation burns, 

As C— on— ng v'priurs. or as Fiance succeeds, 

As H— wk— sb'ry pioses, or as Ireland bleeds 1 

And thou, my friend, if, in these headlong days, 
When bigoi Zeil hei diunken antici- plays 
So near a precipice, that men the while 
Look breathless on and shudler while they smile — 
If, in such fearful d.ys, thou 'It dare to louk 
'lo haplfs> Ireland, to this rankling nook 
VVbich Heaven hath freed from poisonous things id 

While G— ff— rd's tongue and M— sgr — ve's pen re- 

If thou hast yet no golden blinkers got 

Tn shade ihine eyes from this devoted spot, 

Whose wrongs, tliough bl.izon'd o'er the world they be, 

Placemeti alone are privileged not to see — 

Uh I turn awhile, and, though ihe shamrcck wreathes 

My homely harp, yet shall the song il breathes 

Of Ireland's slavery, and of Ireland's woe^, 

Live, when the memory of her tyrant foes 

ijhall hut exist, Ml future knaves to warn, 

£nibalniM in hale and cmonised by scorn. 

When C— sti— r— gh, in sleep s i^l mnre profound 

Than his own opiate ti'iigue now deals aiound, 

bhall wait th' iinpeachmeni of that awful day 

Which even his practised hand caut bribe away. 

Yes, nny dear friend, wert thou but near me now, 
To ^ee how Spring lights up on Erin's brow 
Smiles that shine out. uiicni)qner..bly |(iir, 
Even through tlie blood-marks left by C— nid— n 3 

Cnuld'st thou but see what verdure paints the sod 
Whicii none but tyrants and 'heir slaves have trod, 
And didsl thou know the spirit, kind and brave, 
That warms the soul of each insulted slave, 

that exclusion and injuries have hardly prevented 
them from being its fnends. In short, nothing can 
belter illusiiate ttie misery nf tho^e shifis and evasiom 
by which a l^ng course of cowaidly injustice must bi 
supported, than the whole hisiory of Great Britain' 
conduct towards the Cath'd'C part of her empire. 

1 The *' Sella Stercoraria" of the popes. —Tin 
Right Honourable and learned Doctor will find ai 
engraving of tliis chair in Spanheim's " Disquisitio 
Historica de Papa Foemina" (p. 118;) and I recom- 
mend It as a model for the fashion of thit seat which 
the U ctor js about to lake in the privy-counciI of 

* When Innocent X. was entreated to decide the 
controversy between the Jtsuils and the Jan^enisls, he 
answeicd, that '*he had been bred a lav^yer, and had 
therefore nothing to do with divinity."— It were to be 
Wished that some of our Engbsh pettifoggers koev/ 
their own fit element as well as Pope Innocent X, 

3 Not tlieC— md-n who speaks thus of Ireland :— 

**To wind up all, whether we regaid the fruiiful- 
ness of the sod, the advantage of the sea, with so 

I many cnmnr-dious havens, or the natives themselves, 
who ate ^^ailike, insenmus, handsome, and well-cnm- 
plexionfd, s'ft-skmned and verv nimble, by reison of 
I the pliantne.s of iheir muscle^ Ihis UlanJ is in many 
respec s so happy, that GiraUlus might very well say, 
I * Naue had regarded with more f ivourableeyes than 
] ordinary this Kingdom of Zephyr.* " 

Who, tired with struggling, sinks beneath his lot, 
And seems by all but watchful France forgot * — 

by heart wnuld burn --yes, even thy Pittite heart 
Would burn, to think that such a blooming part 
Of the world's garden, rich in nature's charms. 
And hll'd with souls and vigorous arms, 
Should be the viciini of that canting crew, 
So smooth, so gi'dly,— yet so devilish too ; 
Who, arm'd at unce with prayer-books and with 
Blood on their hands, and Scripture on their lips. 

* The example of toleration, which Bonaparte has 
held foith, Will, 1 fear, produce no other etTect than 
that of determining the Bi ilish government to persist, 
frnni Ibe \ery spirit of opposiiion, in their own old 
system of intolerance and injustice; just as the Sia- 
mese blacken their teeth, •' because," as they say, 
*• the devil has white ones."* 

6 One of *he unhappy results of the controversy 
between Prntest.mis and Catholics, is the mutual ex- 
posure which their c iminatioiis and lecriminafions 
have produced. In vain do ihe Frote=ianls chaige the 
Papists wnh closing the door of salvation upon others, 
while many of therr own writings and articles breathe 
the rame uncharitable spirit. No canon of Constance 
or Laleran ever damned heretics more efleciually 
than the eichth of the 'J'hirty-nine Articles consigns to 
perdition eveiy single member of the Greek church; 
and I doubt whether a more sweeping clause of dam- 
nation was ever proposed in the niosi bigo ed council, 
than that which the Calvinisiic theory of predesti- 
nation in Ibe seventeenth of these Articles exhibits. 
It is Irua 'hat no liberal Proiestanl avows snch exclu- 
sive opinions ; that every honest clergyman must leel 
a pang while he subscribes to them ; that some even 
assert the Athan.isiaa Creed to be the fiTgery of one 
Vigilius Tapseo'is, in the beginning of the sixth cen- 
tuty, ar,d that eminent divines, like Joitin, have not 
besi'ated lo say, '• ThiTe are propositions contained in 
our Liturgy and Articles, which no man of cnnmion 
sen^e among us believes."t But, while alt ibis is 
fiirelv conceded to Protestan's ; while nobody doubts 
their sinceiity, when they declare ihat Ihetr arlicles 
are not essentials of (ailh. but a collection of opinions 
which hive been promulgated by fallible men, and 
from many of which they fee! Ihemsehes juslil:ed in 
dissenting,— while so niuch lilerty of letiactaiion is 
allowed to Protes ants upon their'own declared aiid 
subscribed Aiticles of religion, is it not strange thai a 
similar indulgence should be so ob^iii ately refused to 
the Catholrcs, upon tenets u Inch their church has uni 
formly resisted and condemned, in eveiy countiy 
where it has independently flonrivhed ? When the 
Catholics say, " The Decree of Ihe Council of Lateran, 
which you object to us, has no claim whatever upon 
either our faiih or (.ur leason ; it did not even profess 
to contain any doctrinal decision, but was merely a 
judicial proceeding of that .tssenibly ; and it would be 
as fair for us to impu e a wijt-hilling doctrine to tl;e 
Protestants, because their first pope, Henry VIIL, w;i8 
sanctioned in an indulgence of ihat propensity, as for 
you to coicliidft that we have inl;erited a kmg-de- 
posing taste from the acts o{ the Council of Lateian, 
or the secular pre'ensions of our pope,'. With re- 
spect, too, to the Decree of the Council of Constance, 
upon ihe strength of uhich you accuse us of breaking 
faith with heretic>. we do not hesitate to pionounce 
that Decree a calunini'jus forgery, a forgerv. too, so 
obvious and ill-f.iljncattd, that none but our enemies 
have ever venlured to give it the slightest ciedit for 
au; » When ttie Catholics make these de- 
clarations (and they are almost weary with ni-king 
them,) when they show, too, by their conduct, that 
these declarations are sincere, and Ihat their faiih and 
morals are no n.oie reguUted by the absurd decrees of 
old councils and popes, than their science is intiuenced 

t Strictures on the Arlicles, Subscriptions, &c. 



Tyranta by creed, and torturers hv text, 

Make this life liell, in lionour ofllie next .' 

Your R— desd— les, P— re— v— la,— gieat, glorious 

If I 'm presumptuous, le my tongue forgiven, 
When heie 1 aweir, l.y my eouI's hope of rest, 
1 'd rather have l.een bo. n, e e man was blest 
With tlie puie dawn of Reielation's light. 
Yes,— rather plunge me back in I'agan night, 
And take niv cliance uitli Sncales for bliss.l 
1 iiau be the Christian of a faith like this, 
Winch liuilds on heavenly c.iiit it= ejrlhly Eway, 
And in a convert moui iis to lo-e a piey ; 
Which, ir.i8))ing human hearts with d uble holiJ,- 
Like Danae's lover mixing g. d and gold,* — 


Corrupts both state and church, and makes an oath 
The knave and atheist*s passport into both ; 
Which, while it dooms dissenting souls to know 
Nor bliss above nor liberty below. 
Adds the slave's sulleriiig to the sinner's fear, 
And, lest he 'scape hereafter, racks him heic ! 3 


by the jiapal anathema against that Irishman 
first found out the Amipodes.— is it not strange that s.a 
manvstiUvvilfu*y distrust what every guod man is so 
much interested in believing}' That so lo .iiy should 
prefer the d.irk-lantern of the 13th ctntury to ilie sun- 
shine of intellect which has since overspread the 
world, and that cveiy dabbler in theology, from Mr. 
Lc Wesurier down to the Chancellor of ihe Exche- 
f|uer, should date to op]iise the rubbish of Constance 
and Lateraii to the bright and triumphaut progress of t 
justice, generosity, and truth ? 

' In a singular work, written by one Franciscus 
Collius, "upon the "^ouls of the Pagans," the author 
discusses, with much coolness and erudition, alt the 
prob.ble chances of salvation upon which a heathen 
philosoplier miglit calculate. Consigning to perdi.ion 
without much difiiculiy, Plato, Socrates, &c. the only 
sage at whose fate he seems lo hesitate is Pythagoias, 
in consideraiion of his golden thigh, and the many 
miracles which lie performed. But, having balanced 
a little his claims, and fmdine reason to father all these 
miracles on the devil, he at Tength, in the twenty-fitth 
chapter, decides upon damning him also. {DtAni- 
viabus Paganorum, lib. iv. cap. 20. and 25.) 'Ihe 
poet Daiite cnmpromi-es the matter with the Pagai s, 
and gives them a neutral territory or limbo of iheir 
own, where iheir employment, it must be owned, is 
not verv enviable — " speme vivenio in desio." 
Cant. iv. Among the numerous errors imputed to 
Origeii, he is accu^ed of having denied the elerniiy of 
future punishment ; at d, it he never advanced a more 
irrational doctrine, we may venture, I ttiink, lo for- 
give him. He went so far, however, as to include Ihe 
devil himself in the gcnenl hell-delivery which he 
supposed would oi.e day or other take place, and in 
tins St. Augnstin thinks him rather too merciful — 
"Miserecoidior profecto tuil llngenes, ijui et ipsum 
diabolum," &c. (Be t'lmtal. Dei. lib. xxi. cap. 17.) 
According to SI. Jernni, it was Origeii's opinion, that 
" the devil himself, afier a certain time, will be as 
well off as the angel Gabriel " — '■ Id ipsum fore 
Gabrielem quod diabolum." (See his Epistlelo Pam- 
machivs) But Halloix. in his Defence of Origen, 
denies strongly that this leaned father had any such 
misplaced tenderness for the devil. 

9 Mr. Fox, in his S|ipech on the Repeal of Ihe Test 
Act (1790.) thus condemns the inteimixture of le- 
ligion with the political cons'i ulion of a s'ate : — 
"What purpose (he asks) can it serve, except the 
baleful purpo-e of communicating and receiving con- 
tamination ? UiidiT sucli an allMiice corruption must 
alight upon Ihe one, and slavery overwhelm the 

Locke, loo, says of the connection between church 
and state, "The boundaries on both sides are fixed 
and immoveable. He jumbles heaven and earth 
together, the things most remote and opposiie, who 
imxes these two societies, which are in their original, 
* Virgilius, surnamedSolivagU', a native of Ireland, 
who maintained, in ihe gih ceiittirv. Ilie doctiine of 
the Antipodes, and was anatluniatised accordingly by 
the Pope. John Scotus Engena, another Irishman, 
was Ihe first that ever wrote against Iransubstai.tia- 

end. business, 
and infinitely dille 
ier o?i Tulerntion. 

The corruptions introduced into Christianity may 
be dated from the peiiod of its establishment un. rr 
Coiistanline, nor could all the splendour which it 
then acquired atone for the peace and purity which 
it lost. 

3 There has been, after all, quite as much intole- 
rance among Protestants as among Papists. Accord- 
ing to the hackneyed quotation — 

Iliacoa intra murns peicatur ct extra. 
Even Ihe great champion of the Heforniation, Me- 
lancthon. whom Jortin calls "a divine of much mild- 
ness and jotid-?mIi/re," thus expresses his approbation 
of the burning of Servetus: ' Le^i (he savs to Bullin- 
ger) quae de Serveti blasphemiis respnndistis, et pieta- 
judicia vesira proho. Jndico etiam setiatum 
iiseni recte fecisse, quod hominem pertinacem 
omissurum blasphemias sustulit ; ac miratus 
e qui seveiiiatein illam imprr-bent."— 1 have 
great pleasure in contiasting wi'h tbe-e "mild 


ured" seniiments the following words of Ihe 
BaUize, in addressing his friend Conringius: 
im anicmus, mi Conringi, ct lametsi diversas 
nes lueiiiur in causa reiigionis, nionbus tai 
i nou simus, qui eadeni liierarum studia secia- 
— HiTman. Cmring. Epistol. par. secui.d. p. 

Hume tells 
of Chailesthi 
of Ihe Kiig- 
book which 
their great d 

that the Commons, in the beginning 
list's reign, "attacked Montague, 
:liaplains, on account of a mode 
bad lately composed, and which, to 
isl, saved virtuous Catholics, as well 

1118, trnni eteri al toruienls." — In the 

same manner a complaint was lodged before Ihe Lords 
of the Council against th.t excellent wiiter Hooker, 
for having, iu a Sermon against Popery, attempted to 
save many of his Popish ancestors for ignorance. — 
To these examples of Piotestant toleration I shall beg 
leave to oppose ihe following extract from a letter of 
old Roger Ascham (the tutor of Queen Elizabeth), 
which is preserved among the Harring on Papers, and 
lo66, to Ihe Earl of Leices'er, com- 
plaining of Ihe Archbishop Young, who had taken 
away his prebend in the chuch of Yoik: " Master 
B rurne * did never grieve me half so moche in otter- 
ing me wrong, as Mr. Dudley and Ihe Pyshopp of 
York doe. in taking away my right. No byshopp i 
Q. Mary's time would have so dealt with me ; not M 
Bourne hymself, when Wmchiser lived, durst have 
so dealt with me. For sucbe good estimation in th 
dayeseven the learnedst and wvsesl men as Garde: 
and Cardinal Poole, made of niy poore service, that 
alih'Ugh they knewe perfectly that in religion, both 
by open wrjiingeand pryvie laike, I was contrarye 
unto them ; yea, when Sir Francis Englefield by name 
did note me specialhe at the councill-board, Gardei 
would not suffer me lo be called thither, nor toucli 
ellswheare, saiinge suche words of nie in a lettre, 
though lettres cannot, 1 blushe lo wriie them lo your 
lordship. Wii. Chester's good-will stoode not in speak- 
ing f.ire and wishing well, but lie did in deede that 
for me,t wheieby my wife aid children shall liv 
better when I am gone." (See Nu£,t> Antiquas. v 
p|i. 9S, 99.)— If 11 en who acted this were bigots, 
what shall we call Mr. P-rc-v— I ? 
In Sutcliffe's "Survey of Popery" there occurs the 

« Sir John Bourne, Principal Secielary of State to 
Queen Miiy. 

t By Gardener's favour Ascham long held his fel- 
lowship, thouth not resident. 



But no — far other fiilh, far milder beams 

Of heavenly justice warm tile Chrisli ill's dreams 

His creed is writ nn Mercy's paje above,, 

ily llie pure li.i.ds c.f all-.l is Love ; 

fie weeps t.i see aljused Ileligir'il twine 
Hound Tyranny's crr.trse brow her wrea'h divine; 
And lie, while rriuiid Irini sects and lialior.s raise 
1 o tire one G("i llieir v iryinic notes of praise, 
niesses each voice, wliate'er its lone may be, 
That serves to swell the general harm my. i 

Such was the spirit, gentiv, Rrandly bright, 
Tirat fill'd, oh Fox! thy peaceful soul wi h light; 
\\ bile free and spacious as thai ambrent air 
Wlnth fi'ids our planet in its circling cue, 
'llie mighty sphere of thy Irar sparenl mind 
Kiirbraeed the world, and breathed for all mankind. 
Last ol llie great, farewell I — yet lio( the last — 
'lliough Britain's sun-hrne hour with tliee be past, 
lerne still one ray of glory ^ives, 
And feels but half thy loss while Grattan Kvcs. 


To the fiire^ning Poem, as first published, were 
subjoined, in the sha'pe of a N'He, or Appendix, the 
following rennrks on ihe History and Music of Ire- 
luid. This fragment was originally intended 1o form 
part of a Preface lo the Irish Melodies ; but after- 
wards fur some leasoo which 1 do not uottr recollect, 
Wis thrown a^ide. 

Our history, for many centuries past, it creditable 
neiiher lo our neighbours iior our--elves, and ought not 
111 be read by aiiy I^l^hInan who uishes either to love 
Enghnd or to feel proud of Ireland. The loss of in- 
dependence verv early debased nurcljar-icter ; and our 
feuds aiid lebellions, though frequt-nt and ferocinus, 
hui seldom dif.played ihar generous spirit of entei prise 
wiiti vvliich (tie pride of an independent monarchy so 
long dignified the struggles of ic tiand. It Is true 
this island has given binh to hernes who, under more 
favourable circumstances, mi:;ht have left in the 
hearis of their c-unt ytneii rt-collectinns as dear as 
those of a Bruce or a vv' ; but success 
iiig to con^ecr^te re>is'ance, their cause 
wiih the disheirlenin; 
oppressed country w;is such a blank among rali<ms, 
that, like the adveniuies of th.tse woods which Ruialdo 
wished to explore, the fame of their actions v\as lost 
in the obscurity of the place where ihey achieved 

• EiTaud> tn quelll boachi 


as want- 


of treason, and their 

follnwing assertion : — '* Papists, that positively hold 
the heretical and f.*lse docrines of ihe modern church 
of Rome, cannot pns-ihly be sived "—As a contrast 
to this and other specimens of Protestant liberality, 
which it would be m> ch more easv thin pleasant to 
collect. I refer my reader lr> the t)eciar.itinn of Le 
Pare Coyrayer ;-dnijbting not thai, while he reads 
the seniiiiients of this pious man np'^n loleiation, he 
will feel inclined to exclaim with Htflsh»m, "Blush, 
ye Protestant bigots ! and be confnundtd at the com- 
parison of your own wretched and malignant preju- 
dices with Ihe gene-ous and enlarged idei-, the nohle 
and animated language of this Popish priest." — Es- 
saySy xxvil. p. S6. 

I *' La tolerance est la chose du monde la plus pro- 
pre a nmener le siecle d'or, et a f 'ire un concert et 
mie hirnionie de plusieuts voix et instruments de dif- 
fereii's tons el n tes, aus-i agreable pour le moms que 
riiniformite d'une seule vt,ix."-Bavle. Coioineniaire 
Phil'>sophifiue, &c. part ii. chap, vi.— Roth Rayle and 
Locke would have treated the subjrct of Tnleratinn in 
a manner much more wnrlliy of themselves and of ihe 
cause, if they had wiitten in an age less distracted by 
religious prejudices. 


Hence it is that the annals of Ireland, through a 
lapse of six hundred years, exhibit not one of those 
shining names, not one of those themes of nahonal 
pride,from which poetry borrows her noblest inspira- 
tion; and that history, which ou^ht lo he the richest 
£Arden of the Muse, yields no growth to her in this 
hapless island hut cypiess and wetds. In truth, the 
poet who would embellish his song with allusions to 
Iri-h names and events, must he contented to seek 
them in those early period'i when our cliar:icter was 
yei unallojed aiid Original, before the imp^ litic craft 
of our conquerors had divided, weakened, and dis- 
graced us. 1 he sole traits of heroism, indeed, which 
he can venture at this day to commemo a e, either 
with safety !o hiniseh", or honour to his country, are 
lo be looked for in tiiose a-.cient times when the na- 
tive monarchsof Ireland displayed and fostered virtues 
worthy of a better age ; when our Malachies wore 
around their necks c liars of gold which they had won 
in single combat from the invader.^ and our Briens 
deserved and won the waim atiections of a people by 
exhitiiing all the most e>limab!e qu.ilities of a king. 
It may be said that ihe mngic of (i-adiiion has slied a 
charm overihisremoie period, to which it ism reality 
but little entitled, and that most of the pictures, which 
we dwell on so fondly, of days when this island was 
distinguished amidst the gloom of Europe, by Ihe 
sanctity of her morals, the spirii of her knighthood, 
.ind the polish of her schools, aie little more than Ihe 
inventions of national partial! y, — that bright but spu- 
rious offsprmg which vanity engenders upon igno- 
ra'icp,and with which Ihe first recoids of every pe. pie 
.abound. But Ihe sci'pMc is scarcely to be envied who 
woild pause for slionger proofs ihan we already 
possess of Ihe early elones of Irt-land ; and were even 
veraci'y of all these proofs surrendered, yet who 
Id not tiy to such Haltering fictions from the sad 
adiiis truths which the history of later times pre- 
sents to us? 

Ihe language of sorrow, however, is, in general, 
best suited lo our Mu-.ic, and with themes of this na- 
lure Ihe poet niay be amply supplied. There is 
scarcely a page of our annals that will not furnish 
him asutiject, and «hile the iiaiional Muse of niher 
countries adorns her lemple proudly with ir phies of 
the p;tvt, in Ireland her melancholy altar, like the 
shrine of Pity at Athens, i^ to be kilown only by the 
tears Ih^t aie shed upon it j ^^ lacryniis altana su- 

1 here is a well-known s'orv, rela'ed of the Antio- 
chians under Ihe reign r-f '1 he"dosius, which is not 
onlvhnni'ur:ib!e to the powers of mustc in general, but 
wh'ich api-Iies so p-culiarlv to the mournful niehdies 
of Iielmd.lhat I cannot le'sist the teuipt.ition of intro- 
ducing it here. — The pio'y of I he' d'isius u riuld have 
been admirahle. had it not been s'auied with intole- 
rance; but under his reign was, I telieve, first set the 
example of a disqualifying penal code enacted by 
Christians against Christians.^ Whether his inter- 
ference with the religion of the Antiochians had any 

* Arioslo, canto iv. 

a See Wari.ei's History of Ireland, vol. i. bonk ix. 

* S*atius, ThebuJJ. hb xii. 

6 "A sort of civil excommunica'ion (yays Gibbon), 
which sepaiated them from Iheir fellow-ci'izens by a 
peculiar brand of infamy; and Ihis decbraiion of ihe 
supreme magistiate tended to juslify. or at least to 
excuse, the insnhs of a fanatic populace. 'Ihe secta- 
res were gradually disqualified for the pn-se-sinn of 
hoLonrable or b criitive employments and Theodnsius 
wassatisfiel with Ins own justice when he decreed, 
that, as the Euuomians distingnished the nature of the 
Son from that of the Father, they should be incapable 
of making their wills, or of receiving any advantage 
from leslamcnlary donations." 



share in the alienatinn of their loyally is not expressly 
ascertained by historians; hut severe edicts, heavy 
lax^itioii, and the rapacity and indolence of Ihe men 
whom he sent t;) ^nvern iheni, sufficiently account for 
the di3C0hIents of a warm and susceptible people. 
Kepeniaiicesoori folIowe<l the crimen rnto ivtuch tlieir 
impatience hid hunied them; but the vengeance of 
the tiniperur wa-s implacable, and puiiishmen's of ihe 
mosl dredful nature bun? over the cry of Aftioch, 
wliose dfvoted mhabi'an s, totally resigned to despon 
deuce, wandered 'brtu^hthe streets and public assem* 
blies, givin; utterance lo their grief in dirges of the 
most loucliin^ laineiitatiou.x M leoglh, Flavianu^, 

1 MtXjj Tiva o\o(pvpfiov JfAT^oT; kui avfifraOua^ 
irvv9i{itvoi, TOiS (i£Aait?iatj tTir/dov. — Niccfh'nr, 
lib. xii. cap. 43. This story J-. lold also in S^zomen, 
lib. vii. cap. 28. ; but unfortunately Chrysostom says 
nothiug whatever about it, and be not only had the 

their bishf^p, whom they had sent to intercede with 
Theodosius, finding all his entreaties coldly rejected, 
adop ed the exppdient of teaching these songs of sor- 
row which he liad heird from the lips of his unforlu- 
nae cou'i'rsmeri to ihe minstrels who performed for 
tlie Em|)er6r at tabie. The heart of Theodosius ould 
not resist this a|>peal ; tears tell fast inio his cup while 
he listened, and the An'.inchians weie forgiven. — 
Surely, if music ever spi'ke the misfortunes of a peo- 
ple, o. clujI 1 ever cnnciliate forgiveness for tlieirerrors, 
Ihe musicof Ireland ou^ht to po3-e-s those powers. 

best nppo tu'iities of mforma ion, but was loo fond f 
music, as appears by his prai^^es of p=aliiiody (Expo- 
sit, iu P-alni. xli.), to omit such a flattering illustra- 
tion of its powers. He imputes their reconciliatioD 
to the interference of the ,Antiochiaii solitar es, while 
Zozimus attributes it to the remcnstiances of the so- 
phist Libanius. — Gibbon, I think, dues not even 
allude tu this story of the uiusiciaus. 


No/iov navTdiV ^airtXta, — Pindar, ap. Berod, lib. iii. 


The Sceptical Philosophv of the Ancients has been 
no less misrepresented than the Epicurean.^ Pyrrho 
may perhaps have carried it to rather an irrational 
excess;— but we must not believe, with Eeatlie, all 
the absurdities imputed lo this philosopher: and it 
appears to nie that the doctrines of Ihe school, as ex- 
plained by Sexlus Empiricus,* are fa-- more suited to 
the uants and infiinuties of human reason, as well as 
more conducive to the mild virtues of humility and 
patience, than any of those systems of philosophy 
which preceded the introduction of Chris'ianiiy. 'Ihe 
Sceptics may be said to have held a middle path be- 
tween the Dogmatists and Academicians; Ihe former 
of whom b.-asfed that thev had attained Ihe truth, 
while the latter denied that any attainable truth ex- 
isted. The Sceptics, however, without either assert- 
ing or denying its exisence^ professed to be modestly 
and anxiously in search of it; or, as St. Augustine 
expresses it, in his liberal tract against the Manichx- 
ans. ** nemo nostrum dicat jam se invenisse verita'em ; 
sic earn quaeramusquasi ab ulrisque ne3cia'ur."3 From 
Ihis habit of impartial investigation, and the neceB--i'y 
which it imposed upon them, of studying not only 
every system of philosophy, but every art and science, 
which professed to lay its o^sis in truth, they necessa- 
rily took a wider range of erudition, and were far 
more travelled in the regions of philosophy than those 
whom conviction or bigotry h^d domesticated in any 
piriicular system. It required all the learning of dog- 
matism to overthrow the dogmatism of learning ; and 
the Sceptics may be said to resemble, in this respect, 
that ancient incendiary, who stole from the alUr ihe 
fire with which he destroyed the temple. This ad- 
vantage over all the other sects is allowed to them 
even bv Lipsius, wh- se treati^e on the miracles of the 
Virgo Hallensis will sufficiently save him from all 
suspicion of sce[iticism. "Lahore, ingenio, memo- 
ria." he says, " supra nmnes pene philos'iphos fuis'^e. 
— Quid nonne omnia alinrum secia teneie debnerunt 
et inquirere, si pnterunl refellere ? res dicit. Nonne 

» Pyrrh. Hvpoth. — The reader may find a tole- 
rably clear abstract of this work of Sextus Empiricus 
in La Verite des Sciences, by Meiseone, liv. i. chap. 
ii., &c. 

» Lib. contra Epist. Manichasi quam vocant Fundi- 
■nenti, Op. Paris, torn. vi. 

orationes varies, raras,pubtiles inveniri ad tam recep- 
ta^, daras, ceila5(ut videbatur)5enleritiaseverlenda3 r* 
&c. &C.4 — Manduct. ad Philosoj:h. Stoic. Dissert. 4. 
Between the scepticism of the anciems and Ihe mo- 
derns the great difl'erence is. that Ihe former doubled 
for the purpose of investigating, as may be exemplified 
by the third book of Aristotle's Meiaphysic9,5 while 
the latter investigate for the purpose of doubting, as 
niay be seen througli most of Ihe philosophical works 
of Hume 6 indeed, the Pynhonism of latter days is 
not only moie subtle than that of antiquity, but, U 
must be c> nfessed, niore dangerous in its tendency. 
The happiness of a Christian depends so essentially 
upon his belief, that it is but n.itural he should feel 
alarm at the progiess of doubt, lest it should steal by 
degrees into that region fiom which he is most inter- 
esed in excluding poison at last the very spring 
of his consolali' n and hope. Still, however, Ihe 
abuses of doubling ought not to deter a philosophical 
mind from indulging mildly and rationally in its usej 
and there is nothing, surely, more consistent with the 
meek spirit of Chi istianily, than ihat humble scepti- 
cism which pnies-es not to extend i's distrust beyond 
Ihe circle of human pursuits, and the pretensions of 
human knowledge. A follower of this school maybe 
among Ihe readiest to admit the claims of a superin- 
tending Intelligence upon his failh and adoration: it 
is only to the wisdom of this weak world that he re- 
fuses, or at least delays his assent ;— it is only in pass- 
ing through the shadow of earth tlial his mind under- 
goes the eclipse of scepticism. No follower of Pyrrho 
has ever spoken more strongly agaii st the Dognialiste 
than SI. Paul himself, in the First Epistle to the Co- 
rin'hians; and there are passages in Ecclesiastes and 
other parts of Scripture, which justify our utmnst dif- 
fidence in all thai human re.^son originates. Even the 

* See Martin. Sclioockius de Sceplicismo, who en- 
deavours,— weakly, I think,— to refute this opinion of 

» Ecrri dc roicre vnop7}(rat {iov\ofiivoi^ ffpovp- 
yov TO diajrop»^o"a; xaAws. — Mtiaphya. lib. iii, 
cap. 1. 

6 Neither Hume, however, nor Berkeley, are to be 
judged by the misrepre^enlalions of Beattie, whose 
book, however amiably intended, puts forth a most 
unphilosophical appeal to popular feelings and preju- 
dices, and is a continued petitioprincipit throughout. 



Sceptics nf antiquity refrained carefully from tlie mys- 
teries of thc'ilog^ , and, in en'eiing the temples of re- 
ligion, laidaaide their philos'iphy at 'he porch. Sextus 
Einpiricus thus declare-, the acquiescence of his ^ect 
in ihe generil belu-t of ;. d.vire .ind f-ire-kofuving 
Fnurr : — 'J'^ fitv fittxt icar aKoXovOovvr i'; a^olatr- 
Twj <pa/itv iivat -^covs Kat trtpofiiv -^tovs kqi 
jroovoiiv avTovs (PafiivA In short, it appears to 
mV, llinl this rali'iiial uid vxell-iegulated scepiirisrn is 
Ihr <iiilv daugh er of the Schnoh that en safely I'e 
sflecicd asa tundniaid for Pie'y. He who distrusts 
'he liicht of leason, will be the first (o follow a nioie 
l.miiiious guide; and if, with an ardent love fiir truth, 
he has soui^ht tier in viin through the ways of this 
life, lie will but turn with the niorehopeto Ihat be'ter 
world, wl ere all is simple, true, and everlasting : for, 
there is no parallax at the zenith ;— it i> only near, ur 
trouhled horizon that ohjects deceive us lulo vague 
and erroneous calculations. 


As the gay tint, that decks the vernal rnse,^ 

Not in the flower, but m our vision clows j 

As the ripe flivour .f Falemian tides 

Not in the wine, b-it in our (as'e re^iites ; 

So when, with heartfelt tribute, we declare 

ThT Marco's honest and that Susan's fair, 

'Tis in our minds, and not in Susin's eyea 

Or Mtrco's life, the wor h nrheiu'v li.s: 

For she, in flit-nnsi-d China, wnuld ajipeaf 

As phin a thiti^ as Lady Anne is here ; 

And one li(chr jnke at rirh Loreltos dome 

Would rank good Marco with the damn"d at Rome. 

There':) no deformity so vile, so ba'e, 
That 'tis not S'-.niewhere tlmu^ht a charm, a grace; 
No foul reproach, that may not sieal a beam 
From other suns, to ble-ich it to esteeiii.3 

1 Lib. iii.cap. t. 

a "The pirticular bulk, number, fie^u'e, and mo. 
tion of the parts of fire orsnowaie really in them, 
whe'her any one perceives them or no', and there* 
fore they may be called real quall'ies. because they 
leally exist in ihose bodies; buf light, heat, white- 
ness, or coldness, are no more really in them than 
sickness or pain is in mmna. Take away Ihe sensa- 
tion of them ; let not ihe eye see lizht or cnlours, nor 
the ears hear sounds; lei the palate not taste, nor the 
nose smell, and all cfdours, tastes, oddurs. and sounds^ 
as they are such puticular ideas, vanish and ceaee."— 
Locke, book ii. chap. 8. 

nivhop Berkeley, it is well known, extended Ibis 
doc'rlne evi-n to primary <}ualitiet, and supposed that 
matter ilself has but an idea! existence. Hut, h'lw 
arc we to apply his theory to that period wtiich pre- 
ceded the formation of man. wTen our sys'em of sen- 
Mtile tliini;s was produced, and the sun shone, and the 
wa era fltwed, without anysen'ient being t" witness 
them ? The spectator. ^^ hom Whiston sur'pltes, will 
scarcely solve the difficuhy: "To speak my mind 
frt-ely," ^ays he. "I believe thai the Messias was 
theieac'Uiiily pre-'ent." — 5ee IVhisturiy of the Mosaic 

3 Boetius employs this argument of the Sceptics 
among his consolatory reflections upon the enjpiiness 
of fame. ** Quid qnod diversarum gentium mores 
inter seatnue insltnta discordant, nl quod apud alios 
laude, apud alios supplicio dignum judicetur ?"— Lib. 
ii. prnsa. 7. Many amusing instaiices of diversily, in 
the tastes. m:tnner9. and morals of different nation^, 
may be found throughout the works of that amu-ing 
Sceptic Le Mothe le Vayer. — See his Opuscule Seep 
tique, his Treatise »' I)e la Secte Sceptrque," and, 
above all, tliose Dialogues, not to be found in his 
works, which he published under the name of Hnra- 

Ask, who is wise? — ynu 'It find the self-same uiao 
A 9iE;e in Fnnce, a madman in Japan ; 
Ai\d hire some head beneath a mitre swells, 
Which there had tingled to a cap and bells: 
Nay tiifte may yet jicme monstrous rei^inn be, 
Unknown lo Cook, and from Napoleon Iree, 
Wheic C~stl— r— gh would for a patriot pass, 
And mouthing M ve scarce be deem'd au assl 

*' List not to reason (Epicurus cries.) 

•'Hut trust the senses, l/mre conviction lies:"* 
Alas I t/icy judsie not by a purer light, 
Nor keep Ihejr fountains more unlinged and bright; 
H tbit so mar. tliem, lhat the Russian swain 
Will sigh for, while he sips Champagne; 
And health so rules them, that a fever's heat 
Would uiake even Sh— r— d— u think water sweet* 

Just as the mind the erring sense * believes, 
he erring mind, in turn, tlie sense deceives j 

tins Tubero. — The chiff objection lo these writings 
of Le Vayer (and it is a blemish which may l)e felt 
also in the Esprit des Loix), is the suspicions obscurity 
of tie sources from whence he fieijuenlly draws his 
, instances, aid ilie indiscriminate use made by him of 
the louesl pojiulace of the library,— those lying tra- 
velleis and \v, nder-moriger-;, of « hnm Shafiesbury, io 
his Advice to an Author, complains, as having tend^-d 
in his own time to the ditfusinn ol a very shallow and 
vicinu^ soil. .fscepiicism. — Vol. i. p. 532. TheP>r- 
rlmnism nf Lf^ Vayer, hi'Wever, is of the most innocent 
and plavfnl kind; and Villemandy, the author of 
ScepdciMnui Debella us, exempts him specially in the 
derlaraiion of war which he denounces agairis' t'"^ 
oiiier armed neutrals of Ihe sect, in consideration of 
the orthodox limits u ilhin which be couliues his incre- 

4 This was the creed also of those modem Epicu- 
reans, whom Ninon de I'Knclos collecled around her 
in the Rue des Toumelles. and object seems to 
have been to f^ecry the faculty of reason, as tending 
only to embarnss our whole:-ome u-e of pleasures, 
without enabling us, in any degree, to avoid their 
abuse. Madame des Houlieies. the fair pupil of Ues 
Rarreaux in the ar's of p'iC'iy and gallantry, has de- 
voted most of her verses to this laudable purpnse, and 
is even snch a determined fne to reason, tint, in one 
of her pastorals, she congratulates her sheep on the 
want nf it. St. Evremont speaks thus upon the sub- 
ject : — 

Ou 1 

] la rlnrte dps angon, 
jeiiM df a BJ milieu acim 

Which may be thus paraphrased : — 

Ha<I miin been made, ut noture's birth. 

Of only flame nr only earll). 

Had he bcti) rorm'd a perfect whole 

Of purely that, or groxsly this, 
Thrn Bens.; would neVr have rloudid soul. 

Nor sniil redlrnin'd the Bi>n6e'H t>lit>B. 
Oh happVr had his li;^ht befu strong. 

Or had ht^ nevttr shaTt6 a li^lit, 
Wliii-h shin''* en 'iiRh lo show hi,- *8 wroDg, 

But not enough lo lead bim right. 

* See, among the frngmen's of Petronius. those 
verses lieginning '* Fallunt nos ocuti." &c. The most 
scep'ical of the ancient poets was Euripides; and it 
would. I think, puzzle the whole school of Pyrrho to 
produce a doubt more startling than the following : — 

Tij A' oidtv ct j^ijv Tovfl' 6 KZK\7}Tai -Savav, 
To ^7jv d« -^vrjO-Ktiv xtrri. 

See I^ert. in Pyrrh, 

Socra'es and Plato were the^and sources of ancient 
scep'icism. According to Cicero fde Orator, lib. iii.), 
they supplied Arcesilas with the doctrincB of the 



And cold disgust can find but wrinkles there^ 
Where passion faticies all that's smooth and fair. 

A face for which ten tlioiisaud poumls were paid, 

Can lell, how quuk belori: a jury llies 

The spelt that niock.'d the warm seducer's eyes. 


vhich Judijmeiil'a 

Self is the niediui 
Cau seldom pass wilhoul beiii^ tuni'd astray. 
The smith of KfUiesusi thoui;ht Uiairs shrine, 
By which tiis cralt most llinive, the most divine; 
And ev'n the iruL Uilh seems not half so true, 
When liiik'd wuh une good living as wilh two. 
Had VV— Ic— t first been pcnsionM by the Ihrone, 
Kings would have sutterd by. his praise alone; 
And t* — ine pcrnaps, lor something snug per aun., 
Had lau^h'd, like W— U— sley, al all Rights of Man. 

But '1 is not only individual minds, — 
Whole nations, too, the same delusion blinds, 
'I'hus England, hot from Denmark's smoking meads, 
Turns up her eyes at tiallia's guiKy deeds ; 
'1 hus. self-pleas'd still, the same dishonouring chaia 
She binds in Ireland, she would break in Sitaiu ; 
While piajs'd at distance, hut at home toibid, 
Kebeis lu Lurk are patriots at Madrid. 

If Grotius be thy guide, shut, shut the book,— • 
In force alone for haws of Nations look. 
Let shipless Danes and whining yankees dwell 
On naval rights, with Grutius and Vallel, 
VVhile C— bb — t's pnale code alone appears 
Sound moral sense lo Knglaud and Algiers. 

Wne to the Sceptic, in these party days, 
Who wafts to neither shrine his puds of praise! 
For him no pension pours its annual fruits, 
No fertile sinecure spontaneous shoots ; 
Not Aii the meed that crown'd Don H—kh—m's rhyme, 
Nor sees he e'er, in dreams of future lime, 
Tliose shadowy forms of sleek reversions rise, 
So dear to Sroxhmen's second-sighted eyes. 
Yet who, that looks to History's d.imning leaf, 
Where Whig and Tory, thict opposed to thief, 
On either side in lofiy shame are seen.^ 
While freedom's form hangs crucified between — 
Who, B— rd — II, who such rival rogues can see, 
But dies from tot/i to Houtsiy and thee ? 

If, weary of the world's bewildering maze,3 
Hopeless of finding, through its weedy ways, 

One flower of truth, the busy crowd we shuD, 
And lo the stiades of tranquil learning run. 
How many a doubt pursues I ^ how ott we sigh, 
When histories charm, to think that histories liel 
That all are gr.ive romances, at the best. 
And M— sgr~ve*b6 hut more clumsy than the rest. 
By Tory Hume's seductive pa^e beguiled. 
We faiicv Cturles was just and StraUord mild; 6 
And Fox himself, with parly pencil, draws 
Monmouth a hero, " for the good old cause !"^ 
Then, rights and wrongs, and victories are defeats, 
As French or English pride the tale repeats; 
And, when they lell Corunna's story o'er, 
They'll disagree in all, but honouring Moore: 
Nay, future pens, to flatter future courts. 
May cile perhaps the Faik-guns' gay reports, 
To prove that England trimnph'd on tha mom 
Which found her Junot's jeat and Europe's scorn. 

Middle Academy; and how closely these resembled 
the tenets of the Sceptics, may be seen even in Sextus 
Empiricus (lib. i. cap. 33.), who with all his distinc- 
tions, can scaicely prove any difi'erence. it appears 
strange that Epicurus should have been a dogmatist ; 
and his natural temper would most prob.ibiy have led 
him to the repose of scepticism, had not the Stoics, by 
their violent opposition to Jus doctijnes, compelled 
liini to be as obstinate as themselves. Fiutaich, in- 
deed, in reporting some of his opinion?, represen' 
him as having delivered them with considerable hes 
tation. — iCTTLKov{iOS ov6zv anoytvwa-Ku tovtiu^ 
txojitxtos Tov LvSixoiitvQV.—Dt Placxt. Philosop} 
lib. ii. cap. 13. See also the 21st and 22d chapter: 
But that the leading characteristics of the sect wer 
self-suflTiciency and d 'gmatism, appears from wh; 
Cicero says of Velleius, iJe Natur. /Jeor. — " Tui 
Velleius, fiden'er sane, ul solent isli, nihil tarn verei 
quam ne dubitare aliqiia de re videretur." 

> Mts, chap. xix. *• For a certain man named De- 
metrius, a silversmith, which made silver shnnei 
Diana, brought no small gain unto the craftsmen.' 

^" Those two thieves," s^iys Ralph, '-betv 
whom the nation is crucified." — Use and Abuse of 

3 The agitation of the ship is one of the chief dif- 
ficulties which impede the discnveiy »f the longitude 
at sea; and the tunmlt and hurry of life are equally 

In science, too — how many a system, riis 
Like Neva's icy domes, awhi'le halh blazed 
With lights of fjiicy and with forms of pri( 
Then, melting, mingled with the oblivious 
■' '3 Earth usurps the centre of the sky, 
y Newlon puts the paltry planet by ; 


favourable to that calm level of mind which is 
necessary to an inquirer after truth. 

In the mean time, our modest Sceptic, in the 
absence of truth, contents himself with probabilities, 
resembling in this respect those suitois of heuelope, 
who, on finding that they could not possess the mis- 
tress herrelf, very wisely resolved to put up with her 
maids; tv) Ti7iv£ho7T/j nXtjuia^uv firi dwafitvoi^ 
Tais" TavT7j-i tfuyvvvTO ^t^aiiai.vai.%.—Pluiardiy 
UiiJi UaiSosv AytoyTys. 

4 See a curious work, entitled "Reflections upon 
Le.irniiig," written on the plan of Agrippa's *' De 
Vanitate Scieniarum," but much more honesily and 
skilfully executed. 

5 This historian of the Irish rebellions has outrun 
even his predece-sor in the pime task, Sir John Tem- 
ple, for whose character with respect to veracity the 
reader may consult Carte's Collection of Oimond's 
Original Papers, |^ 207. See also Dr. Nalson's ac- 
count of him, in the inlroduction to the second volume 
of his Historic. Collect. 

6 He defends Strafford's conduct as " innocent and 
even laudable." In the same spirit, speaking of the 
arbitrary sentences of the Star Chamber, he says,— 
"The severity of the Star Chamber, which was 
generally ascribed to Laud's passionate disposition, 
was, perhaps, in itself, somewhat blameable." 

1 Ttiat flexibility of temper and opinion, which the 
habits of scepticism are so calculated to produce, are 
thus pleadetl f.r by Mr. Fox, in the very sketch of 
Monmouth to which 1 allude; and this part of the 
picture tlie historian may be ihuught to have drawn 
from himself. " One of the most conspicuous leatures 
in his charac'er seems to have been a remarkable, 
and, as some think, a culpable degree of flexibility. 
That such a disposition is preferable to its opposite 
extienie wili be admitted by all, who think that 
modesty, even in excess, is more nearly allied to wis- 
dom than cmceit and setf-sufficiency. He who has 
attentively considered the political, or indeed the 
general concerns of life, may possibly go still turlher 
and may rank a willingness lO be convinced, or, io 
some cases, even without conviction, to concede our 
own opinion to that of other men, among the prin- 
cipal ingredien's in the composition of practical wis- 
(jnni." — It is rit-hl to observe, however, that the 
Sceptic's re dine>s of concession arises rather from 
iiricer'amty than convic'ioii, more from a suspicion 
that his own ( pinion may be v^vow^, than from any 
persuasion that the opinion of his a.lversary is right. 
" It may be so." was the courteous and sceptical for- 
mula, uilh which the Dutch were accustomed to 
, reply to the sia'ements of ambassulois. See Lloyd^l 
State JVo^thies, art. Sir Thomas Wyat. 



Nttw whims revive hftneath Hescartes's i pen, 
Which JtouJ, assall'd by Locke's, expire again. 
And when, pertiaps, in pride of chemic pov%ers, 
We think the keys u( Naure's kin^id -m ou^s, 
Some Liavy's inaiic touch tlie dream unsettlea, 
And turns at once our alkalis in inela:s. 
Or, should we T0;ini. in iiteiaphy!>ic maze, 
ThrouRh fair-huilt Uicnrie- of former days, 
Some !)i— miTi-d 'i frnm he iiorlh. niore ably skillM, 
Like <'thcr G^'tlis, to ruin ihm to build, 
Tramples tnuinpharit lhrous:h our fanes overthrown. 
Nor leases one grace, one glory of his own. 

Oh, Learning, whatsoe'er thy pomp and boast, 
r/»letteiM minds have taught and charm 'd men most. 
The rude, uuread Columbus was our guide 
To worlds, which learn'd Lactanfius had denied; 
And one wild Shakspearc, fallowing Nature's lighti, 
Is worth whole plaucts, fiU'd with Stagintes, 

See grave Theilogv. when once she strays 
From Kevel.ition's path, "hal tricks she plays; 
What virions heav'ns,— all fit fir bards to sniff,— 
Have churchmen dream'd, from Papias^ down to 

> Descartes, who is considered as tlie parent of 
modern scepticism, says, that there is nothirig in the 
whole range of philosophy which does not admit of 
two opposite opinions, and which is not involved in 
doubt and uncerLiinty. " In Philosophia nihil adhuc 
reperiri, de quo non in utram(iue parlein disputatur^ 
hoc est, quod non sit incertuni eldubiuni." Gassendi 
is likewise to be added to the list of modern Sceptics, 
and Wedderk' pif, in his Dissertation ** De Scepticismo 

Erofano ct sacro " (.Argentorat. 1666), has denounced 
ramius also as a follower of Pyrrho, for his opinions 
upon the Trinity, and some other subjects To these 
if we add the n ^ma nf liayle, Mallebranche, Dryden, 
I/icke, &c. &c.. I think there is no one who need be 
ashamed of doubting in such company. 
^ See Ihis gentleman's Acidemia Queslions. 
3 Papias lived about the time of the apostles, and is 
supposed to have given birth to the heresy of the 

While hell itself, in India nought but smnke,6 
In Spain's a lurnace, and in France — ajoke. 

Hail, modest Ignorance, thou goal and prize, 
Th'iu last, besi knowUil-.- of the simply wise! 
Hail. liumlj!c l)'.;.l ■, v\i,. i, mmi's waves are past, 
• I M purl *> at last, 
iHM lured nor awed, 
li.ii roar abroad. 
. konvvs how frail 
lU Bummer's gale, 
lose beacon glows 
her fnet'ds or foes. 
There Faiih retires, and keeps her whi'e sail furi'd. 
Till cali'd to spread it for a better world ; 
While Patience, watching on the wedly shore, 
And, nmlely wailing till the stoini be o er 
Oft turns to Hope, who still directs her eye 
To some blue .spot, just breaking in the sky ! 

Such are the mild, the blest associates given 
To hini who doubts, — and trusts in nought but 
Heaven \ 

And, there, bv i 
Smile at the b;i'tl;. - ,m; ; 
Thnr gentle Ch:in'V, wlu 
Tlic bark of Vinue, even i 
Sits l-y the nightly fire, u^ 

Chiliastfc, whose lieaven wa^ by no means of a >piri- 
tual nature, but rather an anticipation of ihe Prophet 
of Hera's elysium. See Kusebius, Hi>t. Ecciesiast. 
lib. iii. cap. 33.. and Hieronym. de Scriptor. Eccle- 
siast. From all I can find in these authors cincerning 
Papias, it seems hardly fair to impute to him those 
gross imaginations in which the believers of the sen- 
sual millennium iudnlged. 

4 King, in his Morsels of Criticism, vol i.. supposes 
the sun to be the receptacle of blessed spirits. 

5 The Indians call hell *■ the House nf Smoke." 
See PiCTrt upon the Religion of the Pan^ans. 'Ihe 
reader who is curit>us about infernal matiers, may be 
edified by consulting Knsca de Inferno, particularly 
iib. ii. cap. 7. 8., where he will find ihe piecise sort 

ascertained in which wicked spirits are to he 

burned he 


6 " Chere Sceptique. douce pafure de mnn ame, et 
I'unique port de salut a un esprit quiaimele lepose !'* 
— La Mothe le Vayer. 


Elnpsae manlbas secldere tabellae. — 0»iif. 


My Dear Woolriche,— It is now about seven years 
since I promised {and I grieve to think it is almost as 
long since we me') lo dedicate to you the very first 
Book, of whatever size or kind, I should publish. 
Who could have thought that so many years would 
elapse, without my giving the least sigiia of life upon 
Ihe subject of this important promise? Who could 
have imagined that a volume of dnggerel, al'ter all, 
would be the first nftmng that Gratitude would lay 
upnn t|.ie shrine of Friendship ? 

If you continue, h'lwever, to be as much interested 
abmit me and mv pursuits as formerly, you will be 
happy 10 hear tliai doggerel is not my only occupation ; 
but that I am prenaring to throw my nnne tn the 
Swans of the Temple of Immortalitv.i leaving it. of 
course, to the said Swan'' to determine, whe'her they 
ever will like the trouble of picking it from the 

1 Ariosto, canto 35. 

In the mean time, n. dear Woolriche, like an or- 
thodox Lutheran, you must judge of me rather bv my 
failli than my works ; and hnwever trifling the tri- 
bute vWiich I here ofil-r, never doubt the fidelity with 
wliicb 1 am, and always shall be, 
Your sincere and 

attached friend, 

March 4, 1613. 


The Bag, from which the following Letteis sre 
selec'ed, was dropped by a 'I'wnpenny Postman about 
two months since, and picked up by an emissary of 
the Society forthe Suppression of Vice, "ho, supposing 
it niijht materially a-^sist the private researches <.f that 
Institution, immediately took it to hi'^ emplnyerr. and 
was rewarled handsomely for his truble. Such a 
treasury of secrets was worth a whole host of inform- 
er* ; and, accordingly, like the Cupids of the poet (if 
i may use so profane a simile) who "fell at odds 



about the swee'-ba? of a bee," » those venerable Sup- 
pressors almost foughl with each other for the honour 
and delightof iirst ransacking tlie Post-Bag. Unluckily, 
however, il turned out, upon exatninatiDn, that the dis- 
coveries of profli?acy which it enabled them to make, 
lay chiefly in those upper regions of society, which 
their weli-brcd rci^utations forbid Ihein t^> molest or 
meddle with. — In C(»n>cquence, Ihcy g;»iiicd but ve y 
victims by their prize, and, after I> ms 1' 

' under Mr. Uaichard's 

quence of this graceless Utile book, a certain diBtio- 
gui^hed Personage prevailed upon another tlistinguinh- 
ed Personage to withdmv from the author Ih't notice 
and kindness with which he had so long and so liber- 
ally honoured him. In this story there is not one 
sylUblenf trulh. For the maenanimil) "f \he former 
of these persons I wrmid, indeed, in no l.\,e answer too 
rashly; hut of the conduct of the latltr Inwards my 
friend 1 have a proud gralihcat 

its violated con;enls, was sold for a trifle t> a friend of 

It happened tnat I had been just Ihen seizf d with an 
ambition (having never tried the s rei'gih of my wing 
but in a Neivspaper) to publish something or other in 
he slwpe of a fioi>k ; and ii occurred lo me that, the 
present being such a letter-writing era, a few of thee 
Twopenny-Post Epistles, turned into easy verse, would 
be as light and popular a task as I could possibly select 
f >r a commencement. I did not, ho\\ ever, tJiink it 
prudent to give too mmy Letters at firs*, and, accord- 
mgly, have bee i obliged (in order to eke out a sufii- 
cient number of pages) to reprint some of those trille^, 
which h:\d .already appeared in the public journals. 
As in the battles of ancient times, the shades of the 
departed «ere sometimes seen among the comba'anls, 
so I thought I mii;ht mmage to remedy the thinness of 
my ranks, by conjuring up a few dead and forgotten 
ephemerons to fill them. 

Such are the motives and accidents that led to the 
present publication; and as this is the hrst time my 
Muse has ever ventured out of the go-cart of a New^. 
proper, though I feel all a parent's delight at seeing 
little Miss go alone. I am also not without a parent's 
anxiety, lest an unlucky fall should be thecou-^equence 
of the experiment; and I need not point out how 
many living instances might be found, of Muses that 
have suffered very .-■everely in their he ids, from taking 
rather too early and rashly to their feet. Besides, a. 
Book is so very different a thing from a Newspaper! 
— in the former, your doggerel, without either com- 
pany or shelter, must stand shivering in the middle of 
a bleik p.ige by itself; whereng, in the latter, it is 
comforiauly backed bv ad ertisements, and has some- 
times even a Speech of Mr. St — ph— n's, or some- 
thing equally warm, for a chaujfcpitd ~ so that, in 
general, the very reverse of '* laudatur el alget " is its 
Ambition, however, must run some risks, and I 
shall be very well sati-fied if the reception of these 
few Letters, should have the effepi of sending me to 
the Fost-Bag for more. 

ter. ttie Bag. with it has never ceased to be 

he nmst remember 




In the absence of Mr. Brown, who is at present on 

a tour through , I feel myself ealtea upon, ; 

his friend, to notice certain misconceptions and mi 
representations, to which this little volume of TriMi 
has given rise. 

In the first place, if is not true that Mr. Brown ha'* 
had any accomplices in the work. A note, indeed, 
which has hitherto accompanied his Prefice, may 
very naturally hive been the origin of such a supposi- 
tion ; but that note, which was merely the C'^quelry of 
an author, I have, in the present edition, taken upon 
myself to remove, and Mr. Brown must therefore be 
considered (like the molber of that unique produ^-'tion, 
the Cen'aur. fiova Kai p.ovov'^) as alone responsible 

th indelible gratitude ;— a gratitude the more cheer- 
fully and vxannly paid, from its not being a debt in- 
curred solely on his oun -iccount, but for kindness 
shared with those nearest ar.d dearest to him. 

To the charge of being an Irishman, poor Mr. 
Brown pleads guilty; and I believe it must also be 
acknowledged that he comes of a Roman Catholic ] 
family: an avowal which 1 am aware is decisive of 
his utter reprobation, in the eves of those exclusive I 
pa'eiitees of Christianity, so worthy to have been the 
followers of a certain enlightened Bishop, Donatu5,3 
who held *' that God is in Africa and not elsewhere.^* 
But from all this it does not necessarily follow that 
Mr. Brown is a Papist; and, indeed, I have the 
strongest re.uoiis for suspecting tliat they, who s:»y bo, 
are somewhat mistaken. Not that I presume to liave 
ascertained his opinions upon such subjects. All 1 
profess to know of his orthodoxy is thai he has a Pro- 
testant wife and tuo or three liille Protestant children, 
and that he has been seen at church every Sunday, for 
whole year together, lisiening to the sermons of his 

ruly reverend and amiable friend, L)r. , and 

lehaving there as well and as orderly as nios' people. 
There are yet a few other mistakes and falsehood.* 
:bout Mr. Brown, lo which I had intended, with all 
becoming gravity, 'o advert ; but I begin to think the 
task is quite as u-eless as it is tiresonie. Misrepresen- 
tations and calumnies of this strt are, like the atgu- 
ments and statements of Dr. Duigenan,— not at all the 
less vivacious or les» serviceable to their fabiiclnrs. 
for having been refuted and disproved a thousand 
times over. They aie biought forward again, as good 
as new, whenever nialice or stupidity m 'y be in want 
of tliem: and ae quite as useful as the old broken 
lantern. Ill Fielding's Amelia, which the watchman 
always keeps leady by htm, to produce, in proof of 
riotous Conduct, against his victims. I shall therefore 
give up the f.uitless toil nf vindication, and would 
even draw my pen over what I have already written, 
had I not promised to furnish my publisher with a 
Preface, and know not how else I could contrive to 
eke it out. 

I have added two or three more trifles to (his edi- 
tion, which I found in the Morning Chronicle, and 
knew lo be from the pen of my fiiend. The rest of 
the volume remains * in its original state. 
^pril 20, 1814. 


for the uhole content^; of th( 
In the next place it has 


aid, that in conse- 

I Herrick. 

a Pindar, Pyth. 2.— My friend certainly ( 


ASK — Y.* 

3 Bishop of Casse Nigrae, In the fourth century. 

* A new reading has been suggested in the orieinal 
of the Ode of Horace, freely transla'ed bv Lord F.ld- 
— n. paee 189. In the line '*Sive per Syrleis iter 
as-^," it is proposed, by a very trifling alteration, 
to read " Surtces,^'' iiistt^d of " Sytteis,'" w hich brings 
the Ode, it is said, more home to the noble translator 
and gives a peculiar force and aplne-^s to the epithet 
" aes>luosas." 1 merely throw out this emendation for 
the learned, being un.ible myself to decide upon iti 
I merits. 
I • This young Lady, who is a Roman Catholic, Iiad 



My dear Lady Bab, you '11 be sliock'd, 1 'm afraid, 
When ynu htar Ihe sad rumijus your Ponies have 

Since (he time of horse-consuls (now lorifj out of date), 
No nat;s evei tnnde ^uch a stir in Ihe stale.. 
Lord Eld— n fust heard —and as instantly pray'd lie 
To "God and his Kins;"— that a Popish youni; Lady 
(Fo- though you've bright eyes and twelve Ihousand 

a yt- ar, 
U is still but too true you 're a Papist, my dear,) 
Had insidiously sent, by a tall Irish giouin. 
Two priist-ridden Ponies, jus! landed froni Rome, 
And so full, little rogues, of ponlihcal tricks, 
That the dome of St. PauPs was scarce safe from their 


Off at once to Papa, in a flurry he flies — 
For P-ipa always does these statesmen advise, 
Un coiiditioQ that they'll be. in turn, so polite 
As In no case whale'er to a'! vise him too right — 
" Pretiy doings are here, Sir (he angrilv cries, 
While by diut of dark eyebrows he strives to look 

** 'T is a ^chenle of the Romanists, so help me God ! 
*' To ride over your most Royal Highness lougb- 

shod — 
"Excuse, Sir, my tears — they're from loyalty's 

" Rad enough 't was for Troy to be sick'd by a Horse^ 
"But for us to be ruin'd by Ponies still worse !" 
Quick a Council is call'd — the whole sita — 
The Aichbishops declare, fnghten'd out of their wits, 
That if ojice Popish Ponies shnuld eat at my manger, 
From that awful moment the Church is in danger! 
As, give them but s'abling, and shnrtly no s'alls 
Will suit their proud stomachs but those at St. Paul's. 

The Doctor,* and he, Ihe devout man of Leather,* 
V— Tis-lt-f, now I.Tviiie their .Siint-he>d? toi;elher, 
Declare that these skittish young a-boininatimis 
Are clearly foretold in Chap. vi. Revelations- 
Nay, they verily think they could point out the one 
Wtiich the Doctor's friend Death was to canter upon. 

Lord H — rr — by, hnping that no one imputes 
To the Court any fancy to persecute bru'es, 
Protes's, on the word of himself and his cmnies, 
Tlial had these said creatuie* been Asses, not Ponies, 
The Court would have started no sort of objeciion. 
As Asses were, tfierCj always sure of pro'eciion. 

*<lf the Pr— nc— ss mill keep them (says Lord C— s- 

" To make them quite hirmless, the onlv true way 
'*Is(s5Ctrtain Chief Justices do with their wives) 
** To flog them withm half an inch of their lives. 
" If they *ve any bid Irish blood lurking about, 
'*This (he knew by experience) would soon draw it 

Should this be thought cruel, his Lordship proposes 
'* The new Ke(o snaffle 3 to bind down their noses — 
"A pretiy contrivance, made out of old chains, 
" Which appears to iudulge, while it doubly restrains; 
"Which, h'wcver high-mellied, their ganiesonieiiess 

"(Adds his l^rdahip humanely), or else breaks their 

necks !" 

This proposal receiv'd pretty general applause 
Fioni the Statesmen around— and ibe neck-breaking 

lately made a present of some beautiful Ponies to the 

Pr— nc— ss. 
« Mr. Addington, so nicknamed. 
a Alluding to a lax lately laid upon leather, 
3 The qutfsiion whether a Veto wasfo he ullnwed 

to the Crown in the appointment of Irish Catholic 

Bishops was, at this time, very generally and actively 


fliid a vigour about it, which soon reconcil'd 
Even Eld— n himself to a measure so mud. 
So llie snalHcs, my dear, were agreed to nem. con.f 
And my l.nrd C— sti — r — gh, having so ofien shone 
In tlie fctttfing line, is to buckle them on. 

I shall drive to your door in these ^ctos some day 
But, at present, adieu ! —I mu;-t hurry away 
To go see wy M.unma. as I 'm suHer'd tn nieet her 
For just half an hour by the Qu— i.'s Lest repeater, 
Ch— RL— TTK, 



FR — NC — S L— CKIE, ESQ. 

Dear Sir, I »ve just had lime to look 
Inio your very learned Rook,* 
Wherein — as plain as man can speak, 
Whose English is half niodern Gieek — 
You prove ihal we can ne'er intrench 
Our hnppy isles against the French, 
Till Royalty in England's m.ide 
A much mnie independent trade ; — 
Jn short, umil the House of Guelph 
La\s Lords and Commons on the shelf, 
And boldly sets up for itself. 

All. that can well be understood 
In this said Book, is vastly good ; 
And, as to what's incomp etiensihle, 
I dare be suoru *t is full as sensible. 

But, to your work *s imniOttal credit. 
The Pr-n-e, good Sir, the Pr— n-e has read it 
(The only Book, himeif remarks, 
Which he ha^ read since Mrs. Clarke's.) 
I-ast levee-mom he look'd ii through, 
During that awful hour or two 
Of grave tonsorial preparation, 
VVhich, to a fond, admiring na'ion, 
Sends frtrth, announced by trump and drum, 
The best-nigg'd pr— n— e in Chtistendom. 

He thinks with ynu, th' imaginatioa 
0( partnership in legislation 
Cnuld only enter in the noddles 
Of dull and ledger-keeping twaddles. 
Whose heads on firms are runniiiK so, 
They ev'n must have a King and Co., 
And hence, most eloquently show forth 
On checks and bala7iceaf and so forth. 

But now, he trusts, we *re coming near a 
Far more royal, era ; 
When En^l.tnd's monarch need but say, 
"Whip me those scoundrels, C— stI— r— gh!" 
Or, " Hang me up those Papists, Eld— n," 
And 't will be done — ay, faith, and well done. 

With view to which, I 've his command 
To bee, Sir. from your Iravell'd hand, 
(Round which the foreign graces swarm 6) 
A Plan of radical Reform; 
Compil'd and clms'n as best you can, 
In Turkey or at Ispahan, 
And qui'e iiplurniiig. branch and root, 
Lords, Commons, and Burdett to hoot 

But, pray, wha'e'er you may impart, write 
Somewhat more brief than M.ijor C— rtwr— ^ht: 

« For an account of this extraordinary work of Mr. 
Leckie, see the Edinbuigh Review, vol. xx. 

» " The truth indeed seems to oe, (hat havmg lived 
90 long abroad as evidently to have loaf, .n a gr.-at 
degree, the use of his native language, Mr. Leckie lias 
gradually come, not onlv to s(>eak, but to feel, lik« a 
foreigner."— £di«Z;i«;r"/t Review. 



Else, though (he Fr e be Inns in rigging, 

'T would t»ke, at least, a forlnig^ht's wigging,- 
Two wia;s to every paragraph — 
Before he well could get through half. 

You Ml send it also speedily — 
As, truth In say, '(wixt you and me, 
His Highness, hea'ed by your wt.rk, 
Already ihiiiks him elf Giand Tnik ! 
And vou 'd have laugh'd, y'lu seen how 
He sc'ar'd ihe Ch— nc— 11— r just i.o^^'. 
When (on his Lordship's eniKnng putl'd) he 
Slapp'd his back and call'J him " Mufli ! » 

The lailors too have got commands, 
To put directly in'o hands 
All sorts of Diilimans and Pnuches^ 
With Sashes, Turbans, and Pabou ches, 
(While V— rrn— th 's sketching out a plaa 
Of new Moustaches a I'Ottotnane) 
And all things tilting and expedient 
To turkify our gracious R— g— nl I 

You, therefore, have no time lo waste ^ 
So, send your System. — 

Yours, ia haste. 


Before I send this scrawl away, 

I seize a moment, just to say, 

There's some parts of the Turkish system 

So vulgar, 'i were as well you miss'd 'em. 

For instance — in Seras^lio ma'ters — 

Your Turk, whom girlVh fondness tiatters, 

Would fill his Hara'm (tasteless fool !j 

With tittering, red-cheek'd things from school. 

But here (as in Uiat fairy laod, 

Where Love and Age ueut hand in hand ; 

Where lips, till six'y, shed no honey, 

And Gruid^nis "ere worth any money,) 

Our Sultan his much riper notions — 

So, let your list of sAe-piomntions 

Include those only, plump and sage, 

Who've reach'd (he regulation-Age ^ 

That is. (as near as one can hx 

From Peerage dates) full bfiy-six. 

This rule's for fav'rites — nothing more — 
For, as to wivcs^ a Grand Signor, 
Though noi decidedly without them, 
Need never care one curse about them. 


E OF Y TH.* 

We miss'd you last night at the " hoary old sinnerV' 
Who gave us, as nsual, the cream nf gnod dinners; 
His soups scientific — his fi hes quite prime — 
His pates superb — and his cutlets sublime ! 

' The learned Cnlnnel must a'lude here to a descrip 
Hon of the Mysterious Isle, in the History of Abdalla. 
Son of Hanif,' where such inversions of the order of 
na'ure are said to have taken place. "A score of old 
women and the same number of old men played here 
and there in the couri, some at chuck-faithing, others 
at tip-cat or at cackles." And ajain, "Jhere is 
nothing, believe me, ntoie eng;»i;iiig Ihm those lovely, 
wrinkles," &c. &.C. See Tales of the Eastj vol. lii 
pp. 607. 60S. 

^ This letter, as the reader wiJI perceive, was 
written the day afier a dinner given by the M— rq— s 
of H-d-t. 

In short, U was the snug sort of dinner to stir a 
Stomachic orira«m in my Lord El — b — gh, 
Who Slit to, to be sure, with miraculnus force, 
And exclaini'd, between mouthluls, "a i/c-Cook, 0( 

course ! — 
"While you live — (what's there under that cover? 

pray, look)- 
" While you live- (I'll just taste it) — ne'er keep a 

•*'Ti3 a sound Salic Law — (a small Lit of that 

totst) — 
'• Which ordains that a female shall ne'er rule the 

roast : 
'* For Cookery 's a secret— this turtle 's uncommon) — 
" Like Masonry, never found out by a woman i" 

The dinner, vou know, was in gay celebration 
Of my brilliant triumph and H — ni's condemnalioD ; 
A conijliment, loo, to his Lordshij) the Judge 
For his Speech to the Jury — and zounds I who would 

Turtle soup, though it came to five guineas a bowl. 
To reward such a loyal and complaisant soul ? 
We were all in hi^hgig — Roman Punch and Tokay 
Traveli'd round, till our beads travtlTd just the same 

way ; 
And we car'd not for Juries or Libels — no — damme ! 

Ev'n for the threats of last Sunday 's Examiner ! 

More good things were eaten than said — but Tom 
T— rrh— t 
In quoting Joe Miller, you know, has some merit; 
And, hearing the sturdy Jus iciary Cliief 
Say — sated wih turtle — ** I '11 now try the beef" — 
Tommy whisper'd him {giving his Lordship a sly 

" I fear 't will be Aung--beef, my Lord, if you try it !" 

And C— nid— n was there, who, that morning, had 

To fit his new Marquis's coronet on ; 
And the dish set before him— oh dish well-devisM !— 
Was,- what old Mother Glasse calls, "a calf's head 

surpris'd !" 
The brains were near Sh— ry, and 07ice had been fine, 
Rut, of late, they had lain sn long soaking in wine, 
Ttiat, though we, from courtesy, still chose to cill 
These brains very fine, they were no brains at alL 

When the dinner was over, we drank, every one, 
In a bumper, *• the venial delights of Crim. Coo. ;" 
At which H — df— t with warm reminiscences glnated, 
And E— b'r— h chuckled to hear himself quoted. 

Our next round of toasts was a fancy quite new, 
For we drank — and you II own 't was benevolent too— 
To those well-meaning husbands, cits, parsons or 

Whom we've, any time, honoured by courting their 

de ITS : 
This museum of witfols was comical rather ; 
Old H— df— t gave M— ss— y, and / gave your f— 


In short, not a snul till this morning would bud^e — 

We were all fun and frolic.— and even the J e 

Laid aside, for the time, his juridical fashion, 
And through the whole night wasn't once in a pas- 
sion 1 

I write this in bed, while my whiskers are airing, 
And M~c3 has a sly dose rf jalap preparing 
For poor T— mmy T— rr— t at breakfast to quaff- 
As 1 teel 1 want something to give me a Itugh, 
And there's nothing so good as old T— mmy, kept 

To his Cornwall accounts, af fer taking a dnse. 

3 Colonel M'Mahon. 




J — HN N— CH — L. 

Last week, dear N— ch— 1, nuking merry 
At dinner with ouc Secretary, 
When all were drunk, or pretty near 
(The time foi- dnin°j business tiere,) 
Says lie lo nie, "Sweel Bully Bottpm ! 
"'i'hese Papist dogs — hiccup — 'od rot 'em! — 
" Deserve to be bespalter'd — hiccup — 
" With all ihe din ev'n you can pick up. 
"Hut, aslhePr— ce (here's to lilm — fill — 
" Hip, hip, hurra !) — is Tying still 
"To humbug Ihem with kind professions, 
*' And, as you deal in strong eipreslons — 
'• lioifue " — '• tiwlor " — hiccup — and all that- 
*' You must be muzzled. D"ctor fa' ! — 
" You must indeed — hiccup — that 's flat."— 

Ye* — "muzzled" was Ihe word, Sir Joha — 
These fools luve clapp'd a muzzle on 
The boldest inr.ulh IJlat e'er ran o'er 
Wilh slaver of lire times of yoreia- 
Was il for this that back I went 
As far as Lateran and Trent, 
To prove that Ihey, who d.inin'd us then. 
Ought now, in turn, be damn'd again ?— 
The silent viclini sllll to sil 
Of Gr— II— n's fire and C— nn— g's wit, 
To hear ev'n noisy M— th— w gibble on. 
Nor mention once Ihe W-e of Babylon 1 
Oh ! 't IS loo much— who now Will be 
The Nishlnian of No Popery? 
What Courtier, Saint, or even Bishop, 
Such learned tilth will ever iisli up? 
If there among our raiiks be one 
To take my pljce, 't is thou. Sir John ; 
Thou, who, like me, art dubb'd llrght Hon. 
Like me too, art a Lawyir Civil 
That wishes Papists at the devil. 

To whom ihen but lo thee, my friend, 
Should Paliicka his Porl-fdio send? 
Take il - 'I is Ihine — his learnd Porl-folio, 
Wilh ail iis theologic olio 
Of Bulls, half Irish and half Roman — 
Of Doctriiifs, now believ'd by no man — 
t)f Councils, held for men's salvation, 
Yel ah\ ays ending in damnation — 
(Which shows th il, since Ihe world's creation. 
Your Piiesls, whate'er their senile shamming, 
Have always had a lasle f ir d.imning,) 
And many more such pious scmps. 
To prove (whai we^vt long prov'd, perhaps,) 
That, mad as Christ Jans usd lo be 
About Ihe Thirleerrth Century, 
There still are Cliris'iai:s to be h^d 
In this, Ihe Nineteenth, just .as mad! 

Farewell— I send with this, dear N— ch— I, 
A rod or two I 've had in picfile 
Wherewi h to trim old Gr-li-n's .iackel.— 
The rest shall go by Monday's packet, 

P. D. 

I This le'ter, which contained some very heavy 
enclosures, seems to have been sr-nt lo London hy a 
privite hand, and then put iii'o Ihe Twopenny Pust- 
OIHce, lo save tri.nhle. See the Appendix. 

•i In sendinglhis sheet to the Pre-s. however. I learn 
that Ihe '' muzzle " has been 'aken olf, and the Right 
Hon. Doctor a^ain let loose 1 

» A bad name for poetry ; but D— gen— n is still 
worse. As Prudentius says upon a very ditlerent sub' 
ject — 

Torquotur Apollo 
NomlDe percusBUB, 


Amons the Enclosures in the foregoing Letter was 
the folluwing ' ' Unanswerable Argument against 
the Papists.^* 

« # » • 

We 're told the ancient Roman nation 
Mide use nf spittle in lu^tntinn j * 
{yide Lactaniium ap. G.illaeurn — » 
I- e. you need not read but see 'em j) 
Now, Iiish Papists, fact surprising, 
Make use of spittle in baptizing} 
Which proves ihem all, (/Finns, O'Fagans, 
Connor., and T'»ole3, alt di>wnright F.igans. 
This fact 's enough j — li'l no one tell us 
To free such sad, salivous (trllowa. 
No, no— the man. baptizM with spittle, 
Hath no truth in him — not a tittle 1 



My dear Lady ! I 've been just sending oat 

About five hundred carda (or a snug little Kout — 
(By the bye, you 've seen Rukeby ? — this moiuenl got 

The Mail-Coach Edition® — prodigiously fine!) 
But I can't conceive how, in this very cold weather, 
1 'm ever t » bring my five hundred togeiher; 
As, unless the Iheiinoineter 's ne^r bailing heat, 
Une can never get half of one's hundreds lo meet. 
Apropos — you'd have laugh'd tu see Townsend last 

Escort to their chairs, with his stiff, so polite, 
'Ihe " three m.'ide . Miseries," all m a fright ; 
Foor Townsend, like Meicury, hllingtwo posts, 
Supervisor of thieoes^ and chief-usher o( ghosts i 

But, my dear Lady - 

-, canU you bit on some 

At least for one night to set London in motion ? — 
As to having the K~-g— nt, that show is gone by — 
Bi^sides. I 've remarked that (between you and I) 
The Marche a and he, inconvenient in more ways, 
Have t.iken much la'ely to whi>pering in doorways; 
Which — consid'ring, you kuovv, dear, the size uf the 

two — 
Makes a block that one's company cannot get through ; 
And a hiiuse such as mine is, wilh doorways so small, 
Has no room for such cumt-etsnine love-work at ,ill.^ 
(Apropos, ttiough, of love-work — you *ve heard it, 

That Napoleon's old mother's to marry the Pope, — 
What a comical pair \) — but. to stick to my Rout, 
•r will be hard if -ome novelty c^n't be struck out. 
Is there no Algerine. no Kamchatkan arriv'd ? 
No Pleiiipo F^cha, three-tail'd and len-wiv'd? 
No Russian, whose dissmiant consonant name 
Almost rattles lo fragments the trumpet of fame ? 

I remember the time, three or r>«r winters bick, 
When— provided tlifir wigs were but decently black — 
A few Patriot monsteis. from .Spain, were a sigtit 
That would people one's house for one, night after 

4 Lustralibus ar;e salivis 

Expiat Pers. sat. 2. 

ft I have taken the trouble of examining the Doc- 
tor's reference here, and find him, for once, cnrrt-ct. 
The ft. Mowing are the words of his ir-digi:ani referee 
Gallai'13 — " Asserere ion vereinur sacrum bapli^mum 
a Papislis pr 'fanari, et sputi usum in peccatorum ex- 
piatione a Paginis non a Christianis manusse.^* 

6 See Mr, Murray's Advertisement about (be Mail- 
Coach copies of Rokeby. 



But— whether fhe Ministers pauj'rf them too much — 
(And you know how they spoil whatsoever they touch) 
Or, whether Lord G—rge (the young 
Has, by^dint of bad poetry, '--"'• — •' 

about town) 

^ , ten them down, 

— certamlv lost one's jye7n'?wiiZar rage j 

And the only stray Patriot 
Has been at sucli pi 
As old Mrs. V— gh- 

, (think, how the fit cools !) 
s or Lord L— v— rp— i's. 

But, io short, my dear, names like Wintztschit, 

Are the Only things now make an ev'ning go smooth off: 
So, gel me a Russian — till death I 'm your debtor — 
If he brings the whole Alphabet, so much the belter. 
And — Lord I if he would but, in character, sup 
OH' his fish-oil and candles, he'd quite set me up ! 

^u reuoir, my aweet girl — I must leave you in 
haste — 
Little Gunter has brought me the Liqueurs to taste. 


By tbe bye. have you found any friend that can con- 
That L:itin account, t'other day. of a Monster?! 
If we can't get a Russian, and that thiii^ in Latio 
Be not too improper, I think 1 Ml bring that in. 



Whilst thou. M'lhissan. (happy thou !) 

Dost daily bend thy loyal brow 

Before our K^u^ — our Asia's treasure! 

Nutmeg nf Comfort ; R"se of Pleasure ! — 

And bear'st as many kicks and biuises 

As the said Rose and Nutmeg chonses ; 

Thy held still near the bowstring's borders, 

And but left on lill further orders — 

Through London streets, with turban fair, 

And caf'an, fl'ia'ing to the air, 

I saunter on, 'he admiration 

Of this shnrt-coated population — 

This sew'd-up r -ce — this bulldn'd nati'->n — 

Who, while they boast their laws so free, 

Leave not one limb at liberty. 

But live, with all their lordly speeches, 

The slaves of buttons and tight breeches. 

Yet, though they thus their knee-pans fetter 
(They're Christians, and ihey know no better)^ 
in some things they 're a thinking nation j 
And, on Religious Toleration, 
I own I hke iheir notions quite. 
They are so Persian and so right ! 
You know our Sunnites,* — hateful dogs ! 
Whom every pious Shiite flogs 

1 Alluding, 1 suppose, to the Litin Advertisement 
of a Lusus Nalnras in rhe Newspapers lately. 

* 1 have made ninny inquiries about this Persian 
gentleman, but cannot saiistac'orjly ascertain who he 
ts. From his noiions of Rfligious Liberty, ho-vever, 
I conclude that he is an importation of minister? ; and 

he has ^irrived just in time to assi?r the P e and 

Mr. l^ck— e in their new Oiient^l Plan of Reform. 
— See the second of these Letters. — How Ahdall ill's 
epistle to Isp.ihan found i's way into the Twopenny 
I post-Bag is moTe than I cm pretend to account for. 
I 3 " C'est un honnete homme," ^aid a Tuikish go- 
I vernor of De Ruyterj "c'est grand dommage qu'il 
toit Chretien." 
I * Su7i7iites and Shiites are the two leading sects 
' into which the "..ihomelan world is divided; and 

Or longs to flog 6 — 't is true, they pray 

To God, but in an ill-bred way ; 

With nerher arms, nor legs, nor faces 

Stuck in their righ', canonic places.^ 

'Tis (rue, Ihey uor^hip Alis name— i 

Their Heav'n and oiirs aie just the same — 

(A Persian's He«v'n is eas'ly made, 

'T is but black eyes and lemonade.) 

Yet, though we've tried for cen uriesback — 

We can't persuade this stubborn pack, 

By bastinadoes, screws, or nippers. 

To wear th' establish'd pe^-green slippers.8 

Then, only think, the libertines ! 

They wash their tnes — Ihey comb their chins,^ 

With many more such deadly sins ; 

And what "s the worst, though last 1 rank it) 

Believe ;he Chapter of the Blanket ! 

Yet, spite of tenets so flagitious, 
{Which jjtiist, at bottom, be seditious j 
Since no man living would refuse 
Green slippers, but from treasonous viewsj 
Nor MaOi his toes, but v^'ilh intent 
To overturn the govemn.ent,)— 
Such IS our mild ind tolerant way, 
We only curse them twice a day 
(According tn a Form that's set,) 
And, far fnni torturing, only let 
All orihodox believers oeal 'em. 
And twitch Iheir beards, where'er they meet 'em. 

As to the rest, they 're free to do 
Whate'er their fincy prompts them to, 
Provided they make noihing of it 
Tow'rds rank or honour, power or profit; 
Which things, we nai'nlly expect. 
Belong to wt, the Establish'd seel, 
Who disbelieve (the Lord be thanked !) 
Th' aforesaid Chapter of the Blanket, 
T he same mild views of Toleiaiinn 
Inspire, I find, thiii button'd nation. 
Whose Papists (fu)l as giv'n to rogue, 
And only Sunmtes with a brogue) 
Fare ju-t as well, with all their fuss, 
As rascal Suuutiesdo with us. 

The tender Gazel I enclose 
Is for my love, my Syrian Rose — 
Take it when night begins to fall. 
And throw it o'er her mother's wall. 

rest thou the hour we pist,- 
* the happiest and the last ? 

they have gone on cursing arid persecuting each othei 
without any intermission, for about eleven hundted 
years. The Sunni is the established sect in Turkey, 
and the Shia in Persia ; and the differences bet' 
them turn chiefly upon tho=e important points, which 
our pious friend Ahdallah, in the true spirit of Shiite 
Ascetidency, reprobates in this Letter. 

* " Les Sunniles. qui etoienf comme les CalhoHques 
de Musulmanisme." — D'Htrhclot. 

fi " In contradistinction to the Souni 

prayer;* cross their r.:^nds 
bieast, the Schiahs drop th< 
and as the Sounis, at certai 

ho in their 

' lower part of the | 
8 in straight liies; I 
lods of the prayer, 
press their foieheads on the ground or carpet, the 
Schiahs," &c. &c — Forster's Voyage, , 

T *' LesTurcs ne de esteni pas Ali reciproqucn«ent ; 
an coniraire, ils le lecoimuissent,'* &c. &.C. — Ciiardin. 

8 "The Shiites wear green clippers, which the 
Sunniles consider as a great abomination.'* — Mariti. 

9 For these points of difference, as well as fi)r the ! 
Chapter of the Blanket, r mu't refer the reader (not 
h.ivmg the book by me) to Picarl's Accoaut of the . 
Mahometan See's. | 



Oh ! not so sweet the Siha thorn 

To summer bee-J, al break of morn, 

Not half so suet-r, through d^le and dell, 

I'o C^tnels^ ears the tinkling betl| 

A-i is Ihe snolhing niemnry 

Of that one precious hour to me. 

How cnn we live, so far apart ? 
Oh! whv not rather, heart (o heart, 

United live and die — 
Like those sweet biid^, that fly together, 
With feather always toucliing feather, 

Linked by a hook and e}e ! i^ 


TO • , ESQ.3 

Per Post, Sir, we send your MS. — look'd it thro'— 
Very sorry — but caii'i uiideriake — 't would n't do. 
Clever work. Sir !— would get up prodigiously well — 
Its only defect is — it never would sell. 
And thoufi;h Statesmen may glory in being unboushtf 
III an Author 'I is not so desirable thought. 

Hard times, Sir, — most books are too dear to be 

read — 
Though the gold of Good-sense and Wit's small' 

change nre fled. 
Vet the pa}}cr we Publishers nass, in their s'ead, 
Kises hijrtier each day, and ('t is frightful to think H) 
Not even such names as F — tz^ — r—d's can sink it! 

However, Sir — if you 're for trying again, 

And at somewhat ihai 's vendible — we are your men. 

Since the Chevalier C — rr 3 took to marrying lately, 
The Trade is in want of a Trawllei' greatly — 
No job, Sir, more easy— your Cauutry once plann'd, 
A innn'h abon-d ship and a fortnight on land 
Puts your Quarto of Travels, Sir, clean out of hand. 

An Ea4-lndia pamphlet's a thing that would tell— 
And a lick at the P ipisis is sure to sell well. 
Or — suppo-iug you've nothing original in you — 
Write PartKiies, Sir, and such fame it will win you, 
You "11 get to the Blue-stocking Rouis of Albinia ! * 
(Mind — not to her dinnei'S — a secondhand Muse 
Musm'l think of aspiring to mtss wiih the Blues.) 
Or — in case nothing else in this world you can do — 
The deuce is in 't, Sir, if you cannot rcviexol 

Should you feel any touch of poetical glow, 
We've a Scheme to suggest — Mr. Sc — tt, you must 

(Who, we're sorrytnsay it, now works for //(ei?(7MJ,*) 
Having quilled the Horders, to seek new renown. 
Is coiuiijg, l-v Ion? tiuario Mages, to Town ; 

» This will appear strange to an English reader, buf 
it is lite ally tr^insla'ed fmm AbHallah's Persian, and 
the cuiinus bitd lo wh eh he alludes is (he Juftak, of 
which I find the following account in Richardson: — 
* A sort of I ird, that s said to have but one wing ; on 
'he r.ppnsite side In i hich the male has a hook and 
the ft-m^le a ring, so Ihar, when they fly, they are 
fastened together." 

*! From mo'ives of delicacy, and, indeed, o( fellow- 
feeling, I suppress the nime of the Au'hnr. whose 
rejfc ed manuscript was enclosed iu this letter. See 
the Appendix. 

3 Sir John Carr, the author of "Tours in Ireland, 
Holland, Sweden," &c. &c. 

* This alludes, I believe, to a curious cnrre-pon- 
dence. which is said to have passed lately betwL*eii 
Alb— n— a. Countess of B— ck— gh— ms— e.'and a cer- 
tain ingenious Parodist, 

* Paternoster Row. 

And beginning with Rokeby (ijie job h sure to pay) 
Means to do ail the Gentlemen's Seats on the way. 
Now, the Scheme is (though none of our hackneys can 

beat him) 
To start a fresh Pnet through Highgale to meet him ; 
Who, by means of quick proofs — no revises — long 

cn.-iches — 
May do a few Villas, before Sc— tt appi-oaches. 
Indeed, if our Pegasus be not curst shabby. 
He'll reich, without found'ring, al least Woburn- 

Such, Sir, is our plan — if you 're up to the freak, 
'T is a match ! and we 'II put you in trainitig next 

Al present, no more — in reply to this Letter, a 
Line will oblige very much 

Yours, et cetera. 
Temple of the Mioses, 



8K — FF — NOT — N, ESQ. 

Come to our Fete,6 and bring with thee 
Thy newest, best embroidery. 
Cf>me to our Fe'e, and show a^ain 
That pea-gieen coat, thou pink of men, 
Which rharm'd all eyes, thai last surveyed it ; 
When Br-mm— Is ^elf inquii'd '• who made it ?" 
When Cit^ came wond ring, fmm Ihe East, 
And thought ibee Poet Pye at least .' 

Oh I come, (if haply 't is thy week 
For looking pale,) with paly cheek ; 
Though more we love thy roseate days. 
When Ihe rich rouge-pot pours its blaze 
Full o'er thy face, and, amply spread. 
Tips ev'n thy whisker-tops with red — 
Like the last tints of dying Day 
That o'er some darkling grove delay. 

Bring thy best lace, thou gay Philander, 
(That lace, like H— rry Al-x-nd-r, 
'l"oo precious to be wa h'd,) — thy rings, 
Thy >eal9— in short, thy pretiies't things ! 
Put all ihy wardrobe's glories on. 
And yield in frogs and fringe, to none 
But the great R — g — t's self alone ; 
Who — by particular desire — 
For that 7itght only, means to hire 
A dress from Romeo C — les, Esquire.t 
Hail, first of Actors ! « best of R— g_(s ! 
Born for each other's fond allegi mce ! 
Both gay Lotharios — both good dressers — 
Of serious Farce both learn'd Professors — 
Both circled round, for use or show. 
With cock's combs, wheresoe'er they go! 9 

Thou know'st the time, thou man of lore' 
It lakes to chalk a ball-room floor — 
Thou know'st the time, too. well-a-day ! 

It takes tndaice that chalk ; 


6 This Let'er enclosed a Card for the Grand Fete on 
the 5th of February. 

1 An amateur actor of much risible renown. 

8 Quern tu, Me'pnmene, semel 

N.iscentrm placido luminey vidcris, kc, Ilorat, 
The Man, \\\\nn whom lliou liaM dcignM to look funny. 

Oil. Trai;it!y'M Muf-e ! at Ihe hmir of hi« hirlh — 
Let themii y wli«l (hey will, that *» Ihe Man for my money, 

(Jive others thy tears, hul let me have Ihy mirlti ! 

9 The crest of Mr. C— les. the very amusin* ama 
lenr traeedian here alluded to, was a cock ; and mosi 
profusely were his liveiies, harness, &c., covered with 
this ornament. 

*o To those, rvlio neither go to balls nor read Ihe 
Morning Post, it may be necessary to ri'ention, Iti&l 



The Ball-rnom opena — far and nigh 

Comets and suns beneath us lie; 

O'er snow-white moons and s'ars we walk, 

And ll.e lloor seems one sky of chalk I 

But soon shall lade that bright deceit. 

When many a maid, wilU busy feet 

That sparkle in Ihe lustre's ray. 

O'er the while path shall bound and play 

Like Nymphs along the Milky Way : — 

With every step a 5:ar hath tied, 

And suiii 510W dim beneath their tread ! 

bn passeth lite— (thus Sc—tt would write, 

And spiusier> read him with delight,) — 

Hours are not feet, yet hours trip on, 

'lime is not chalk, yet lime 's soou goue ! 1 

But, hang this long digressive flight ! — 
1 meant to say, thou 'It see, that night, 
What falsehood rankles io their hearts, 

Who say the Pr e neglects thearfs — 

Neglects the arts?— no, Str— hi— g,'i no; 
Thy Cupids answer *■ t is not so j " 
And every floor, that night, shall tell 
How quick thou daubest, and how well. 
Shine as thou may st in French veimilion, 
'J'hou 'rt 6esl, beneath a French cotillion j 
And still com'st oti, whateer thy faults, 
With Jiying colours in a Waltz, 
Nor need'st Ihou mourn the transient data 
To thy best works as&ign'd by fate. 
While some chet-d'ceuvres live to weary one, 
Thine boast a short life and a merry one 
Their hour of glory past and gone 
With *^ Molly put the kettle on I " 3 

But, bless my soul ! I 've scarce a leaf 
Of paper leU — so, must be brief. 

This festive Fete, in UcU will be 
The former Fete 's facsimile ; ■» 
The same long M.isqueiade of Rooms, 
All trick'd up in such odd costumes, 
(These, V— rt— r,5 are Iby glnrious works!) 
You'd swear Egyptians, Moors, and Turks, 
Bearing Good^Taste some deadlv malice, 
Had clubb'd to raise a Fic-Nic i^alace ; 
And each to make the olio pleasant 
Had sent a State-Room as a present. 
The same fauteuils and girondoles 
The same gold Asse-i,^ pretiy '-ouls ! 
Tliat, in this rich and classic dome, 
Appear so perfectly at home. 
The same bright nver 'mong the dishes, 
But 710/ — all I not the same dear fishes - 
Late hours and claret kill'd the old ones 
So 'stead of silver and of gnid ones, 
(It being rather hard to raise 
Fiih of that specie now-a-days) 
Some sprats have been by Y — rm — th's wlsb, 
Promoted into 6'iiuer Fish, 

the floors of Rall-ronms, in general, are chalked, for 
safety and for ornament, with various fanciful devices. 

1 Hearts are nol flint, yel flints are rent, 
Hearls are not tteel, yet steel is bent. 
After all, however, Mr. Sc— tt may well say to the 
Colonel, (and, indeed; to much better wags than the 
Colonel,) ^aov /iui/iEcc^ai 7/ fufizLadai. 

^ A foreign artist much patronized by the Prince 

3 The name of a popular country-dance. 

4 *' C— rl— I— n H e wjll exhibit a complete /ac- 

sixnile, in respect to interior ornament, to what it did 
at the last Fete. The jame splendid draperies," &.c. 
&c. — Morning Post. 

fi Mr. Walsh Porter, to whose taste was left the 
furnishing of Ihe rooms of Carlton House. 

6 Thesait-cellars on the Pr e's own table were 

in the form of an Ass with Panniers. 

And Gudgeons (so V— ns— tt— t told 
The K— g— t; are as good as Gold! 


LETTER IV. Page 133. 

Among the papers, enclosed in Dr. D — g — n— n's 
Letter, uasfcundan Heroic Epistle in Latin verse, 
from Pope Joan to her Lover, of which, as it is rather 
a cuiious document, 1 shall venture to give some ac" 
count. 1 his female Pontitlwas a native of England, 
tor, according to others, of Germany), who, at an 
early age, disguised herself in male altire, and fal 
lowed her lover, a young ecclesiastic, to Athens, 
where she studied with such etlect, that upon her 
arrival at Rome, she was thought worthy of being 
raised to ihe Fouiihcate. I'his Epistle is addressed 
to her Lover (whom she had elevated to the dignity 
of Cardinal), sonn after the fatal accouchemtaity by 
whtch her yallibiiiiy was betrayed. 

She begins by remindmg him tenderly of the time, 
"hen they were together ai Alliens — when, as she 

— " by Ilissus' stream 
" We whispering walk'd along, and learn'd to speak 
" The tenderest feelings in the purest Greek j — 
■* Ah, then how little did we think or hope, 
»^ Dearest of men, that I should e'er be Pope ! 1 
" That I, the humble Joan, who^e housewife art 
"Seem'd just enough to keep thy house and heart, 
" (And those, alas, at sixes and at sevtus), 
" Should soon keep all the keys of all Ihe heavens !" 

Still le^s (she continues to say) could they have fore- 
seen, that such a calastrophe as had happened iu 
Council would befall them— that she 

" Should thus surprise Ihe Conclave's grave decorum, 

" And let a little Pope pop out before 'em — 

" P"[)e Innocent! al^s, the only one 

*' That name could e'er be justly fix'd upon." 

She then very pathetically laments Ihe downfall of 
her grealnebs. and enumerates the various tieasuies to 
which she is doojued to bid farewell for ever : — 

"But oh, more dear, more precious ten limes over — 
'*Faiewell my Lord, mv Cardinal, my Lover! 
'• I m ide thet Cardinal — thou niad'st me — ah 1 
*' Thou mad st the Papa of the world Mamma ! 

I have not time at present to translate any more of 
this Epistle; but 1 presume the argument which ihe 
Right Hon. Doctor and his friends mean to deduce 
from it, IS (in their usual convincing strain) 'hat Ro- 
manists must be unworthy of Emancipation Jioio, 
because thty had a Petlicnal Pope In the Ninth Cen- 
tury. Noihing can be moie logically clear, and I find 
that Horace had exactly the same views upon the 

Romanut (eheu pnstcri rcgu'jilis !) 
Emancipatus Fueminae 

Fert vallum ' 

LETTER VIL Page 13a. 

The Manuscript, found ercloscd in the Bnokseller's 
Letter, turns out to be a Meln-Drama, in two Acts, 

' Spanheini attributes the unanimity, with which 
Joan was elected to that innate and irresistible charm, 
by which her sex, though latent, operated upon the 
instinct of the Cardinals — "N'on vi aliqu.T, sed con- 
cordiier, omnium in se convei«.o des;derio, quae sunt 
blandieutis sexus artes, lalentes in hac q janqiiam t" 



eotilled "The Book." l nf which the Theatres, of 

course, had had the refusal, bt'fore it \\as presented to 
Messrs. L— cti-n^l— n & Co. This rejeded Dnn-a, 
however, po>£esses considerable nieni, and 1 bhall 
take ihe liberty of laying a sketch of it before my 

The first Act opens in a very awful manner — Time, 
three o'elnck in ibe morning — Scn?e, the BonrbOn 

Chamber a in C— rl— 1— n House— Entt-r 'he P e 

R— er— t solus — Afier a few broken sentences, he thus 
exclaims : — 

Awny — Away — 
Thou haiinlM my fancy so, thou devilish Rook, 
I nieel thee — irace ihee, wheresne'er I look. 
1 see thy dinint;d ink in Eld~n's brows — 
I see \hy foo'-scap on my H— rtf — d's Spouse — 
V — ns — 1(— 's head lecills thy halhern case, 
And alt thy hlanh'leavts stare from H— d — r's face! 
While, turning here (laying his hand on his heart), 

I tind. ah wretched elf. 
Thy List of dire Errata in myself. 

(IValhs the sta^e m considerable agitation^ 
Oh Roman Punch ! oh potent Curacoa! 
Oh Maraschino '. Mare-chiio oh I 
Delicious dr;tms ! why have you not the art 
To kill this gnawing Jiook'woi'm in my heart? 

He is liere iiiteiTupted in his Soliloquy by perceiving 
on the ground some scnbtded frte;nieD's of pajjer, 
which he ins'au'ly collects, and " by ihe Vizht of two 
maeiiificent cuidelaliras" discnvers the followins; un- 
connected words, " t'Vife ncgUcicd^'' ~- *■ ihe BociC^ — 
*' IVrons: Measures''''—^'- the Queen'*— '• Mr. LamherV^ 
— "(/leR— g-t. 

Ha ! treason m my house ! — Curst words, that wither 
My princely B'»u1, (shaking the papers violently) 

what Demon brought you hither? 
*' My Wife;" — "the Bgok" tool — stay— a nearer 

look — 
(holding the fras^ments closer to the Candtlabras) 
Alas ! too plain, H. double 0» K, Book- 
Death and destruction ! 

He here rings all the hells, and a whole legion of 
valets enter. A >ccnc of cnrsin* and sweaiine (very 
much in the Ge-man s^le) ensues, in the course .T 
which mes-*engers are despatched, m dilterent direc- 
tions, for tht: L— rd Ch-nc-ll-r, Ihe D- e of C— 
b-i— d. &c. &c. 'I'he intei media'e time is filled up 
by another Soliloquy, at the cnnclnsion of u hich the 
aforesaid Personas;es rush on alarmed; Ihe D— ke 
with his stays only half-'aced. and the Ch-nc— II— r 
with his "ig thrown has ily overan old red ntghl-cap, 
'* to maintain the becoming splendour of his office." 3 
The R— g— t produces the appillin^ fragmen's upon 
which Ihe Ch— nc — II— r breaks nui into exclamations 
of loyally and tenderness, and relates the following 
portentous dream. 

< There in like manner, a mysterious Riok, in 
the I6th Century, which emph-yed all the anxmus 
curiosity of the Learned of th:il time. Every one 
s[inke of it : many wrote again-l it ; though it does 
not appear Ihat anybody had ever seen it ; and Grotius 
is of opinion Ih-il no such Book ever existed. It was 
entitled *' Liber de tribus impostoribus." (See Mor- 
hof. Cap. de I.jbns damnatis.) — Our more mndern 
mystery of ■* the Book" resembles this in many par- 
ticulars ; and, if he number of Lawyers employed in 
drawing it up be staled correctlv, a slight aller.itinn 
of the title into »' a tribus impnstoriiais" would pro- 
duce a cr>incidence altogctlier very remark Me. ! 

5 The same Chamber, doubtless, lint was prepared ' 
f'>r the reception of ihe Bourb>ns at Iht fir^t Gnnd 
Fete, and wliuh w:.s ornamn.led CH " furlhc Delive- 
rance of Europe'') \wi\hfl<xtrs-de-lys. 

3 "To enable th^ individual, who holds the office 
of Chancell'.t, .'o niain'ain it in becoming splendour." , 
(A hnid Jaueh.) Lord Castlereagh's Speech upon \ 
ihe {'icC'Chancelloi-'s Bill, . I 


'T is scarcelv two hnurs since 

I had a fearful dream if llice, my P e .— 

Methought I heard Ihee, midst a conrrly tfowd, 

Say from lliy throrie of pold. in niandale loud, 

" VVoisliip my whiskers !" — fiuiejusj not a knee wii 

1 here 
Rill bent and worshipp'd Ihe Illuslrinus Pair, 
Which curl'd in majesty! ijmll) out hit 

handkcrclMf) — while cries 
Of '•Whiskers, wlll^ke^s !" shnok Ihe echoing skies.— 
Just in that prl'"i""« li'ur, melhou^hl, there came, 
Wilh looks of injur-d piide, a Prii.celv Dame, 
And a young maiden, clinging hy her side, 
As if she fear'd some lyraui would divide 
Two liearts Ihat nature and aifeclion lied ! 
The Malrim came— within her righi hand glow'd 
A radiint torch ; while from her lejt a load 
Of Papers hung — (wifts his eyes) collected in her 

The venal evidence, the slanderous tale, 
Tlie wounding hint, Ihe cuireiit lies tiiit pass 
F om Post to Criurier, forni'd Ihe motley mass ; 
Which, wilh disdain, before the 'I hroue she throws, 
And lights the Pile beneath thy princely nose. 

Heav'ns, how it blaz'd I — I 'd ask no livelier liie, 
( With animation) To roast a Papist by, my gracious 

Sire!- J> / = 

Bat ah ! the Evidence — (■iceejjs again) I mourn'd to 

Cast, as it burn'd, a deadly light on Ihee: 

And Tales and Hiins their raid sparkles flung. 

And hiss'd and cnckled. like an old maid s tongue ; 
While Post and Courier, fiilhlul to their fime 
Made up in stink for what Ihey lack'd in flame. 
When, lo, ye Gods ! the tire ascending I'risker, 
Now singes out, now l.glils tht olher whisker. 
Ah! where was Ihen the .Sylphid, that unfurls 
Her fairy s'andard in defence of curls ? 
Throne, Whiskers, Wig soon vanish'd into smoke, 
The w atchman cried " Past One," and — I awoke. 

Here his Lordship weeps more profusely than ever, 
and Ihe R— g— t (who lias been very much asilat.-d 
during the recital of the Dream) liy a mnvemeiit as 
cha acerislic as that of Charles Ml. when he wis 
shut, clasps his hands to his whiskers In feel if ail be 
really safe. A Privy Council is held — all the Ser- 
vants, Sic. are examined, and it appears iha' a Tailor, 
who had come to measure the K — g — t for a Dress 
(which takes ihiee whole pages nf Ihe best superfine 
clinquant in describing) was the only jerson who had 
been in the Bourbon Chamber during Ihe day. II is, 
accordinsiy, determined to seize the Tailor, and the 
Cnuncil breaks up with a unanimous resolution to be 

'I'he commencement of the Second Act turns chiefly 
upon the Tiial and Imjinsonment of two Hiolhersi- 
but as this forms the iindtr plot of the Drama. I shall 
content myself with ixnacting from it Ihe followiug 
speech, which is addressed lo Ihe two Brothers, as 
they '-exeunt severally" lo Fiisou : — 

Go to your prisons — though Ihe air of Spring 
No mountain conhiess lo your cheeks shall bring ; 
Though Summer flowers shall pass unseen away. 
And all your portion of the glorious day 
Mav be some solitary beam thai falls. 

, upon you 


Some b< am that en'ers', tremhlin^ as if au 'd, 
To tell how giy the young world laushs abrond ! 
■Vet go— for Ihoujhis as blessed as the air 
Of Siiriiig or Summer flowers await you there; 

le, who feasts his courtly crew 

Thnughts, s 


I {•*'' 
I ihel 

-the smiles that light within — 
1 he 7.1-al, whose circlin; charities begin 
With the few lov'd-oncs Heaven has plac'd it near, 
And spread, till all Mankind are in its sphere ; 

I Mr. Leigh Hunt and liis brother. 



The Pride, that sutfers without eaunt or plea, 
And the fiesh Spnit, that can warble free, 
Through prison-bars, its hymn to Liberty! 

The Scene next changes to a Tailor's Work -shop, and 
a fancit'ully-arran2;ed group of these Artists is discover- 
ed upon the Shop-bnard — Their task evidently of a 
royal nature, from the profusion of gold-lace, frogs, 
&c. that lie about — They all rise and come forward, 
while one of them sings the following Stanzas to the 
tune of " Derry Down." 

My brave brother Tailors, come, straighten your knees, 
For a moment, like geullemen, stand up at ease, 

While I sing of our P e (and a tig for his railers) 

The Shop-board's delight ! the Maecenas of Tailors ! 
Derry dowu, down, down derry down. 

Some monarchs take roundabout ways into note. 
While His short cut to fame is — the cut of his coat; 
Philip's Sod thought the World was too small for his 

But our K — g — t's finds room in a lac'd button-hole, 
Derry down, &c. 

Look through all Europe's Kings — those, at least 

who go loose — 
Not a King of them all 's such a friend to the Goose. 
So, God keep him increasing in size and renoun, 

Still the fattest and best fitted F e about town ! 

Derry down, &c. 

During the " Derry down " of this last verse, a ine>> 

senger fioro the S— c — t— y of S e's Office rushes 

on, and the singer (who, luckily for the etfecl of the 
scene, is the very Tailor suspecied of the mysterious 
fragments) is interrupted in ilie midst of his laudatory 
exertions, and hurried away, to the no small surprise 
and conslernalioii ol his comrades. The Plot now 
haslens rapidly in its developernent — the manage- 
ment of Oie Tailor's examination is highly skilful, and 
the alarm, which he is made to betray, is natural 
without being ludicrous. The explanation, too, 
which he finally gives is not more smiple than satis- 
factory. It appears that the said fragments formed 
part of a self-exculpalory note, which he had intend- 
ed to send to Colonel M'M n upon subjects purely 

professional, and the corresponding bits (which still 
lie luckily in his pocket) being produced, and skilfully 
lard bt'side the others, the following billet-doux is the 
satisfactory result of their juxta-position. 
Honoured Colonel — my Wife, who 's ths Queen of all 

Neglected to put up the Pook of new Patterns. 
She sent the wrong Measures too— shamefully wrong — 
They 're the same us'd for poor Mr, Lambert, when 

young ; 
But, bless you ! they wouldn't go half round the 

So, hope you '11 excuse yours till death, most obedient 

This fully explains the whole niyster>' — the R— g— t 
resumes his wonted smiles, and the Drama terminates, 
as usual, to the satisfaction of all parties. 





*• It would be Impossible for his roynl highness to disen- 
f;a({e his person from the Bccumulaliii^ pitt; of pnpers that 
encompassed il. — Lord Cnstlerench's Specc/i iipan Colo* 
net M'Mahon'8 Appotntmenti April IJ, lf^l2. 

Last night I toss'd and turn'd in bed. 
But coul J not sleep — at length I said, 
»' I 'II think of Viscount C— stl— r— gh, 
*'Aiid of his speeches— that 's the way." 
And so it was, for ins'anlly 
I slept as sound as sound could be. 
And then I dreamt —so dread a dream 
Fuseli has no such theme; 
Lewis never wrote or borrowed 
Any horror, half so horrid ! 

Methoiight the Pr e, in whisker'd state 

Before me at his breakfast sate j 

On one side lay unread Petitions, 

On t'other, Hints from five Physicians ; 

Here tradesmen's bills,— official paptrs, 

N'^tes from niy Lady, drams for vapours — 

There plans of saddles, tea and teas', 

Death-warranisand the Mornii^g Post. 

When lo ! the Papers, one and ; 
As if at srmie magician's call, 
Began to flutter of themselves 
From desk and table, floor and shf 
And, cutiing each snme diilerent < 
Advanc'd, t'U Jacobinic papers ! 
As though they said, "Our soled 
"To BufTocite his Royal Highnes 
The Leader of this vile sediiion 
Was a huge Catholic Petition, 


With grievances so full and heavv, 

It IhreaienM worst of all tlie bevy. 

Then Common-Hall Addresses came 

In swaggering sheets, and look their aim 

Right at (be R— g-t's «ell-dress'd head, 

As rf determined to be read. 

Next Tradesmen's Rills began to fly. 

And Tradesmen's BiiU, we know, mount high; 

Nay ev'n Death-warrants thought they'd best 

Be lively too, and join the rest. 

But, oh the basest of defections! 
His Ijctier about '* predilections" — 
His own dear Letter, void of grace, 
Now (lew up in its parent's face I 
Shock'd " i'h this breach of filial duty. 
He just could murmur •* et Tu Bnite?^ 
Then sunk, subdued upon the floor 
At Fox's bust, 10 rise no more! 

I wak'd — and pray'd, with lifted hand, 
" Oh ! never may this Dream prove true 

**Thou!;h paper overwhelms the land, 
*' Let il not crush the Sovereign too I" 


Al length, dearest Freddy, the moment is nigh, 
When, wiih P— re — v— I'a leave, 1 may throw my 

chains by ; 
And. as time now is precinus. the first thing I do, 
Is to sit down and write a wise letter to you. 

» Leiter from his Royal Highness the Prince Regent 
to the Duke of Vnrk, Feb. 13, Vi\2. 



I meanf before now to have ^ent you this Letter, 
But Y — mi— tU and 1 thought perhaps 'twould be 

To wait till the Irish affairs were decided — 
(That i9, till both Houses had prosed aud divided, 
Wiih all due appeanuce of thought and digestion)— 
For, though H— rtf— rd House hwd long settled the 

I thought it but decent, between me and you. 
Thai the two otliey Houses should settle it loo, 

I need not remind you boiv cursedly bid 
Our atiairs were all looking, when Father went mad j" 
A stiait-waisicoat on him and restriclioiis on me, 
A more limilcd Monarchy could not well be. 
i was cali'd upon then, in that moment (<f puzzle, 
To chonse my own Minister — just as they muzzle 
A playful young bear, and then mock his disaster, 
By bidding him choose out his own daticing-master. 

I thought the best way, as a dutiful son, 
Was to do as Old Royalty's self would have done.^ 
So I sent word to say,' 1 would keep the whole batch in, 
The same chest nf tools, without cleansing or patching; 
For tools of this kind, like Marlinus's >conce,3 
Would lose all iheirbenuty, if purified once; 
Aud think — only think— if our Father should find, 
Upon graciously coming ngain to his mind,* 
That improvement had spotl'd any favourite adviser— 
That R— ?e was grown lioiiesl, or W— sim— rel— nd 

That R— d-r was, ev*n by one twinkle, (he brighter— 
Or L— v — rp— Ps speeches but half a pound lighter — 
What a shock to hi> old royal heart it would be ! 
No ! — were such dreams of improvement from me : 
And it pleased me to hud, at the House, where, you 

There 's sucii good mutton cutlets, and 'trong curac^a.c 
That the Marchioness call'd me a duteous old boy. 
And my V—rui— ih's red whiskeis grew redder fi>r joy. 

You know, my dear Freddy, how off, if I would, 
By the law uf last Sessions i mi^ht have done good. 
1 rnight have withheld these poliijcdl noodles 
From knocking (heir heads against hot Yankee 

D!K>dles ; 
I might have (old Ire'and I pitied her lot, 
Might have soolh'd her with hope — but you know I 

did not. 
And my wish is, in truth, that the best of old fellows 
Should not, on recovering, have cause to Ik jealous. 
But find that, while he has been laid on Ihe shelf, 
We 've been all «.f us nearly as mad as himself. 
Vou smile a' niy hopes — but the Doctors and I, 
Are the last that cau (hink the K— ng ever will die.T 

» *' I think it hardly necessary to call your recollec- 
...m to the recent circumstances under \vhich I as- 
sumed Ihe authority delegated to me by Pailiament." 
— Pnnce's Letter. 

^ '*My sense of duty to our Royal father solely de- 
cided that choice." — /6id, 

8 The antique shield of Martinus Scriblerus, which, 
upon scouring, turned out t-j be only an old sconce. 

* " I waived ■niy peisnnal gratification, in order that 
his Majefiiy might resume, on his re-toratioii to health, 
every power and prerogative." &c. — /6id. 

6'* And I have the sitisfac'ion of knowing that 
such was the opinion of persons for whose judg- 
ment," &c. &c. — Ibid. 

6 The leiter-wrjter's favourite luncheon. 

' '* I ceriainly am the last person in (he kingdom to 

A new era 's arriv'd 8 — though you 'd hardly believe 

And all things, of course, must be new to receive it. 
New villas, new fetes (which ev'n Waithmaa at- 
tends) — 
New siddies, new helmets, and — why not new 
friends ? 

I repeat it, *' New Friends" — for ! cannot describe 
The delight I am in with this p— re— v— I tribe. 
Such capering! — Such vapouring 1 — Such rigour! 

— Such vigour ! 
North, South, East, and West, they have cut such a 

That soon they will bring the whole world round our 

And leave us no friends — but Old Nick and Algiers. 

When I think of Ihe glory they 've beaniM on my 

'T is enough quite to turn my illustrious brains. 
It is true we are bankrupts iri commerce and riches, 
But think how we find our Allies in new breeches! 
We 've lost the warm hearts of the Irish, 'I if granted, 
But then we've got Java, an island much wanted, 
To put the last lingeiing few wtjo remain. 
Of the Walcheren wan lOis, out of their pain. 
Then how Wellington iights ! and how squabbles his 

brother ! 
For Papists the one, and with Papists the other; 
One crushing Napoleon by taking a Citv, 
While t'oiher lays waste a whole Calh'l'ic Committee. 
Oh, deeds of renown ! —shall I bougie or flinch, 
With such pri'SpfCts befoie me? by Jove, nut an inch. 
No — let England's atfairs go to rack, if they will, 
We'll look after th'aflaiis of Ihe Ci/ntinent'sftW ; 
And, wi h nothing at home but at iriation and riot. 
Find Lisbon in bread, and keep Sicily quiet. 

I am proud to declare I have no predilections,^ 
My hcatt is a sieve, where some scalter'd affections 
Are just danc'd about for a moment or two, 
And ihe^Her they are, the more sure lo run through : 
Neither feel I lesentmen's, nor \vish thcie should 

come ill 
To nioital — except (now I think ou't) Beau 


Who Ihieateu'd last year, in a superfine passion. 
To cut me. and bring the old K— ng into fashion. 
'Ihis is all I cin lay to ny conscience at present; 
When such is my lemner, so neutial, so pleasant. 
So royally free fmm all troublesome feelings, 
So little eiicumber'd by fai'h in my dealings, 
(And that 1 'm consistent the world -will allow 
What I was at Newmarket tlie same I am now.) 
When such are my merits (you know I hate crackinff.) 
I hope, like the Vender of Best Patent Blacking, 
" To meet with the gen'rous and kind approbation 
*' Of a candid, enlighten'd, and liberal naiion." 

By the bye, ere I do e this magnificent Letter, 
(No man, except Pi le, could h.<ve uril you a belter,) 
'T would please me if Itiose, whom 1 've hunibug'd so 

long 10 
With ttie notion (good men !) that I knew right from 

Would a few of them join me — mind, only a few — 
To let too much light in on me never wnuld do ; 

whom it can be permitted to despair of our royal 
father's recovery." — /'n^iCL'f Lttier. 

8 '' A new era is now arrived, and I cannot but re- 
flect with satisfaction," &c. — Itid. 

s " 1 have no predilections to indulge, — no resent- 
ments to graiify."— /i^■(i. 

i« " 1 cannol conclude wl'hout expressing ihe grati- 
fica'ion 1 should feel if some of itiose persons with 
whom the early habits of my public life were formed 
would strengthen my hands, and constitute a pari ©f 
my government." — /bid. 



But even Grey's biiglitiiess shan't make iiie afraid, 
While 1 've C— ii.d— u and Eld— n lo fly to for shade ; 
Nor will Holland's clear mlellecldo us much harm, 
While there's W— slm— rel— ud near him to weakea 


As for Moira's high spirit, if aught can subdue it, 
Sure joinius with H-rIf— rd aud Y— rm— th will 

do It! 
Between R— d— r and Wh— rt— n let Sheridan sit. 
And the fogs will soon qr.euch even Sheridan's wit: 
And agaiusi all the pure public feeling that glows 
E»'u in Whilbiead himself we've a Host lu G— rge 

R— se : 
So, in shoit, if they wish to have Places, they may, 
And I '11 thank you lo tell all these malleis to Grey,' 
Who, I doubt not, will write (as there's no time to 

By the tvvopenny post to lell Gienville the news; 
And now, dciresl i'red {though I've no predilection), 
Believe me yours always with truest aflection. 

P. S. A copy of this is to P— re— 1 going — 3 
Good Lord, how St. Stephen's will ring with his 
crowing i 


Fine and feathery artisan. 
Best of Pluniis's (if you can 
With your art so far presume) 
Wake for me a I'r— ce's Plume 
Fealhers soft and feathers raie, 
Such as suits a Prince to wear. 

Firs', thou downiest of men, 
Seek me out a fine Pea-hen j 
Such a Hell, so tall and grand, 
As by Juno s side might sland, 
If there were no cicks at hand. 
Seek her feithers, soft as down. 
Fit to shine on Pr— ce's crown; 
If thou canst not hiid ttiem, stupid 1 
Ask the way of Prior's Cupid.3 

Ranging these in ortler due, 
Pluck nie next an old Cuckoo; 
Emblem of the liajipy lalfs 
Of easy, kind, cornuled males. 
Pluck him well — be sure you do 
IVho wuuld'nt be an old Cuckoo, 
Thus 10 have his plumaje blest. 
Beaming on a R— y— 1 crest ? 

Bravo, Plumist ! — now what hirj 
Shall we find for Plume the third 1 
You niuit get a leirned Owl, 
Bleakest of black-letter fowl — 
Bigot bird, thai hales the light,* 
Foe to all Ihat 's fair and bright. 
Seize his quill^, (so form'd to pen 
Books,' Ihat shun the search of men; 
Books. Ihat, far from every eye. 
In "swelter'd veiiOm sleeping" lie.) 
Stick them in between ihe two, 
Proud Pea-hen and Old Cuckoo. 
Now you have the triple feather, 
Bind the kindred stems together 

i '*you are authorized to communicate these senti- 
ments to Lord Grry. w'ho, I have no doubt, will make 
them known to Lord Grenville. — Prince's Letter, 

^ '' I slnll 'end a copy of this letler immediately to 
Mr. Perceval."— Ziirf. 

3 See Prior's poem, entilled " The Dove." 

* P— re— V— i. 

6 In allusion to '* the Book" which crea'ed such a 
sensation at that pet iod. 

With a silken lie, whose hue 
Once was brilliant Butf and Blue; 
Sullied now — alas, how much I 
Only fit for Y— rm— th's touch. 

There — enough — thy task is done 

Present, worthy G ge's Son : 

Now, benCTth, in letters nea', 
Write " 1 serve," and all 's complete. 


Through M— nch— st— r Square took a canter just 

now — 

Met the old yellow c?ion'o(,6 and made a low bow. 
This I did, of course, thinking, 't was loyal and 

But got such a look — oh 'I was black as the devil ! 
How unlucky \--inco^. he was trav'iling about. 
And I, like a noodle, must go find him out. 


To 1 


)w chariot I ride, 
cely inside* 

At Levee to day made another sad blunder — 
What can be come over me lately, I wonder? 
The Pr— ce was as cheertui, as if, all his life, 
He had never been troubled with Friends or a 

Wife — 
'*Fine weilher," says he — to which I, who must 

Answered, *' Yes, Sir, but changeable rather, of late.'' 
He look it, I fear, for he look'd somewhat irruif. 
And handled his new pair of whiskers so rough, 
That before all the courtiers I fear'd Ibey 'd come 

And then. Lord, how Geramb '' would triumphantly 

scotf ! 

JVfem — lo buy for son Dicky some unguent or lotion 
To nourish his whiskers — sure road to promotion I 8 


Last ni^ht a Concert — vastly gay — 
Given by Lady C— sll— r— gh. 
My Lord loves music, and, we know, 
Has'Mvvo strings al'Aa\stohis bow, "9 
lu choosing songs, the R — g — I nam'd 
" Had 1 a heart for falsehood fram'd,^ 
While genlle H— rif— d begg'd and pray'J 
For *' Young I am and soi'e afraid,^ 


What news to-dav ? — " Oh ! worse and 
'■ Mac 10 is the Pr— ce'- Privy Pur=e !"■ 
The Pr — ce's Purse ! no. no, you fool. 
You mem Ihe Pr— ce's Ridicule. 

u The incog, vehicle of the Pr— ce. 

' Baron Geramb, the rival of his R H. in whiskers 

8 England is not the only country where merit of 
this kind is noticed and rewarded. " I remember," 
says Tavernier, "To have seen one of ihe King of 
Persia's porters, whose mn-tachcs were so long that 
he could tie them behind his neck, for which reason 
he hid a double pension." 

A rhetorical figure used by Lord C— stl— r-gh, 
in one of his speeches. 

10 Colonel M— cm— h— n. 





King Crack was llie best of all possible Kings, 
(At least, so his Couitiets would swear (o you 

But Crack iiitu- and then would do heCrodox things, 
And, at last, to(»k to worshipping Images sadly. 

Some broken-down Idols, that long had been placM 
In his hihtr's old Vabimt, pleas'd him so much, 

That he knctt dou n arid wofshipp'd, thougli — such 
was his taste ! — 
They were monstrous to look at, and rotten to touch. 

And these were tlie beautiful Gods of King Crack ! — 

But his People, disjaining to worship such things, 
Cried aloud, one and all, "Come, vour Liodsliips must 
pack — 
"You'll not do for uj, though you may do for 

Then, trampling these images under their (eQ^^ 
'J'liey sent Crack a petition, beginning " Great 
Caesar ! 
" We Ve willing to worship ; but only entreat 
"That you'll tiiid us some dtcenter Godheads than 
these are," 

" I '11 try," says King Crack — so they furnisli'd him 


Of belter.shap'd Gods, but he sent them all back j 

Some were chisell'd too hue, some had heads 'stead 

of noddles. 

In short, they were all miuh too godlike for Crack. 

So he took to his darling old Idols again. 
And, just mending ttieir legs and new bronzing 
their faces. 
In open defiance of Gods and of man, 
Set the monsters up griuning once more in their 


Quest. Why is a Pump like V— sc— nt C— sti— r— gh ? 

Jiiisw. Because il is a slender thing of wood. 
That up and down ils awkward arm doth sway, 
And cofjlly spout and spout and spoul away 

In one weak, wasliy, everlasting flood 1 


THE D — E OF C — n — L— D. 

Said his Highness to Ned,'- with that grim face of his, 
" Why refuse us the K.(o, dear Catholic Neddy ?" 

"Because, Sir," said Ned, looking full in his phiz, 
" You 're f'lrhidding enough, in all conscience, 
alreaJy !" 

« One of those antediluvian Princes, with whom 
M:inelho and Whistnn seem so intrma'e'y acquainted. 
If we had the Memoirs of Thoth, frnni which Mane- 
tho compiled his Ilislnrv. we should find, I dare sav, 
that Crack wa= only a Regent, and tl at he, pi-rhap's, 
succeeded Typhon, who (as Whiston says) was Ihe 
last Kingofthe Anlediluvian Dynasty. 

» Edward Byrne, the head of the Delegates of the 
Irish Catholics. 



Hillicr, Flora, Queen of Flowers ! 
Hasle llice from t)ld Bromplon's Lower* — 
Or, (if sweeer ih,at ab de) 
From Ihe King's well-odour'd Rtou, 
Where each lillle nucery bud 
Brealhes the dust and quatVs ihe mud. 
Hither come and gaiiy twine 
Brightes' herbs and llowtrs of thine 
Into wreaibs for those, who rule us. 
Those, who rule and (some say) fool us — 
Flora, sure, will love to please 
England's Household Deiiies ! 3 

First you must then, willy-nilly, 
Fe ch wie many an orange lily — 
Orange of ttie darkest dye 
Irish (i— rt'— rd can sufiply ; — 
Choose me out the l ingest sprig, 
And stick it in old Eld— u's wig. 

Find me next a poppy posy. 
Type of his harangues so dozy, 
Ga'land gauily, diiil and cool, 
To crown Ihe head of L— v— rp— 1. 
'Twill console his brilliant brorts 
For that loss of laurel boughs. 
Which they suBcr'd (what a piiy!) 
On the road to Paris City. 

Next, our C— sil— r— gh to crown. 
Bring ii,e from Ihe County Down, 
Wilher'd Shamr.icks. " hich have been 
Gilded o'er, to hide the green — 
(Such as H— dt— t biouglit away 
From Fall-Wall last Patricks I)ay4) — 
Stitch the g aland through and through 
With shabby threads of every hue ; — 
And as, Goddess t — eiitre voiis — 
His L .idsliip loves (though best of men) 
A little ti^ytiire, now and then, 
Crimp the leives, lh"U first of .Syrens, 
Crimp them with Ihy cuiling irons. 

Thai 's enough — away, away — 
Had 1 leisure. I could say 
Ibiw the oldest rose grows 
Must he pluckd to deck Old Rose — 
Hnw Ihe Doctor's i brow should sniilo 
Crowii'd with wreaths of camomile. 
But time presses — to Ihy taste 
1 leave the rest, so, priihee, haste I 


Y — RK— TH'S fete. 

" I wart the Court Guide,'' ^aid mv lady, " lo look 

" If Ihe House. Seymour Place, lie at'30 or 20.'' — 
" We 've Ic'S' the Court Guide, Ma'am, but heie 's the 
Red Beck. 
" Where \ou 'il land, I dare say, Sejmour /"/acey in 
plenty I" 

3 The ancients, in like manner, c owned their 
Lares, or Household Grds. See Juvt-nal, Sat. 9 v. 
13S. — Plulaich, too, tells us that Household Gods 
were then, as Ihey are now, "much eiven to War 
and penal Statutes." — iptvvviuCus nai rrotvi/xovj j 

4 Certain llnsel. imitations of the Shamrock which | 

are distribu'ed by ihe Servants of C n Ht 

every Patrick's Day. 

* The sobriqiiet given to Lord Sidnioulh. 




K — U — T.^ 

1 Come, V— rm— th, my boy, never Irouble your 

Ab ut wh il your old crony, 
Tbe Kinpeior Honey, 
Is tlouig or brewing on Aluacovy's plains j 

3 Nor tremble, my lad. at the state of our granaries: 
Should lilt-re come famine, 
Still pleniy (o cram in 
You always shall have, my dear Lord of the Stan- 
Brisk let us revel, while revel we may ; 
* For the gay bloom of htty soon passes awav 
And I lien people get f^t, 
And intirni, and --all that, 

5 And a wig (I coufess ii) sn clumsily sits. 

That it frightens the liiile Loves out of their vrits; 

6 Thy whiskers, too, Y— rm— th ! — alas, even they, 

Though so rosy they burn, 
Too (juickly must turu 
(What a hearl-Lireaking change for thy whiskers!) 
to Grey. 

Your mill I about matters you dnn't UTiders'and ? 
Or whyshnu J you wrileyourseltdown fur an idiot, 
Because ■* yoUy" forsooih, "/uivc Uie'pen in your 
hand .' '' 

Think, think how much better 
Than scribbling a teller, 
(Which both you and I 
Shnuld avoid by Ihe bye,) 
How much pleastnter 'I is to sit under Ihe bust 
Of old Charley, 9 my friend here, and drink like 

While Charley look- sulky and frowns at me. just 
As the Ghobl iu the Pantomime frowns at l)ou 

10 To crown us, Lord Warden, 

In C— mb — rl— nd"s garden 
Grows pien'y of monk's hood in venomous sprigs : 

While Otto of Rojcs 

Refreshing all noses 
Shall hweetly exhale from our whiskers and wigs. 

I This and the following are extracted from a 
Work, which may, some time or oiher, meet ihe eye 
of the Public — ei.liiled ** t)des of Horace, done into 
English by seveial Persons of Fashion." 
a Quid beliic'-sus Can'aber, et Scythes, 
Hirpine Quincii, cogitet, Hadna 
Uivisus objecto, lemiltas 
s Nee trepides in UbUin 

Fosceniis asvi pauca. 

* _ fugit retro 
Levis juvenlas et decor. 

* Pelleiite lascivos amures 

6 Neque uno Luna rubciis nitet 

' Quid EEternis minorem 

Consilns aninmm faligas? 
' Cur nnn sub alta vel plalano, vel hac 

Pinu jaceiites sic tenieie. 
9 Charles Fox. 

»• Rosa 

Canos odora'i c.ipillos, 

Duni licet, Assyriaque nardo 
Potamiis uncti. 

"What youth of the Household will cool cur Nona 
In that sireaiTilel delicious, 
That down 'midst Ihe dishes. 
All full nf Kold fishes, 
" h (low? — 

13 Or « hii 

Unio M 




r Sq e, 

f the gentle Marc^iesa be there ? 

Go — bid her has'e hither, 
13 And let her bring with her 
The newest No-Poperv Sermon that's going — 
'*Uh ! let her come, with her dark tresses llowing, 
All gentle and juvenile, curly and gay, 
iu Ihe manner of— Ackeruiann's Dresses for Maj 1 



i^The man \vho keeps a conscience pure, 
(If not his own, ai leasl his Prince's,) 
Through toil and danger walks secure. 
Looks big and black, and never winces. 

iGNo want he of sword or dagger, 
Cock'd hat or ringlets of Ger mib ; 
Though Peers may laugh, and Papists swagger, 
He doesn't care one single d-nm. 

nWhelher midst lri<h chairmen going 
Or ihrough St Giles's alley- din-, 
'Mid driinken Sheelahs, blisting, blowing, 
No matter, 'I is all one to him. 

'8For instance. I, one evening late, 
Upon a g.ay vacation sally. 
Singing the prai e nf Church and Slate, 
Got cGod knows how) to Cranbnurne Alley. 

11 Quis pner ocius 

Restinguel ardeiiiis Falerni 
Pncula pnelti-cunte lympha 

i> Quis eliciel domo 

Lj den ? 
13 Eliuina, die age, cum lyra (qu. Jiar-a) 

1* Incnmtam Lacseias 

More coniam reiigata nodo. 

15 Integer vitae scelerisque purus. 

16 Nnn eget Mauri jaculis, neque arcu, 
Nfc veuenatis gravida sagi lis, 

Fusee, pharelra. 
1' Sivc per Svrles iter ass'uosas, 

S^ive fac urns per inhos|iilalem 
Caucasum, vel qux loca fabulosus 
Laiiibit Hydaspes. 
The Noble Tiansla'or had. at first, laid Ihe scene 
of these imagined dangers i f his Man of Conscience 
among the Pajiis's of .Spain, and had transla'ed ihe 
words '• qujB ]ncA fabtdosus lamlit Hyda-pes" thus 
— " The /aUidg Spaniaid licks Ihe Fiench;" l.ut, 
recollecting that it is our interest just now tn be re- 
spectful to Spanish Catholics (Ih'ugh ihere is certain- 
ly no earhly reason f.r our being even cimnmnly 
civil to Irish ones), he altered the pa-sage as it sta'ids 
at present. 

18 Nanique me silva lupus in Sabina, 
Duiii nieini cmto Lalagen, et ultra 
Terminuin cuiis vag'T expedilis, 
Fugil inermein. 
I cannot help callinz ihe reader's allenlion to the 
peculiir ingenuity with whicli these lines are para, 
pliia-ed. Not to ineulion Ihe h^ppy conversion of the 
Wolf into a Papist (seeing lint Komulu^ " as suckled 
by a wolf, that R >me was founded by R inului, and 
that Ihe Pope his always reigned at Rome.) there is 
something particularly neat in supp isiiig '•ultra 



When lo ! an Irish Papist darted 
Acrnss my path, gaunt, gnni, and big^ 

I did l)Ut frov\n, and oil' he slAi-ltd, 
Scar'd at me, even williout my wig. 

» Yet a more fierce an I raw-bnn*d dog 
Goes not lo Muss in Dublin CMy, 
Nor shakes his brofjue o'er Allen's Bog, 
Nor spouti in Catholic Commiltec. 

» Oh ! place me midst O'Hourkps, O'Tooles, 

Ihe ragiCd roval-Wood of Tara ; 

Or place me where Dick M— rl— n lules 

'J he houseless wilda of Connemara ; 

a Of Church and Stale I 'II warble st II, 

•|hnu»h ev'n Dick M—rt—n's self should grumble; 
Sweet Church and .Stale, like Jack and Jill, 
* So lovingly upon a hill — 

Ah ! ne'er like Jack and Jill to tumble ! 


Novo monslra creavlt. 

Ovid. MelartK^rph. 1. 1. ». «7. 

Having sent off the troops of brave Major Camac, 
Wiih a swinsini horse-tiil al each valmous back, 
And such helmets, God bless us ! as never deck'd any 
Male creature before, except Signor Giovanni — 
" Let's see." said the R— g— t (like Titus, perplex'd 
With the duties of empire.) •' whuui shall 1 dress 

He looks in the gla*s — but perfection is there. 
Wig, whiskeis, and chin-tufls .ill right to a hair ; » 

Not a single cx-curl on his forehead he traces — 
For cuilsare like Minis'eis, strange as the case is, 
The /a/ver they aie. the more lirm in '.heir places. 
His coal he next views — but the coal who could 

cloiihl ? 
For hisY— im— Ih'sown Frenchifitd hand cut it out; 
Eveiy pucker and seam were niaJe mailers of state, 
And a Grand Household Council v\a!> held on each 


* ? sl.all he new-rig his 

termxftum^ to mean vacation-time; and then the 
modest cnnsciousnes> with which the Noble and 
Leiriied Translator his avoided toucliin^ upnn the 
words ■' curls expcdilw," (<ir, as it ha* b.en otherwise 
read. " caiwi'j expeditis,''*) and the felicitous idea of 
his beiii5 ■'inerniis" ^\ hen "withnut his wje," are 
alin^elher the most deleciablo Sj ecimetis ot [lara- 
phrase in our language. 

Quale portentum neque militaris 


. alii 


Nee Jubae lellus genca' leuuum 
Arida nuirix. 
3 Pone me pigris uhi nulla campis 

Arbor ^Esliva recre itur aura : 
Quod Utus mundi, net^ulas, malusque 
Jupi'er urgct. 
I must here remark, that ihe said Dick M— rt— n 
bemg a very good fellow, it was not at all fair to 
make a " in^Ius Jupiter " of him. 

3 Dulce rideniem Lalagen aniabo, 

Dulcc loquentem. 
■•There cannot be imigined a more happy illus- 
tration of Ihe ineeparabiltiy of Chnrch and Slate, and 
their (what is called) '* standing and falling together," 
than this ancient apologue of Jack and Jill. Jack, of 
course, represents (he S:ate in lUU ingenious li.tle 

Jack fell down. 
And btuh'. his Crown, 
And Jill came lurabhng aflfr. 
» That model of Frinces, the Emperor Commodus, 
was particularly luxurious in (he drt^ssiit» ;tnd orna- 
menting of his hair. His conscience, however, would 
not suffer him to trust hiniself with n barber, and he 
used, accordingly, lo b' vn off his heard— " limore 
lonsoris." says Lampridius. (Hist, ^u^wtt. Scrip- 
tor.) The dissolute /Elius Verus, too, was equilly 
attentive to the decoration of his wig. (See Jul. 
Capilolin.) Indeed, this was not ihe on/y princely 
trait in the character of Verus. as he h;id likewise a 
I most hearty and dignified contempt for his Wife. See 
I his iusuliing answer to her in Sparlianus. 

Then wh<im shall h. 
Great C— mb-rl— d's Duke, with some kickshawr or 

And kindly invent him mote Christian-like shapes 
For his feather bed nt-ckclorhs and pillory c^>cs, 
Ahl nn_I,ere hi^ ardour would meet w.ih delays. 
For the Duke bad been lifely pack'd up in new Stays. 
So complete for ihe wjnler.'be >aw verv plain 
*r would be devilish liard work to unpack him agtin. 

So, what's to be done? — there's the Ministers, 

bleS'^ *eni ! — 
As he ninde Ihe puppets, why shouldn't he dress 'em ? 
" An excellent thought !-c <ll thf (ailors— be nimble- 
"Let Cum bring his spy-glass, and II— rtf-d her 

thimtije J 
"While Y— rm— th shall give u?, in spile of all 

*' The last Paris cut with his true Gallic scissors," 

So saying, he calls C— sH— r— gh. and the rest 
Of his heaven-horn statesmen, to come and be drest. 
While Y-rm— Ih, with smp-like and brisk expe- 

Cuts up, all at once, a lirje Cath'Iic Petition 
In long tailors' measures, (the P e crying '* Well- 
And first puts in hand my Lord Chancellor Eld— n. 



called) *' having law ® ON 0NE*8 

The Ocntleman''s Proposal, 

" I.eege aurea, 
B'ei place, et lice." 

Come, fly to these arms, nor let beauties so bloomy 

To one frigid owner be tied ; 
Your piutles may revile, and your old ones look 

But, dearest, we've Law on our side. 

Oh! think the delight of two lovers congenial. 

Whom no dull decorums divide; 
Their error how sweet, and iheir laptureshow wniai, 

When once they 've got Law on Iheir side, 

nr is a thing, that in every King's reign has been 

Then why should il now be deciied ? 
If the F.ther has done it, why shouldn't Ihe Son, loo ? 
For so argues Law on our side. 

And, ev'n should our sweet violation of duty 

By cold-blooded jurors be tried, 
They can hut bring it in •' a misfortune," my beauty, 

As long as we 've Law on our side. 

» In allusion to Lord Ell— nb— gh. 



The Lady^s J3ns7ver, 

Hold, hold, my ^ood Sir, go a liMle more slowly: 

For, srant me so faithless a bride, 
Sucli siiiiie-s as we, a^e a liiHe too IowIj/j 

To hope to have Law on our side. 

Had you been a great Pr:iice, to whose star shining 

The people should lotik for their guide, 
Then your liiijliuess (and welcome!) might kick 
down decorum — 
You 'd always have Law on your side. 

Were y^u ev'n an old Marquis, in mischief grown 

Whose heart, though it long ago died 
To [he pleasures of vice, is alive to Us glory ~~ 

you still would have Law on your side. 

Hut for you, Sir, Crim. Con. is a path full of troubles ; 

By my advice therefore abide. 
And leave the pursuit lu those Princes and Noble* 

Who iiave such a Law on their side. 


OF bT ST— PH— N, 

ON THE 24tH of NOVEMBER, 1612. 

This day a New House, for your edification, 
VVe open, nv st thinking and i ight-he.ided n.ilion ! 
F.vcusu the materials — though rotten and bad, 
'IhtT 're I he hesl tha' for ninney just now could be had ; 
And", if echo the charm of such hi-uses should be, 
You will find it shall echo my speech to a T. 

As for actors, we 've got the old Company yet, 
The sime motlev. odd, tragi-comical set; 
And considVinj^ thev all weie bui clerks t'other day, 
It is truly surprising hr.w well they can ]>l.iv. 
Our Manager,! [he, who in Uls'er was nursf, 
And sung Erai ^o Brah for the galle ies (ir-I, 
But, on lindiiig /^tfl-inierest a much beUer thing, 
ChanjM his note of a sudden, to God save the Khig,) 
Sfill wise as be 's blooming, and fat as he s clever, 
Himself and his speeches as lengthy as ever. 
Here oilers you still the full use of his bre.ith. 
Your devoted and long-winded proser till death. 

Vou remember last season, when things went per- 

We had t ' engage (as a block to rehearse on) 
One Mr. V— ns — ti— t, a good sort of person. 
Who's also euiploy'd for this stason In plav. 
In " Raising ihe Wind,'' and "the Devil to Fay."^ 
We expect too— at least we've been plotting and 

Tn eel thai t:r<a' actnr fmm Liverpool, C— nn— g ; 
And, a^ ..[ '!:'■ ( rrv,,, '[lore "s nothmi: attracts 
Like a L{ ! ,. n'.iMM-.Mi-hi HI 'iwixt the acts. 

If tlu- Ml . ', ! ; ^^ ith'heh'-l|.of SirP— ph-m, 

Gi-n|:r,.-. .' r ■ Mv nn,! C— nn-gsh-.uldslop"em, 
Wh<>kn'>\vs hut we 'tl hnve to announce in the papers, 
*' Grand h^ht — econd time — with addi'ional capers." 

Be your taste for the ludicrous, humdrnm, or sad, 
There is pleniv of each in this House lo he 
Where our Manager rule'h, there weeping will be, 
Fi»r a dead hand at tragedy always was he j 

1 Lnrd C— sti— r— gh. 
^ He had recently been appointed Cha 

And ihere never was dealer in dagger and cup, 

Who 50 srnili?tgly goX all his tragedies up. 

His powers poor Ireland will never foiget. 

And Ihe widows of Walcheren weep o'er them yet. 

So much for the actors; — for se::rel machinery. 
Traps, ai'd deceptions, and shitting of scenery, 
Y— nn— ih and Cum aie tlie best we can find, 
To transaci all that tiickery business behind. 
The former's emploj'd lr.o to teach us French jigs, 
Keep Ihe whiskers in curl, and look after the wigs. 

In taking my leave now, I 've only to say, 
A few ^eats in the florise, not as yet sold away. 
May be had of the Manager, Pat C— stl— r— gh. 


Inblrnmenla rvuni. — Tacitus, 

Here's a choice set of Tools for you. Ge'mmen and 

They '11 fit you qui'e handy, whatever your trade is ; 
(Except it be CabiikLt-rnaking ; — no doubt, 
In that delicate service they 're lather wotw out ; 
Though their owner, bright youth! If he'd had his 

own will. 
Would have bungled away with titem joyously still.) 
You can see they've been pretty well hack'd — and 

Whar tool is there job afier job wil! not hack? 

Their edge is but dullish, it must be confess'd, 

And thfir temper, like E nb'r h's, none of Ihe 

But you '11 liod them good hard-working Tools, upon 

Wer'l but fir their brass^ they are well worth the 

They're famous fnr nnking IHnds, sliders^ and screens^ 
And aie, someof ihtm, excellent turning machines. 

1 he first Tool I '11 put up (thev call it a Chanctllor) 
Heavy concern ro b th and seller. 
Though made of pig iron, \et worthy of note 't is, 
'Tis ready to melt at a half minute's notice. 3 
Who bids? Gen le buyer! 'twill turn a^ thou shapes! j 
' r will make a g nd ihumb-crew lo tor ure a Papist j 
Or else a cramp-iron, to slick in the wall 
Of some church Ihal old women are feaiful will fall; 
Or better, perhaps, (for I 'm guessing at ramloni,) 
A hfavv ding-chain for some L-lwyer'^ old Tandem. 
Will nobody bid? It is cheap, I am sure, Sir- 
Once, twice. — going, going,— thrice, gone! — it is 

yours, Sir. 
To pay re-idy money you sha'n't be distres', 
As a hill at long date suits the Chancellor best. 

Come, Where's the next Tool? — Oh! 'tis herein 

This implement, Ge'mnien, at first was a Vice; 
(A tenacious and close sent of to^d. that will let 
Nolhing out of its gra^p it once happens tn get ;) 
But it >i[ice has leceived a new coa'ing of Tm, 
Bright enongh for a Prince to behold himself m. 
Come, what shall we say for it ? biiskly ! bid on, 
VVe '11 the sooner get rid of it — going — quite gone, 
h tools, if not quickly knnck'ddown, 
t cost their owner— how much ? why, a 

God be 

Might at 


The next Tool I 'II set up has hardly hnd handsel or 
Trial as yet, and is also a Chancellor- 
Such dull things ns these should be sold by the gross ; 
Yet. dull a- it is, 't will be found to shaoe cZose, 
And like other close shavers, some counge lo gather, 
This blade first began by a flourish on leather.* 

3 An allusion to Lord Eld — n's lachrymose tenden- 

4 "Of Ihe tixes proposed by Mr. Vansittart, that 
principally opposed in Parli.iment was Ihe additional 
duly on leither." — .^7in. Register. 



] You shall have it for nothing — then, marvel with nie 

At the leirilile (iiiktring work tliere must be, 
' Whore > Tnol iuch as this is (I 'II leave you to judge it) 
U placed by ill luck a. the top of tht Budget I 


ABB— T. 

Et einf-are pares. 

Tflere was a little Man, and he had a little Soul, 
And he said, •' Little Soul, let us try, try, try, 
"Whellier it's within our reach 
" To make up n little Speech, 
"Just between little you and lillle I, 1, 1, 
" Just between little you and little 1 !"- 

Then said his little Soul, 

Peeping from her little hole, 
** I protest, little Man, you are s'out, stout, stout, 

*' Hut, if it 's noi uncivil, 

" I'ray tell me what ttie devil 
"Must our liitle, little speech be about, bout, bout, 
" Must our liitle, little speech be about ?" 

The little Man Inok'd b\g, 
Wilh th' assistance of his wi^. 
And he call'd his little Soul to order, order, order, 
Till she fe»rM he *d make her jog in 
■Jo gaol, like Thomas Crojgan, 
(As she wasn't Duke or Earl) to reward her, 'ward 
her, 'ward her. 
As she wasn't Duke or Earl, to reward her. 

The litlle Man then spike, 

*' Little snul, it is no joke. 
** For as sure as J — cky F— II — r loves a sup, sup, sup, 

" I will tell ttie Prince and People 

" What I think of Church and Steeple, 
"And my liitle patent plan to prop them up, up. up, 
*• And my little patent plan to prop them up." 

Away then, cheek by jowl, 
Little Man and little .Soul 
Went and spoke Iheir little speech to a tittle, tittle, 
And the world all declare 
That this prif;?ish liitle pair 
Never yet in all their lives look'd so lillle. little, litlle, 
Never yet in all their lives look'd so little I 


As recruits in these times are not easily ?nt. 
And the Marshal must have them — pray, why should 

we not. 
As the last and, I grant it, the worst of our loans to 

Ship off ttie Ministry, bndy and bones to him ? 
'Ihe.e's not in all England, I 'd venture to swear. 
Any men we could half so conveniently spare; 
And, though they 've been helping the French for 
\l years pisi, 

j( We niay thus make them useful to England at last. 

C— sll— r— gh in our sieges might save some disgrace*, 
Being us'd tci Ihe tahhig and keeping of places; 
And Volunteer C-iin-g, still ready for joining, 
Might show oll'his talent for sly uiidirmtning. 
Cnnid the Household but spare" us its glory and pride. 
Old H — df~t at Aorji-UJWif again might be tried. 
And tlie C— f J— st— e make 2i bold charge aX his side: 
While V— ns— tl— I cond victual Ihe troops upon (icA, 
And the Doctor look after the baggage and sick- 
Nay, I do not see why the great R— g— t himself 
Should, in times such as these, stay at home on the 

Though ihiough narrow detiles he's not fitted to pass. 
Vet who could resist, if he bore down en masse r 
And though f'ff, of an evening, perhaps he niigtil prove. 
Like our Spanish confed'rates, " unable 10 niove." i 
Yet there 'soile thing in war of advaniage unbounded. 
Which is, that he could not with ease be surroumicd. 

In my next I shall sing of their arms and equipment ; 
At preseot no more, but — good luck to the shipment ! 



Otii prr>'Rnum vulgus ft arceo : 
Favele liiiKui.s: carmiiia non prlu« 
Au'lila Musarum sacerdns 
Virginitiua piierihtjue canto. 
Regum timendorum in propriiis ereges, 
Beges in ipi>os imperium cut Joviu. 

I hale thee, oh. Mob, as my Lady hales delf ; 

To .sir Francis I 'II give up ihv claps and ihy hisset, 
Leave old Magna Charta to shift for itself. 
And, like G— d*v--n, write books fur young mas- 


Oh ! it IS not high rank thai can make the heait merry. 
Even monarclis themselves are not free from mis- 
Though the Lords of Westphalia must qualie before 
Poor Jerry himself has to quake before Nap. 


Persicnfl odi, pner, ddparatuB ; 

Mitte sccrart, RoeH v»o I'^cortim 
Sera inorelur. 


Boy, tell the Cook that I hate all nick-nackeries, 
Fricassees, vol-au-venis, [lutfs. and gim-crackeries — 
Six by Ihe Horse-Gund^ ' — old Geoigv is late — 
Bu' conie— lay the lable-cloih— pounds ! do not wait, 
Nor atop to inquire, while 'he dinner is slaving. 
At which of his pKices Old R— e is delaying 1 a 

' The charac'er given to the Spanish soldier, in Sir 
John Murray's memorable dfs|iatch. 

^ The literal closeness of Ihe version here cannot 
bui be admiied. The Tianslaor has added a long, 
erudite, and flowery note upon Rcscs, of *vhich I can 
merely give a speci'men a' present. In tlie hist plrce, 
he ransacks llie Uosarium Politirnuio( Ihe Persian 
poet Sadi, with Ihe hope r'f linding some Political 
Roses, to match the gentlentaii in the text — but in 
vain; he Hien tells us that Ciceio accused Verres of 






Between Adam and me the great ditTerence is, 

'I'linugh a paradi-e ctcli has been forc'd to resign, 
Thai he never wore breeches, (ill tuni'd out nf his, 
While, for want uf uiy bieeches, I 'ni banish'd from 

re|)osirji? upon a cushion " Melitenai rosa farlumy^' 
which, from the odd mixture of words, he supposes to 
be a kmJ of Iri^h Bed of Roses, like Lord Castle- 
reach's. The learned Clerk next favours us with 
some remarks upon a well-known punning epiiaphon 
fair Rosamond, and expresses a most loyal hope, ihat, 
if ** Rosa munda " mean •* a Rose with clean hands " 
it may be found applicable to Ibe Right Honourable 


So gently in peace Alcibiades smil'd, 

While in battle he shone forlh so terribly ffrand, 
That the emblem thev ^ravM on his seal, was a child 

With a lUundtrbolt ptac'd in its mnuceut hand. 

Oh, Wellington, long as such Ministers wield 
Your magnificent a-im, the same emblem will do; 

For while l/iey'ie in the Council and you in the Field, ' 
We 've the babies in them^ and the Ihunda- m yuu I . 

Rose in question. He then dwells at some length 
upon the " Kosa aurca^^'' which, 1houa;h descriptive, ■ 
in one sense, of the old Treasury Statesman, yet, as 
being consecrated and worn by the Pope, must, of 
course, not be biought into the same atmosphere with 
him. Lastly, in reference to the words ^^ old Rose,'* 
he winds up with the pathetic lamentation of the Poet 
" consenuisse Rosas.'' The whole nore indeed dhows 
a knowledge of Roses, that is quite edifying. 




It 13 now many years since, in a Letter prefixed to 
the Third Number of the Irish Melodies, I had the 
pleasure of inscribing the Poems of Ihat work to your 
Ladyship, as to one whose character reflected honour 
oil the country to which they relate, and whose friend- 
sliip had long been the pride and happiness of their 
Author. With the same feelings of attection and 
respect, confirmed if not increased by the experience 
of every succeeding year, 1 now place those Poems in 
their present new form under your protection, and 

With perfect sincerity, 
Your Ladyship's ever attached friend, 



Though an edition of the Poetry ff the Irish Melo. 
dies, separate from the Music, has long been called 
for, yet, having, for many reasons, a strong objection 
to this sort of "divorce, I should with difficulty have 
consented to a disunion of the words from the airs, 
had it depended solely upon me to keep them quietly 
and indissniubly together, Bu', besides the various 
shapes in which these, as well as my other lyrical 
wrilineis, have been published throughout America, 
they are included, of course, in all theedili.-ns of my 
wo'ks prined on ihe CoMtine-it, and have also ap- 
peared, in a volume full of tvpognphical enors, in 
Dublin. I have therefore readily acceded to ihe wish 
expressed by the Proprietor of the Irish Meloiies, for 
a revised and cnmpieie edition of the poetry of the 
Work, though well aware that my verges must lose 
even more ihan Ihe " miimse d'niidium^* in being 
detached from the beautiful airs lo which it was Iheir 
' good fortune to be a^socil^ed. 

I The Advertisements which were prefixed to the 
[ different numbers, the Prefatory Le'ier upon Mu»ic, 
I &c. will be found in an Appendix at the end of the 
I Volume. 



Go where glory wai's thee. 
But while fame elates thee, 

Oh! still remember me. 
When Ihe praise thou meetest 
To thine ear is sweetest, 

Oh I then remember me. 
Other arms may press thee, 
Dearer friends caress thee, 
All the jojs thai bless ihee, 

Svveeier far may be ; 
But when friends are nearest, 
And when joys are dearest, 

Oh ! then remember me ! 

When, at eve, thou rovest 
By Ihe s'ar ihou lovest, 

Oh I then remember me. 
Think, when home reluming. 
Bright we 

' clo 

liber me. 

Oh! thu 
Oft as sun 
Wlien thir 

Once so lov'd by ihee, 
Think of her who wove them 
Her who made Ihee love then 

Oh! then remember me. 

When, around thee dying, 
Autumn leaves are lying, 

(Jh ! then remember ine. 
And, at night, when gazing 
On the gay hearth blazing, 

Oh! still remember me. 
Then should music, stealing 
All the soul of feeling. 
To thy heart appealing. 

Draw one tear from thee ; 
Then let memory bring thee 
Str.Tins I us'd to sing thee,— 

Oh ' then remember me. 





Remember the glnnes of Brien the brave, 

Th<»' the (Ji*ys of the hero are o'er ; 
Tho' lost m Mononia i ai.d cold in the grave, 

He returns to Kiiikora3 no more. 
The star of the helil. which so ofien hath pour'd 

l(s beam nn the battle, is set ; 
But Ciiough of its glory remains on each sword. 

To light us to victory yet. 

Mononia! when Nature embellish'd the tint 

Of thy fields, and thy niount.iins so (air. 
Did she ever intend thai a tyrant sliould print 

The footatep of >lavery there ? 
No ! Freedom, whose smile we shall never resign, 

Go, lell our invaders, the Danes, 
That M is sweeter to bleed for an aee at thy shrine, 

Than to sleep but a moment iu chains. 

Forget not our wounded companions, who stood * 

In the day of distress by our side; 
While the moss of 'he valley grew led with their blood, 

They stirrVI not, but conquer'd and died. 
That sun which now blesse. our arms with his light, 

S«w them fall upnn Ossnry's plain ; — 
Oh : let him n-it bimh, when he leaves us to-night, 

To find that they fell there in vain. 


Erin, the tear nnd (he smile in thine eyes, 
Blend like the rainbow that hangs in thy skies 1 
Shining through sorrow's sireani, 
Saddening through pleasure's beam, 
Thy suns with doubtful gleam, 
Weep while they rise. 

Erin, thy silent tear never shall cease, 
Erin, thy languid smile ne'er shall increase, 

Till, like the raini ow'b light, 

Thy various lints unite. 

And form in heaven's sight 
One arch of peace 1 


Oh ! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade. 
Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid : 
Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears ihat we shed. 
As the night-dew lh;tt fills on the grass o'er his head. 

i Brian Bnrnmhe. the great monarch of Ireland, 
who W.18 killed M the battle of Clontarf, in the be- 
ginning of the nth century, afler having defeated the 
Dalies in twenty-five engagements. 

Munster. 3 The palace of Brien. 

-< This alludes to an interesting circumstance Telafed 
of the Dalgais (he favourite troops of Brien, when 
they were interrupted in iheir return from the battle 
of Clontarf, by Filzpatrick, prince of Ossoiy, The 
wounded men entrea'ed that they might be allowed to 
fight with the rest. _ Ae( stakes (they said) be stuck 
in the e^ouiid, and suffer each of us, tied to and sttp- 
ported by one of these stakes, to be placed in his rank 
bif the side of a sound man." •* Between seven and 
eight hundred wounded men (adds O'Halloran) pale. 
emaciated, and supported in this manner, appeared 
mixed with the foremost of the troops ; — never was 
iuch another sight exhibited." — History of Ireland, 
book xii. chap. i. 

Bui the ni^ht-dew that falls, though in silence it weep% 
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleep*; 
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, 
Shall long keep his memory green in cur souls. 


When he, who adores thee, has left but the name 

Of his t^anlt and his sorrows behind, 
Oh ! say wilt then weep, when they darken the fame 

Of a life that for thee was resign'd ? 
Yes. weep, and however my fues may condrnin, 

Thy tears shall etlace iheir decree ; 
For Heaven can witness, though guilty to them, 

I have been but too faithful to thee. 

With thee were the dreams of my earliest love ; 

Every thought of my reason was thine ; 
In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above, 

Thy name shall be mingled with mine. 
Oh I blest are ttie lovers and friends who bhall live 

The days of thy glory to see ; 
But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give 

Is the pride of thus dying for thee. 


The harp that once through Tara's balls 

The soul of music shed. 
Now hangs as mnte on Tara's walls, 

As if thatM»ul were fled.— 
So sleeps the pride of former days, 

So glory's thrill is o'er, 
And hearts, Ihat once beat high for praise. 

Now feel that pulse no more. 

No mere to chiefs and ladies bright 

The harp of Tara swells; 
The chord alone, (hat breaks at night. 

Its tale of ruin tells. 
Thus Fieednm now so seldom wakes. 

The only throb ..he gives, 
Ib when some heirt indignant breaks, 

To show that still she lives. 


Fly not yet, 't is just the hour. 
When pleasure, like the midnight flower 
That scorns the eye of vulgar light, 
Begins to bloom for sons of night, 

And maids who love the moon. 
T was but to bless these hours of shade 
That beauty and the moon were made; 
'T is then their soft attractions glowing 
Set the tides and goblets flowing. 

Oh! stay,— Oh! stay,— 
Joy so seldom weaver a chain 
Like this to-nighi, that oh, 't is pain 

To break its links so soon. 

Fly not yet, the fnunt play'd 

111 times of old through Ammon'a shade,^ 

Thoueh icy cold by day it ran, 

Yet still, like ^oul8 of mirth, began 

To burn when night was near. 
And thus, should woman's heart and looki 
At noon be cold as winter brooks, 

8 Solis Fons, near the Temple of Ammon. 



Nor kindle lill the night, relurnina;, 
Brings Iheir genial hour for burning. 

Oh 1 stay,— Oh 1 stay,— 
When did morning evei break, 
And lind sucli beaining eyes awake 

Ao those that sijaikle here ? 


Oh! think not my spirits are always as light, 

And as free front a pang as Ihey seem lo you now; 
Nor expect that the htarl-be^ming smile utto-night 

Will return with to-morrow to brighten niy brow. 
No : — lite is a waste oi wearisome hours. 

Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns ; 
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, 

Is always the first to be touched by the tliorns. 
But send round the bowl, and be happy awhile — 

May we never meet wor^e, in our pilgrimage here, 
Than the tear thai enjoyment may gild with a smile, 

And the smile that compassion can turn lo a tear. 

The thread of our life would be dark, Heaven knows ! 

If it were not with fnendirliip and love itilertwin'd J 
And I care not liow soou I may sink to repose, 

When these blessings shall cease to be dear to my 
But they who have lov'd the fondest, the purest. 

Too ofttii have v\ept o'er the dream Ihey believ'd ; 
And the heait that has sluuiber'd iu friendship se 

Is happy indeed if 't was never deceiv'd. 
But send round the bowl ; while a relic of truth 

Is in man or in woman, this praytr shall be mine, — 
That the sunshine of Inve may illumine our youth, 

And the moonlight of friendship console our de- 


Tho' the last elimpse of Erin with sorrow I see, 

Yet wherever thou art sliaM seem Erin to me; 

In exile thy bosom shall siill be my home, 

And thine eyes make my clinjate wherever vre roam. 

To the gloom of some desert or cold nicky shore, 
Where the eve of the s'ranger can haunt us no more, 
I will fly with my Coulin, and think tlie rough wind, 
Less rude than the foes we leave frowning behind. 

And I '11 gaze on thy gold hair as graceful it wreaihes, 
And hang o'er (hy soft Naip, as wildly it breathes; 
Nor dread that the cold-heaited Saxon will tear 
One chord from that harp, or one lock from that hair.i 

t " In the Iwen'y-eighth year of the reign of Henry 
VIII,, an Act was made respecting the habits, and 
dress in eeneral. of the Irish, whereby all | ersous 
were restrained from being shirr or shaven above the 
ears, or from wearing Glibbes, or Coulins (long 
locks), on their heads, or hiir on their upper lip, 
called Cromnieal. (in tjiis occasion a song was writ- 
ten by one of our batds, in v\ hich an Irish viigin is 
made to give the preference to her dear Coulin (or 
the youth with ilie HnwinK locks) to all strangers (by 
which the English were meint). or those who wore 
their habits. Of this song, the air alone has reached 
us, and is univer-ally admired."— lViilkcr''s Histori- 
cal Memoirs of Irish Sards, p. 134. Mr. Walker 
informs us also, that, about the sanie period, there 
were some harsh measures taken against the Irish 



Rich and rare were the gems she wore, 

And a bright gold rin^ on her wand she borej 

But oh ! her beauty was far beyor.d 

Her sparkling gems, or snow-wbile wand. 

" Lady ! dost thou not fear to s'ray, 

"So lone and lovely through this bleak way? 

" Are Erin's sons so good or so cold, 

" As not to he tempted by wonian or gold ? " 

" Sir Knight ! I feel not the least alarm, 

"No son of Erin will otternie harm: — 

'' For though they love woman and golden store, 

"Sir Knight! tliey love hone ur and virtue morel" 

On she went, and her maiden sniile 
In safetv lighted her rnuiid the green isle; 
And bit'st for ever is she who relied 
Upon Erin's honour, and Erin's pride. 


As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow 
While the tide runs in daikness and coldness below, 
So the cheek may be ting'd with a warm sunny smile, 
Though the coldheart to ruin runs darkly the while. 
One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws 
Its bleak shade alike o"er our joys and our woes, 
To which life nothing darker or brighter can bring 
For which joy has no balm and affliction no sting — 

Oh ! this thought in the midst of enjoyment will stay. 
Like a dead, leahess branch in the summer's bright 

The beams of the warm sun play round it in vam, 
It may smile in his light, but it blooms not again. 


There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet 
As that vile in whose bnsnm the bright waters meet ;* 
Oh! the last rays of feelmgand life must depart, 
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade froni my heart. 
Yet it was not that na'ure had shed o'er the scene 
Her purest of crystal and brighle-t of green ; 
'T was not her soft magic of streamlet or hill, 
Oh I no, — it was something more exquisite still. 

*T was that friends, the belov'd of my bosom, were 

2 This ballad is founded upon the following anec- 
dote : — "The people were inspired with such a spirit 
of honour, virtue, and religion, by the great example 
of Brian, and by his excellent administration, tha', as 
a proof of it, we are informed that a young lady of 
great beauty, adorned with jewels and a costly die s, 
undertook a j'Hirney alone, from one end of the king- 
dom to the other. \\'\ h a wand only in her hand, at 
the top of which was a rine of exceeding great value; 
and such an impression had the laws and government 
of this Monarch made on the minds of all the people, 
that no attempt was made upon her hnnnur, nor was 
she robbed of her clothes c jewels." — IVamer^s Hit- 
to7~y of Ireland, vol. i. book x. 

3 "The Meeting of the Waters" forms a part of 
that beautiful scenery which lies between Kalhdruni 
and Arklow, in the county of Wicklow, and these 
lines were suggested by a visit to this romantic spot, 
in the summer of the year ISO/. 

4 The rivers Avon and Avoca, 



wc love. 

Sweet vale of Avoci ! how calm could 1 rest 

In Ihy b.>s<.m of sliaJe, wiih the friends I love besf^ 

Where the atomia that we feel in this cold world 

should cease, 
And our hearts, like thy waters, be miDgled in peace. 


How dear lo me the hour when daylight dies, 
And suiibtanis nifti along the silent sea, 

For then sweet dreams of other days aiise. 
And memory breathes her vesper sigh lo ttiee. 

And, as I watch the line of light, that pbys 

Along the smooth wave tow'rd the burning west, 

3 long to tread that golden path of riys, 
And tbiuk U would lead to some bright isle of rest. 


Take back the virgin page, 

White and unwritten still; 
Some haiid more calm and sage, 

The leal must fill. 
Thoughts come, as pure as light, 

Pure as even you require ; 
But, oh ! e'ch woid I write 

Love turns to lire. 

Yet let me keep the book : 

Oft shall my heart renew, 
When on its leaves I look, 

Dear thnunhts of ynu. 
Like you, 't is fair and bright; 

Like you, too bright and fair 
To tel wild^ion write 

One wrung wish there. 

Haply, when from those eyes 

Far, far away 1 roam, 
Shi'uld calmer ihnu£;his arise 

TowVds you and home j 
Fancy may trace ^onle line, 

Worthy ihoae eyes to meet, 
Thoughts that not burn, but shine, 

Pure, calm, and sweet. 

And as, o'er ocean far. 

Seamen Iheir records keep, 
Led by some hidden star 

Through the cnid deep; 
So may the words I write 

Tel! thro' what storm" I stray — 
You still the unseen light, 

Guiding ::ty way. 


Whe^ in death I shall calmly recline, 
bear mv heart lo my mistress dear ; 

Tell her it I'iv'd upon smiles and wine 
Of Ihe brightest tme, while it lin^er'd h«' 

Bid her cot shed one tear of sorrow- 
To sully a heait sn brilliant and light ; 

But balmy dn)ps of the red grape borrow. 
To bathe Ihe relic from mo-n till night. 

When the light of my song is o'er, 

Then take my harp to your ancient ball; 
Hang it up al that friendly door, 

Where weary travelle s love to call.' 
Then if some bard, who roams forsaken, 

Revive its soft note in passing along. 
Oh ! let one thought of its master waken 

Your watmesl smile for the child of song. 

Keep this cup, which is now o'erflowing, 

To grace yuur revel, « hen I 'm at rest ; 
Never', oh ! never its balm bestowing 

On lips thai btauty halh seldnm blest. 
But when s-mie warm devoted lover 

To her he adnies shall lia'he its brim, 
Then, then my spirit around stiall hover. 

And halluw each drop tliat fuama fur him. 


How oft has the Renshee cried, 
How oft has death uniied 
Bright links that Glory wove, 
Sweet bonds entwtn'd by Love ! 

Peace to e.ich manly soul that sleepeth ; 

Rest to each faithful eye that weejieth; 
Long niay the fair and brave 
Sigh o'er Ihe hero's grave. 

We're fall'n ui)on gloomy days I * 

Star after siar decays, 

Every bright name, that shed 

Light o'er the land, is i/ed. 
Dark falls the tear of him who mourneth 
Lost joy, or hope that ue*er returnelh ; 

But brighily (Iowa the tear. 

Wept o'er a hero's bier. 

Quench'd are our beacon lights — 
'Jhoii, of the Hundred Fighls ! 3 
Thnu, on whose burning tongue 
Truth, peace, and freedom hung! * 

Both mute,— but long as valour shineth. 

Or mercy's soul at war repineih, 
So long shall Erin's pi ide 
Tell how they liv'd and died. 


We may roam thro' this world, like a child at a feast, 

Who hut sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest ; 
And, when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east, 

We may order our wings and be ofl' to the we&t : 
Bui if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile. 

Are the dearest gifts that heaven supplies. 
We never need leave our own green isle, 

For sensitive hearts, and for sunbriglit eyea. 

1 '• Tn every Jiouse was one or two harps, free tt^ all 
travellers, v'bo were the more caressed, (he mure 
they excelled in music." — CHalloran. 

2 I have endeavoured here, without losing that 
Irish character, which it is my object to ptei^crve 
throushout this work, to alludeto Ihe sad and omi- 
nous fatality, by which England has been deprived of 
so many great and good men. at a moment when she 
Diost requires all the aids ot talent and integrity. 

3 This designation, which has been before ajiplied 
to Lord Nelson, is the title given to a celebrated Irish 
Hero, in a Poem by O'Guive, Ihe bard of OWiel, 
which is quoted in the " Philosophical Survey of the 
South of Ireland," p. 433. "Con, of the hundred 
Fights, sleep in thy grass-grown tomb, and upbraid 
not our defeats with Ihy victories.'* 

* Fox, *' Ronianorum ultimus.** 




In England, the garden of Beauty is kept 

By a dragon of prudery placed within call ; 
But so ofi this unaiiiiable dragon has slept, 

That the garden 's but carelessly watch "d after all. 
Oh I they want the wild sweet-briery fence, 

Which round the flowers nf Erin dwells ; 
Which warns the touch, while winning the sense, 

Nor chirms us least when it niost repels. 
Then remember, whi;rever your gnblet is crown'd, 

Thro' this world, whether eastward or westward 
vVhen a cup to the sn-ile of dear woman goes round, 

Oh 1 remember the smile that adorns her at home. 

In France, when the heart of a woman sets sail, 

On the ocean of wedlock ils for'une to try, 
Love seldom eoes far in a vessel so frail, 

But just pilofs her otf, and then bids her good*bye. 
While the daughters of Erin keep the boy, 

Ever siiiiltug beside hi:^ faiihful oar. 
Through billows of woe, and beams of joy, 

The same as he look'd when he left the shore. 
Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, 

Thro' this world, wiieiher eastward or westward 

When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, 
Ob I remeotber the smile that adorns her at home. 


Oh ! weep for the hour, 

When to Eveleen's bower 
The Lord of the Valley with false vows came: 

The moon hid her light 

From the he:ivens ihat night, 
And wept behind her clouds o'er the maiden's shame. 

The clouds pass'd sonn 

From the ch-sie cold moon. 
And heaven smil'd .'gain with her vestal flame: 

But none will see the d:»y, 

When theclotids shrill pass away. 
Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen's fame. 

The white snnw lay 

On the tiairou' puth-way, 
When the Lord of the Valley crost over the moor ; 

And manv a deep print 

On the white snow's tint 
Show'd the track of his footstep to Eveleen's door. 

The next sun-s ray 

Soon melted away 
Every tr^ce on the path where the false Lord came; 

But there's a light above, 

Which alnne can remove 
That stain upon tiie snow of fair Eveleen's fame. 


Let Erin remember the days of old, 

Ere her faithless snnsbetrav'd her; 
When Malachi wore ihe collar 6f goId,i 
Which he won from her proud invader. 

> "This brought on an encounter between MalachL 
(the Monarch of Ireland in the lenih cer,tnry) and the 
Danes, in «hicli Malachi defeated two of iheir ch^ni- 
pi( lis, wtiom he encountered successively, hand to 

When her kings, with standard oF green unfurlM. 

Led the Red-Branch Knights to danger;— 4 
Ere the emerald gem of the wcslern world 

Was set in the crown of a stranger. 
On Lough Neagh's bank as the hsherman strays, 

When the clear cold eve -s declining, 
He sets the round lowers of other days 

In the wave beneath hmi shining; 
Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime, 

Catch a glimpse of the days thai are over: 
Thus, sighing, look through the waves of time 

For the long*faded glories they cover.a 


Silent, oh Moyle, be Ihe roar of thy water, 

Break not, ye breezes, vour chiin of repose, 
While, murmurmg mournfully, Lir'a lonely daughter 

Tells to the night-star her tale of woes. 
When shall the swan, her deatli-note singing, 

Sleep, with wings in darkness furl'd ? 
When will heaven, ifs sweet bell ringing, 

Call my spirit from this slormy world ? 

Sally, oh Moyle, to thy winder-wave weeping, 

Fate bids me languish long ages away ; 
Yet sill in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping, 

Still doth Ihe pure light its dawning delay. 
When will that day-star, mildly springing, 

Warm our isle with peace and love? 
When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing. 

Call my epirit to the fields above ? 

hand, taking a collar of gold from the neck of one, 
and carrying ofl' the sword of the other, as trophies 
of his victory." — Wanitr's History of Ireland, vol. 
i. book ix. 

^ " Military orders of knights were very early 
established in Ireland : long before the birth of Christ 
we find an hereditary order of Chivalry in Ulster, 
called Ciiraidhe 7io Craiolhe ritadh, or the Knights 
of the Red Br.inch, from their chief seat in Emania, 
adif.ining to the palace of (he Ulster kings, called 
Tcfig/i na Craiubhe ruadh, or the Academy of the 
Red Branch; and contiguous to which was a Urge 
hospital, founded for the sick knights and soldiers, 
called hroiil'hear^, or the House of the Sorrowful 
Soldier. "— 0'//a/^oran's Introduction, ^c, part i. 
chap 5. 

3 It was an old tradition, in the time of Giraldns, 
that Lnush Neagh had been originally a fountain, by 
wliose sud'Ien overflowing the country was inundatedi 
and a whole region, like the Atlantis of Plaio, over- 
whelmed. He says lhat the fishermen, in clear wea- 
ther, u-ed to point out to strangers the tall ecclesiasti- 
cal toivers under the water. Piscaiores aqux iliius 
turres cedes lasticas, qum more, jjatrix arctse sunt et 
altx, necnonct rotu7ids, sub uudis inanifcste streno 
tenifore coiispiciunt. et cxtraneis transctaitilnis, rei- 
que causas admirantibus, frequenter ostcjidw it — 
■Jopogr. Hib. dist. 2. c. 9. 

4 To m^ke this story in'elligible in a song would 
require a much grea'er number of verses than any one 
is authorized to inflict upon an audience at once ; the 
reader must therefore be content to learn, in a note, 
that Fionnuala, Ihe daughter of Lir, was. by some 
supernatural power, Iransfoimed into a swan, and 
condemned to wander, for manv hundred years, over 
certain lakes and rivers in Ireland, till the coming of \ 
Ch'i>tianiiy, uhen the first sound of Ihe mass-hell was 
tn be the of her release. — I found Hiis fanciful 
fiction among some manuscript translations from the 
Irish, which were begun under the direction o( that 
enlightened friend of Ireland, the late Countess of 




Come» send round ihc wine, and leave points Of belief 

To sinipletod sages, and reasoning fouls ; 
This nionient 's a (lower too fair and brief, 

To he witherVi and stAJn'd by the dust of the schools. 
Your glass niay be purple, and mine inav be blue, 

But, while ihey ai e lilld from the same bright bowl, 
The lonl, who would quarrel for diflerence of hue, 

Deserves not the coniforl Ihey shed o'er the soul. 

Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights by my side 

In the cau^e of mankind, rf our creeds'agree ? 
Shall 1 give up the friend I have valued and tried, 

If he kneel not before the same with me? 
From the heretic girl of my aoul should I fly, 

To seek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss? 
No, perish the hearts, and the laws that try 

Truth, valour, or love, by a staudard like this 1 


Sublime was the warning that Liberty spoke, 
And grand was the moment when Sp.miards awoke 

Into life and revenge from the conqueror's chain. 
Oh, Liberty 1 let not this spirit have rest, 
Till it move, like a breeze, o'er the waves of the 

west — 
Give the light of your look to each sorrowing spot, 
Nor, cih, be the Shamrock of Erin forgot 

While you add to your garland the Ulive of Spain' 

If the fame of our fathers, bequeafh'd with their rights, 
Give to country its cbarm, and to home \t< delights, 

If deceit be a wound, and suspicion a stain 
Then, ye men of Iberia, our cause is the same ! 
And oh ! may his tomb a tear and :i name, 
Who would ask for a nobler, a holier death, 
Than to turn his last sigh into victory's biea'h, 

For (he Shamrock of Eriu and Olive of Spain 1 

Ye Blakes and O'Donneh, whose fathers resign'd 
The green hills of their youth, among s'rangcrs to find 
That repose which, at home, they had sigh'd for in 

Join, join in our hope that Ihe flame, which you light. 
May be felt yet in Krin, as calm, and as brii;hr, 
And forgive even Albion while blushing she draws, 
Like a truant, her swoiJ, in the long-slighted cause 
Of the Shamrock of Erin and Olive of Spain! 

God prosper Ihe cause ! — oh, it cannot but thrive, 
While the pulse of one patriot heart is alive, 

Its devotion to feel, and its i ights to maintain ; 
Then, how sainted by sorrow, its martyrs will die! 
The (ineer of Glory shall point where they lie ; 
While, far from the footstep of cnward or slave. 
The young spirit of Freedom shall shelter their grave 

fieuealb Shamrocks of Erin and Olives of Spain 1 


Believe me, if all those endearing younj charms, 
Which I ^7.e on so fondly to-day, 

to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms. 

s moment thou art, 

Like fairy-gifts fading away, 
Thou wouldst still beador'd, astl 

Let thy loveliness fade as it w 
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart 

V\'3uld entwine itself verdantly still. 

It is not while beauty anrf you'h are thine own, 
And Ihv cheeks UTiprofanM by a tear. 

That the "fervour and faith of a snul can he known, 
To which time will but make thee more dear : 

No, the heart that has truly lov'd never forgeti, 

" it as truly loves on to the close. 
As the sun-Ilower turns on her god, when he set^ 
lie same look which she turuM when he rose. 


Like the bright lamp, that shone in Kildare's holy 

And burn'd thro* long ages of darkness and storm, 
Is Ihe heart that sorrows have frowu'd on in vam, 

Whose spirit outlives then), uuf idiiig and warm. 
Erin, oh, Erin, thus bright thro' the tears 
Of a long night of bondage, thy spirit appears. 

The nations have fallen, and thou still art young, 
Thy sun is but rising, when oihers are set; 

And iho' slavery's cloud o'er thy morning hath hung, 
The full noon of freedom shali beani round thee yet. 

Erin, oh, Erin. Iho' long in the shade, 

Thy star will shine out when the proudest shall fade. 

Unchill'd by the rain, and unwak'd by the wind. 
The lily lies sleepiiig thro' winter's cold hour. 

Till Spring's light (ouch her fetters unbind, 

And d:iylight and liberty bless the young flower.l 

Thus Erin, oh, Erin, thy winter is pa^I. 

And Ihe hope that liv'd'throMt shall blossom at last. 


Drink to her, who long 

Halh wak'd the poet's sigh, 
The girl, who gave to song 

Whit gold could never buy. 
Oh ! woman's heart was made 

For minstrel hands alone; 
By otiier (irgeis plav'd. 

It yields not hilf the tone. 
Then here's 'o her, ^^ ho Inn? 

Halh wak'd the poefs sigh. 
The girl who gave to song 

What gold could nevet buy 

At Beauty's door of glass, 

When Wealth and Wit once stood, 
They ai^k'd her, *' which might pass } ' 

She answer'd. " he, who could." 
Wiih golden key Wealth thought 

To p.iss — but 't would not do: 
While Wit a diamond brought. 

Which cut his bright way through. 
So here's to her, wh . long 

Halh wak'd the poet's sigh. 
The eirl, who give to song 

What gold could never buy. 

The love that seeks a home 

Where we»lfh or grandeur shines, 

Is like the gloomy gnome. 
Thai dwells in dark gold mines. 

But oh ! the poet's love 
t'an boasi a bi ighter sphere j 



'Iho' woman keeps ii here. 

i The inextinguishable fire of St. Bridget, at KiU 
dare, which Giraldus mentions : — " Apud Kildariam 
occurrit Ignis Sanciae Brigida?, quem inextinguibitem 
vocani ; noil quod extingui non pO'sit, sed quod lam 
solicite nioniales et sanclae muliercs ignem, suppetente 
materia, fovent et nutrinnt, ut a tempore virgmis per 
tot annofnm curricula semper mansit inextinctus " — 
Girald. Camb. dt Mirabil. Hibcm. dist. 2. c. 3-1. 

^ Mrs. H. Tighe, in her exquisite lines on the lily, 
lias applied this image to a s'lll more important 



Then drink to her, who Img 
Haih wakd ihe poet's sigh, 

The girl, who gave to song 
What guld could never buy. 


Oh ! blame not the bard, if he fly to the bowers, 

Where Pleasure lies, carelessly smiling at Fame ; 
He was born f-r much nu)re, and in happier hi^urs 

His soul nii^ht have burn'd with a hulier flame. 
Tlie slriijg, ihat nr.w lai.-ui hes loose o'er the lyre, 

MIkIiI b;u-e bent a proud bow to ihe warrior's dart ;^ 
Ami I lie lip, which now bre.ithes but thesnngof desiie, 

Mi;<ht have pour'd ihe full tide of a palriul's beait. 

But alas for his country ! — her pride is gone by, 
And Ibal spirit i> brn'ken. which never would bend; 

O'er tl.e rum her children in secret must s'gh. 
Fnr 'I is treason to love her, and dcalh to defend. 

Uiipriz'd a^: her sons, till they 've learned lo belray j 
Undisliuguith'd Ihey live, if tbcy shame not their 

And the torch, that would light them thro' dignity's 

Must be caught from Ihe pile, where their country 

Then bl, 


t the bard, if in plensure's soft dream, 
houtd try to forgei, he m ' ' 

can heal 
but a hope — let a vis'a but gleam 
Thruugh the gloom of his country, and mark how 
he'll fL-el! 
That instant, bis heart at her shrine would lay down 

Every passion it nurs'd, every blis^ it ador'd ; 
While the myrrle, now idly enlwin'd with his crown, 
Like the wreath of Harmodius, should cover bis 
sword 3 
Bnl tho' glory be gone, and tho' hope fade awny, 
Thy name, Invtd Erin, sliail live in his songs; 
Not ev'ii in Ihe hour, when his henrl is most gay, 
Will he lose the remembrance of thee and thy 

The stranger shall hear thy lament on his plains ; 

The sigh fif Ihv harp shall be sent o'er Ihe deep, 
Till ihy masters 'thentselves, :is Ihcy rivel Ihy chains, 

tjhatl paubc al Ihe song of their captive, and weep! 


While gazing on the moon's light, 
A nvmenl from her smile 1 tiirn'd, 

To tnnk at orbs. ihat. more bright. 
In lone and distant glory buru'd. 

1 We may siijiprse ths npolngy to hai-e been uttered 
by one of Ihr)-e u,iiiJL'iiinc baids, whom .Spenser ^o 
severely, and, perhaps, tmly, de.<ribes in his State of 
Irelind, and whnse (juenis. he tells lis, " were spiin 
kled with snme pietty flower, of iheir na'ural device 
which have good grace and comeliness unio tbein, Ih 
which it is great pity to sen abu'^ed t<» the gracing of 
wickedness ai:d vice, wbicli, with good usa^e, uould 
serve to rtdnrn .ind beautify virtue." 

^ It is coi'jec'ured by Wormius, that the name of 
Ireland Is derived from Yr, the Runic for a hoWj in 
the use of wliich weapon the Irish were once very 
expeit. Ttiis derivation is certainly more cteditable 
to us than Ihe fidlowing: "So Ihat Ireland, called the 
land of /re, fmni the cnnstant broils theiein for 400 

I years, was now becme the land of conc'rd" — 
Lloyd's State IVorthits^ art. The Lord Grandison. 

3 See the Hymn, allribu'ed lo AIc:eus, Ev fivprov 
K}.aSL TO li^^o^ ^opj^ffuj — "■! will carry my sword, 
hidden in myrtles, like Harmodius, and Anstogitun," 


1 : 

But ( 00 far 

Each proud star, 
For me to fee] its warming flame; 

Much moe dear 

That mild sphere. 
Which near our planet smiling came: * 
Thus, Mary, be but Ihou my own ; 

While bi'igh'er eyes unheeded play, 
I 'II love those moonlight looks alone. 
That bless my home and guide my way. 

The day had sunk in dim showers, 

But midnight now, with lustre meet, 
lllumin'd all the pale flowers, 
Like liojie upon a mourner's cheek, 
I said (while 
The moon's smile 
Pl.iy'd o'er a stream, in dimpling bliss,) 
" The moon looks 
*' On many brooks, 
*' The brook can see no moon but this j " » 
And thus, I thought, our forrunes run, 

For many a lover looks to thee, 

While oh ! I feel there is but 07ic, 

One Mary in the world for me. 


When daylight was yet sleeping under the billow, 

And stars in the heavens still lingering shone, 
Young Kittv, all blushing, rose up from her pillow-, 

The last time she e'er v. as to press it alone. 
For the youth whom she treasured her heart and her 
soul in, 

Had pnmii ed to link the last tie before noon ; 
And when once the young heart of a maiden is stoleD 

The maiden herself will steal after it soon. 

As she look'd in the class.which a woman ne'er misseSj 

Nor ever w.nts time for a sly glance or two, 
A butterfly, 6 fresh from the night-flower's kisses, 

Flew over the minor, and shaded her view. 
Enrag'd with the Insect for hiding her graces, 

Shebrush'd him — he fell, alas; never to rise: 
'*AhI such," said Ihe girl, " is Ihe pride of our faces, 

•* For \vhich the soul's innocence too often dies.'' 

While she stole thro' the garden, where hearts-ease 
was growing, 

She culld some, and kiss'd oflf its mght-fallen dew; 
And a rose, further on, Inok'd so tempting and glowing. 

That, spite of her bas!e. she must gather it too ; 
But while o'er the rose^ too carelessly leaning. 

Her zone flew in two, and the hearts-ease was lost ; 
"Ah! this means,'' said the girl, (and she sigh'd at 
its meaning,) 

" That love is scarce worth the repose it will cost I" 


By the hnpe within us springing. 
Herald of to-morrow's strife; 

By that sun, whose light is bringing 
Chains or freedom, death or life — 

* "Of such celestial bodies as are visible, Ihe sun 
excepted, the single moon, as despicable as it is in 
coni| arison 'o most of Ihe othera, is much more bene- 
ficial than Ihey all put together." — VVIiistoyi's Theory^ 

In the Entrct}e7U d'Ariste, among other ingenious 
emblems, we find a s:arry sky without a moon, with 
these words, Non niille^ quod ahscns. 

6 This imas:e was suggested by the following 
thousht, which occurs somewhere in Sir William 
Jones's works : '' The morm looks upon many night- 
flowers, the night-flower sees but one moon." 

6 An emblem of the soul. 



Oh ! remember life can be 
Ko charm fur hiiii, who lives nM free! 

Like the Jay* in ihc wave, 

Sinks a hcio m his grave, 
Midst the dew'-f^U of a lution^s tears. 

Happy is he o'er whose decline 
The smiles of home may sjolhing shine 
And light hmi down the sxep of years : — 
Rut oh, how blcbt they sink to lebt, 
Who close their eyes on victory's breast t 

OVr his watch-fire'a fadmff enibers 

Now ihe foennn's cheek tuma white, 

When his heart that field lenienibers, 
Where we lamed his tyrant might. 

Never lel him bind again 

A ch.iin, liku !h it we broke from them. 

Hark : the h^ni of con.bAi calls — 

Ere Ihe golden evening: falls, 
IVby »e pledge that horn in triumph round ! i 

Many a heart that now be;its hi'h. 
In slumber cold at ni?lil shall lie, 
Nor waken even al victory^s souid : — 
But oh, how blesi that hero's sleep. 
O'er whom a wond'nng world shall weep I 


Night clos'd around the conqueror's wnr, 

And hghlnings show'd the distant hill, 
Where those whn Inst that ilreaJful diy, 

.Stood few and faint, but fearless s!ill. 
The soldier's hope, ibe patriot's zeal, 

For ever dinim'd, for ever crost — 
Oh 1 who shall say what heroes feel, 

When all but life and honour's lost? 

The hsi sad hour nf freedom'? dream, 

And valour's task, moved slowly by, 
While mute they watch'd, till mornin^N beam 

Shruld rise and sive lliem l-^ht to die. 
There 's yet a world, where smuIs are Iree, 

Where tviants taint not nature's bliss:— 
If death that world's bright openin-< be. 

Oh ! who would live a slave in this ? 


'Tis sweet to think, that, where'er we rove, 

We are sure lo (ind s -metiims bli>sfi,l and dear. 
And th>t. when we 'le far fnuii the lips we Inve, 

We 'vc but to make love t^ lliu lips we are near* 
The he.rt, like a tendril, nccustomM tnclin?, 
' ■ ■" rv wheie it will, cannot tlourish alone, 
1 10 the neires', and hiveliest thjng, 
ne wiih itself, and make closely its own, 
hat pleasure, where'er we rove, 

imething, still, that is dear, 

But Willi 
It can t 

Then oh ! 
To be s 

And to kti 
We 've 

ow, wht?n far fiom 'ne lips we love, 
but to make love to the tips we are near. 

5 *'The Irish Coma was not entirely devoted to 
marfial purposes. In the heroic a^es, our ancestors 
quaffed Meadh out of them, as (he Danish hunters do 
their beverage at tho day."— IValher. 

» 1 believe it is Mannontel who siys, " Quand on 
tVa pas ce que Von ai7ne, ilfattt aimerce que Von o.*' 
— There ate so m my nntter-nf-fact people, who take 
such jettxd"ejpn*r as this defence of inconstancy, (o be 

the actual :ind genuine sentii 

them, ttiat ihey compel one, 
matter-of-fact ^is ihemaelves, 
Demncritus was not the wor; 
-layfully contended that sno 
mus, in any decree, the h 

an ingen 

1 of folly. 

iients of hi 

in self-defence, to be as 
and to remind them, that 
e physinlogisi, for having 
w was black; nor Eras- 
, for having written 

'T were a shame, when flowers around us rise, 

To make light of the rest, if the rose isn't there ; 
And the world s an rich in resplendent eyes, 

' r wete a pity to limit one's love to a pair. 
Love*s win^ aud the peacock's are nearly .ilike, 

ihey are both of them bright, but they 're change- 
able too. 
And, wherever a new beam of beauty c-in strike, 

It will tincture L'lvcs plume with a diiierenl hue. 
Then oh ! what pleasure, where'er wr ruve, 

It) be sure to hnd SMnieilun-;, still, that is dear, 
And l>i kno>v, when far from Ihe hps we love, 

We've but to make love to the lips we are near. 


Through grief and through danger thy smile hath 

cheer'd my w.iy, 
Till hope seem'd to bud from each thorn that round 

me lay ; 
The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love 

Till shinie into ginry, till fear into zeal was turn'd; 
Ves, slave as I was, i;i ihy arms my spirit fell free. 
And blc^ss^d even tjie sorrows that made me more dear 

to thee. 

Thy rival was lior.our'd, while thou wert wrong'd 

niid scorn'd, 
Thy crown w,is of briers, while gold her brows 

adorn'd ; 
She woo'd me to lemple-',while thou lay'st hid in caves, 
Her friends were all masters, while thine, alas 1 were 

Vet cold in the earth, at Ihy feet, I would rather be, 

They slander thee sorely, who say thy vows are frail — 
Hadst thou been a f.dse cue, thy cheek had look'd less 

They say, too, so long thou hast worn those lingering 

That deep in thy heart they have printed their servile 

Oh! foul is the slander, — no chain could that soul 

subdue — 
Where shiueih (/inspirit, there liberty shincth too!* 


When tliro' life unblest we rove, 

Losing all thilniade life dear, 
Should some notes we used to love, 

In days of boyhood, meet our ear, 
Oh ! how welcome bi eatlies the strain ! 

Wakening thnuijhfs that long have slept ; 
Kindhng former smiles at^^ir. 

In faded eyes that lung have wept. 

Like the gale, that sighs along 

Beds of oriental flowere, 
Is the grateful breath of song, 

That once was heard in happier hours; 
Fill'd with balm, the gale sighs on, 

Though the floivers have sunk in death; 
So, when pleasure's dream is gone, 

Its memory live^ in Music's breath. 

Music, oh. how faint, how weak, 
Language fades before thy -pell ! 

Why should Feeling ever speik, 

When thou canst breathe her soul so well ? 

allegoricatly, the ancient Church of 

* " Where the Spirit of the Lord is, tbero 'm 
liberty.*' — S/.i'au;, 2 Corinthians^ iii. 17. 



Fri'indshtp's b?.!my words may feign, 
Lovi's are ev'ii'more false Ihan they; 

on I 't is only music's strain 
Can sweetly soothe, and not betray. 


It is not the tear al this moment shed, 

VVhe.i the cold turf his just been laid o'er him. 
That can teil how helov'd was the fne-id that's fled, 

Or how deep in our hearts we deplore hira. 
>T is the tear, thro' many a Ion? day wept, 

' 1' is life's whole path o'ershaded ; 
>T h the one rememb-ance. fondly kept, 

When all lighter griefs have faded. 

Thus his memory, like some holy light. 

Kept alive in our hearts, will improve them, 
For worth shtll look fiirer, and truth moie bright, 

When we think how he liv'd but to love them. 
And, as fresher flowers ihe sod perfume 

Where buried samls ire lymff, 
So CUT hearts shall borrow a sweet'ning bloom 

From the image he left there in dying I 


'Tis beltev'd that this Harp, which I wake now for 

Was a Siren of old, who sung under the sea ; 
And who often, at eve, ihro* ihe bright wa ers rov'd, 
To meet, on the green shore, a youth whom she lov'd. 

But she lov'd him in vain, for he left her to weep. 
And in tears, alt the night, her gold tresses tn steep ; 
Till heav'n lonk'd wiih pity on true-love so warm, 
And chang'd to this soft Harp the sea-maiden's form. 

Still her bnsnm rose fair — still her cheeks smiPd the 

While her sea-beauties gracefully form'd the light 

frame ; 
And her hair, as, let loose, o'er her white arm it fell, 
Was chang'd to bright chords utl'ring melody's spell. 

Hence it came, that this soft Harp so long hath been 

To mingle love's language with sorrow's sad tone; 
Till thmi didst divide th^m, and leach the fond lay 
To speak love when I 'm near thee, and grief when 



Oh ! the days are gone, when Beauty bright, 

My heart's chain wove ; 
When my dream of life, from morn till night, 
Was Inve. still love. 
New hnpe may bloom, 
And days mav come, 
Of milder calmer beam. 
But there's nnlhinchalf so sweet in life 

As love's youncdreim: 
No, 'here's nothins half so sweet in life 
As love's young dr*;am, 

Tho' the bard to purer fame may soar, 

When wild voulh*<* past ; 
Tho' he win the wisp, who frown'd before, 

To smile al last ; 

Thesf lines were occasioned liy the loss of a very 
IT <nd lear relative, who had died lately at Ma- 

_._ shed ; 
ling's winged dream ; 

He'll never meet 
A joy so sweet, 
In all his noon of fame, 
As when first he sung (o woman's ear 

His sDul-felt flame, 
And, at every close, she blush'd lo hear 
The one lov'd name. 

No,— :hat hallow'd form is ne'er forgot 

Which first love trac'd ; 
Still it lingering haums the greenest spot 
On meiiiury's waste. 
'T was odour fled 
As soon 
'T wa . ..^_ 
»T was a light that ne'er can shine agaiD 

On life's dull siream; 
Oh ! 't was light (har ne'er can shine again 
Ou life's dull stream. 


Tho' dark are our sorrows, to day we'll forget the; 
And smile through our tears, tike a sunbeam in 

There never were hearts, if our rulers would let them. 
More fi'rm'd to be gr.iiefu! and blest Ihaa ours. 
But jus; when Ihe chain 
Has ce.sed tn pain, 
And hope has enwreatU'd it round with flotvers, 
Theie comes a new link 

Our spir 

i to : 

Oh the joy ihat we tasie, like the light of the poles, 
Is a tf.ish amid daikne^. too biilhant to stay ; 

But, Ihnugh 'twere the last liltlespaik in our souls. 
We must light it up now, ou our Prince's Uay. 

Contempt on the minion, who calls you disloyal ! 

Tho' herce to your foe, loyonr friends you are true ; 
And the tribute most high to a head that is royal, 

Is love from a heart that loves liberty too. 
While cnwards, who blight 

■ fanif 


Would shrink from the bltze of the battle array, 
IheStandiid of Green 
In front would be seen,— 
Oh, my life on your f^ith ! were you summon'd this 
You 'd cast every bitter remembrance awav, 
And sh'iw what the arm of old Erin has in it, 
When rous'd by the foe, on her Prince's Day. 

He loves the Green Isle, and his love is recorded 

In hearls, which have suflei'd too much to forget; 

And hope shall be c^n^vn'd,and attachment rewarded. 

And Erin's gay jubilee shine out yet. 

The gem may be broke 

By niar.y a siroke, 

But Dothin? can cloud its native ray ; 

Eich fiagment will cast 

A light, to the last,— 

And thus. Erin, my courilry tho' broken thou art, 

There 's a lustrff within thee, that ne'er will decay j 
A spirit, which beams through each suffering P'''rt, 
And now smiles at all pain on the Prince's Day. 


W«p on, weep on, your hour is past ; 

Your dreams nf pii'Ie are o'er; 
The fatal chain is round you cast, 

And you are men no more. 

^ Thi*! son? was wri'ten for a fete in honour of the 
Prince of Wales's Birthd.y, given by my friend, Ma- 
jor Bryan, at his seat in the county of Kilkenny. 



In v&in the hero's heart hath bled ; 

The sage's tongue hath warn'd in vain j— 
Ob, Freedom ! once Ihy flame halh fled, 

Jt never light:* again. 

Weep on — perhaps in after days, 

They '11 learn to love your name ; 
When many a deed may wake in praiso 

That long halh slept in blame. 
And ivhen they treaU the ruiuM isle, 

Where re^i, at length, the lord and slave, 
They '11 wondei ing ask, h'lvv hands so vile 

Could conquer hearts so brave? 

•• 'T was fate," they '11 say, " a wayward fate 

*' Your web of discord wove ; 
•* And while your tyianis ioin'd in hate, 

"Vnu never jo.n'd in love. 
"But hearis fell otT, rhat ought to twine, 

"And man profan'd what Gi>d had given j 
••Till some were heard lo curse the shrine, 

'* Where others knelt to heaven 1 " 


Lesbia hath a beaming eye, 

Rut no one knows for whom it beameth : 
Right and left its arrows fly, 

But what ihey aim al no one dreamelh. 
Swee'er 't is to gaze upon 

My Nora's lid that seldom rises; 
Few its idoks, but every one, 
Like unexpec'ed liijht, surprises I 

Oh, my Nora Creina, dear. 
My gentle, b.ishfu! Nora Creina, 
Beauty lies 
In many eyes. 
But Love in yours, my Nora Creina. 

Lesbia wears a robe of gold. 

But all so close the nymph hath lic'd if, 
Not a charm of beauty's mould 

Fresumps lo s'ay "here naiure plac'd it. 
Oh 1 my Nora's gown for me, 

Ttiat floats as wild as niounlaln breezes, 
leaving every beauty free 

To sink or swell as Heaven pleises. 
Yes. my Nora Creina, dear, 

My simple, graceful Nora Creina, 
Nature's dress 

The dress you wear, my Nora Creina. 

Lesbia hath a wit refin'd, 

Rut, when is points are glciming round us, 
Who can tell if they 're design'd 

To dazzle merely, or lo wi^und us? 
PiUow'd on n.y Nora's heart. 

In safer slumber Love reposes — 

Bed of peace ! whose roughest part 

is but the crumpling of the roses. 

Oh! my Nora Creina, dear. 
My miid, mv an less Nora Creina! 
\Vit. iho'bnghr, 
Halh nosuch lieht, 
As warms your eyes, my Nora Creina. 


I saw Ihy form in you'hful prime, 

Nor thought that pale dec^y 
Would steal hefnte ihe steps of Time, 

And waste its bloom away. Mary ! 
Tet still thv features wore that light, 

Which fleets not with the breath ; 
And life ne'er look'd more truly bright 

Than in thy smile of death, Mary I 

As streams that run o^er golden mines, 

Yet huniblv. calmly glide. 
Nor seem to know (he wealth that shinea 

Within Iheir gentle tide, Mary I 
So veil'd beneath the sintplest guise, 

Thy radiant genius shone, 
And that, which charm'd nil other eyes, 

ijeem'd worthless lu thy own, Mary > 

If souls could always dwell above, 

Thou ne'er hadsl left that sphere ,• 
Or could we keep the souls we love, 

We ne'er bad lost thee here, Mary! 
Though many a gifted mind we meet, 

Though fairest forms we see, 
To live with them is far less sweet. 

Than to remember thee, Mary 1 >■ 


By (hat Lake, whose gloomy shore 
Sky-lark never warbles o'er,3 
Where the elilF hangs high and steep, 
Young Saint Kevin s'ole lo sleep. 
" Here, at least," he caUnly said, 
" Woman ne'er shall find my Led.'* 
Ah : the good Saint little knew 
What that Wily sex can do. 

'T was from Kathleen's eves he flew,— 
Eyes of nmst unholy blue! 
She had lov'd him well and long, 
Wish'd him hers, nor thought it wrong. 
Wheresoe'er the Saint would fly, 
Siill he heard her light foot nigh j 
East or west, where'er he turn'd, 
Still her eyes before him burn'd. 

On the bold cliff' 

bosom cast, 


nquil now 


sleeps at last ; 


anis of lie 


, nor thinks that e'er 


man's sni 

le can haunt him there. 


nor earlh 

heaven is free 


m her pf)v 


if fond she be : 


2n now, M 


calm he sleeps, 


hieeii o'er 


leans and weeps. 

Fearless fihe had track'd his feet 
To this rocky, wild retreat ; 
And when morning met his view, 
Her mild glaices met it loo. 
Ah, your baints have cruel hearts! 
Sternly from his bed he s'arts, 
And with rude, repulsive shock. 
Hurls her from the beetling rock, 

Glendatough. thy gloomy wave 
Soon was gentle Kathleen's grave ! 
Soon the saint (yet ah ! too late.) 
Felt her love, and mourn'd her fate. 
When he said, " Heav'n rest her soi 
Round the Uke light music s'ole; 
And her ghost was seen to glide, 
Smiling o'er the fatal tide. 

< I have here made a feeble effort to imitate that 
exquisite inscription of Shenstone*?, " Heu ! o 
minus est cum reliquts versari quam tui niemini: 

*This ballad is founded upon one of the many 
s'ories related of S'. Ki-vin, whose bed in the rf-ck is 
lo he seen at Glendah'Ugh. a most gloomy 
tic spot in the county ot Wicklow. 

3 There are many other curious traditions concern- 
ing this Lake, which nray be found io 
gan, &c. 

is. Col- 




She is far from the land where her young hero aleeps, 

And lovera are mund her, siehing: 
But coldly she turns from tbeir gaze and weeps, 

For her heart in his grave is lying. 

She sings the wild song of her dear native plains, 
Every no?e which he lov'd awaking ;— 

Ah ! little they thir.k wlio delight in her strains, 
How the heart of the Minstrel is hreakiug. 

He had livVI for his love, for his country he died, 
'1 hey were all that to life had entwin'd hmi ; 

Njrsoon shall the tears of hi3 country be dried, 
Nor long will his love stay behind him. 

Oh ! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, 
When Ihey promihe a glorious niorrniv; 

They'll shineo'erhersleep,iikeasniilefrom the West, 
From her own lov'd island of sorrow. 


Nay, tell me not, dear, that (he goblet drowni 

One charm of feelimj, one fmd regret j 
Believe ine, a few of ihy angry frowns 
Are all I 've sunk in its bright wave yet. 
Ne'er hath a beam 
Been lost in the stream 
That ever was shed from thy form or aoul ; 
The sf)ell of those e\e8, 
The balm of thy sighs, 
Still float on the surface, and hallow my bowL 
Then fancy irot, deares', that uine can sttal 
One blissful dream of the heari from me; 
Like founts that awaken the pilgrim's zeal, 
The bowl but brightens my love for thee. 

They tell us that Lnve in his fairy bnwer 

Had tuo blush-roses, of birth divine; 
He sprinkled the fine with a lainbnw's shower 
But baih'd the other wi-h mantling wine. 
Soon did the buds 
That drank of the flnnds 
Distiird by the rainbow, decline and fade; 
While ihnse \vhirh the tide 
Of ruby had dy'd 
All bhish'd into be miy. like thee, sweet maid ! 
Then fancy not, dearesi, that wine can steal 
One blissful dream of ihe heart from me ; 
Like founts, that awnken the pilgrim's zeal, 
The bowl but brightens my love for thee. 


Avenging and bright falls the swift sword of Erin 1 
On hini who the biave sons of Usna betray 'd 1 — 

ForevVy fond eye he hath waken'd a tear in. 
A drop from his heart-wounds shall weep o'er her 

I 'I he words of this snng «eie sujges'ed by tlie 
verj- aticient Irish siory cali^ed *' Deirdri, or the La- 
mentable Fate of the Soi.sof Usnach," which has been 
translated literally from lh»f Gaelic, by Mr. IVFUna- 
gan (see vol. i. of TVnrisactions of the Gnclic S ciety 
of Dublin), and upon which il appears 'hat the '• Dar- 
thulaof Macpho.snn" U founded. '1 he tre-.chery of 
Conor, King of Ulster, in pu'ting to deith Ihe three 
sons of Usna, was the cause of a desolating war against 
UU'er, uhich terminated in the desliuction of Lm ni. 
"This story (savs Mr. O'Flatagan) has been, from 
time immemorial, he d in high lepule as one of the 
thnst tra5;ic stones of the Irish. These aie, 'The 
detth of Ihe children of louraiii' 'The deatli of the 

By the led cloud that hung over Conor's dark dwell* 

When Ulad's^ three champions lay sleeping in 
go-e — 
By the billows of war, which so often, hiiih swelliDg, 
Have wafled these heroes to victory's shore — 

We swear to revenge them ! — no joy shall be tasted, 

The harp shall be silent, the maiden unwed, 
Our halU shall be mule aiid our tie ds shall lie ivasted, 

Till vengeance is wreak'd on the murderer's head. 
Yea. monarch ! tho' sweet are nur home recollect ions, 

Though sweet are the tears that from tenderness fall; 
Though sweet are our fricudshtps, our hopes, oui 

Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all ! 


/fe,— Whnt the bee is to Ihe floweret, 
When he looks for honey -dew, 
Throus;h the leaves that close embower it, 
That, my love, 1 '11 be to you. 

She, —What the bank, with verdure glowing, 
Is to waves that wander near. 
Whispering kisses, while they 're going, 
That 1 'II be to you, my dear. 

STie.— But they siy, the bee 's a rover. 

Who u ill fly. when swee's are gone; 
And, when once the kiss is over, 
Faithless brocks will wander on. 

/Tc— Nay, if flowers will lose their looks, 
^If sunny banks will wear away, 
'T is but righr, iha' bees and brooks 
Should sip aud kiss llieui, while tbcy may* 


"Here we dwell, in holiest bowers, 

" VVhere angels of light o'er our orisons bend ; 
" Where sighs of devotion and breathings ol flowers 
"'jo hea\en in mngled odour ascend, 
" D.I not di^turb our calm, oh. Love! 
*'Sn like is thy form to the cherubs above, 
*' It well might deceive such heart? as ours." 

Love stood near the Novice and listen'd. 

And Love is no novice in taking a hmt ; 
His lau2;hmg blue e}es soon uilh piety glisten'a; 
His losy wing lurn'd to he.*ven's own tint. 
•' Who would have thuu^ht," the urchin cries, 
*' That Love C'mld so well, sn gravely disguise 
'*Hi-s wanderii'g wings, and wounding eyes?" 

Love DOW warms tht-e, waking and sleeping, 
Youne: Novice, to him all thy nri-,ons ri^e. 

Be tinges the heavenly fount with his weeping, 
He biightci.s the ceners flame wiih his sighs. 

children of Lear' (both regarding Tuntha de Danans): 
and this 'The death of the children of Usnach.' 
which is a Milesian story. '» It will be recollected, 
that in the Second Number of these Melodies, there is 
a ballad upon the story nf the children of Lear or Lir: 
"Silent, ch Moyle!" &c. 

Whatever n ay be thought nf those sanguine claims 
to antjqui'y, which Mr. O'Ftanagan and others ad- 
vance for Ihe li:erature of Irelaid, it would be a last- 
ing repioach upon our nalionality, if the Gaelic re- 
searches of thi^ eeiitlpman did not' meet with all the 
liberal encouragement they iO well nicrjt. 

* "Oh, Nasi ! view that cloud that I here see in the 
sky ! I see over Eman-£;reen a chilling cloud of blood- 
tinged red " — Deirdri's Song. 

3 UMer. 



Love is the Saint en^llrin^l in thy breast, 
Ami angels tlieniselves would admit sucil a guest| 
If he came to then; cloth'd in Piety's vest. 

This life is all chequer'd with pleasures and woes, 

That cha>e one auoltier like waves of llie deep,— 
Each brighlly or darlily, as onward it flows, 

Relleciing our eyes, as they sparkle or weep. 
So closely our whims on our miseries tread, 

That ihe laugh is awak'd ere the teir can be dried : 
And, as fast as Ihe rain-drop of Piiy is slied, 

'I he goose-plumage of Fully can turn it aside. 
But pledge nie Itie cup — if existence would cloy, 

With hearis ever happy, and heads ever wise, 
Be ours the li^ht .Sorrow, half-sister to Joy, 

And the light, brilliant Folly that flashes and dies. 

When Hylas was sent with his uin to Ihe fount, 

Thro' helds full of light, and with heart full of play. 
Light rambled the boy, over meadow and mount, 

And neglected his task for the llowers on the way.> 
Thus many, like me, who in youth should have lasted 

'J'he fountain that runs by Philosoiihy's shrine. 
Their time with the flowers on Ihe margiu have 

And left their light urns all as empty as mine. 
But pledge me the goblet; — while Idleness weaves 

T hese flowerets logether. should Wisdom but see 
One bright drop or two that has fall'n on Ihe leaves 

Froci her fountain divine, 't is sufijcieut for me. 


Through Erin's Isle, 

To sp^n awhile. 
As Love and Valour wander'd, 

Wilh Wit, the sprite, 

Whose quiver bright 
A thousand arrows squandei'd. 

Where'er they pass, 

A triple grass^ 
Shoots up, » ith dew-drops streaming, 

As softly green 

As emeralds seen 
Thro' purest crystal gleaming. 
Oh the Shamrock, the gieen, immortal Shamrock 1 

Chosen leaf. 

Of Baid and Chief, 
Old Erin's native Shamrock I 

Says Valour, »'See, 

" They spring for me, 
"Those leafy gems of morning!" 

Sa^s Love. "No, no, 

*' For ?nr they grow, 
*' My fragrant palh adorning,* 

Hut Wit perceives 

The Iriple leaves. 
And cries, "Oh ! do noi sever 

" A type, that blends 

"Ttiree godlike inends. 
" Love, Valour, Wit, for ever I" 

» Proposilo florem prrEtnlit officio. 

Prcyirl. lib i. eleg. 20. 

' II is said thai St. Patrick, \>hen preaching Ihe 
Trinity to the Pagan Irish, usoil to illusl a'e his sub- 
ject by reference to hat specie- of irrfoil called in 
Ireland by the name of the Shunnck; and hence, 
perhaps, the Island of Saints adop'eJ this plant as her 
tiational emhiem. Hope, ainong the a' cients, was 
sonielimes represented as a beatitiful child, standing 
upon ti|>-toes, and a trefoil or three-coloured grass in 
her hand. 

Oh the Shamrock, the grten, immortal Shamrock 1 
Chosen le / 
Of Hard and Chief, 
Old Erin's native Shamrock ! 

So firmly fond 

May last the bond. 
They wove that inorn together, 

And ne'er miy lall 

One drop of gall 
On Wit's celestial leather. 

May Love, as twine 



Of thorny falsehood need 'em j 

May V.ilour ne'er 

His standard rear 
Against the cause of Freedom ! 
Oh the Shamrock, Ihe green, immortal Shamrock! 

Chosen leaf 

Of Bard and Chief, 
Old Erin's native Shamrock ! 


At the mid hovirof night, when sta^sare weeping, I fly 
To the lone vale we lov'd, when life shone warm in 



And I think oft, ifspirits can steal from the regions 

of air. 
To revisit past scenes of delight, thou will come to 

me there. 
And tell me our love is remember'd, even in the sky. 

Then I sing the wild song 't was once such pleasure to 
hear ! 

When our voices commingling brealh'd, like one, on 
the ear ; 
And, as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison 

I think, oh my love! *t is thy voice from the King- 
dom of Souls,3 

Faintly answering tlill Ihe notes that once were so 


One bumjjer at parting ! — Iho' many 

Wivc circled the hoard since we met. 
The fullest, the saddest of any 

Remains to be cro« n'd by us yet. 
The sweetness that pleasure halh in it. 

Is alwavs so slow 'n come forth. 
That seldom, alas, till Ihe minute 

It dies, do we know half its worth. 
But come, — may our life's haptiy measure 

Be all of s 


They 're born on Ihe bosom of Fie 
They die 'inidsl the tears of the cup. ' 

As onward we journey, how pleasant 

To pause anil inhabit awhile 
Those few sunny spots, like the present. 

That 'mid the dull wilderne-s smile! 
But Time, like a pitiless master, 

Cries '■ Onward \ " and spur, the gay hourg- 
Ah. never doth Time travel faster. 

Than when his way lies among flowers. 
But come — may our life's happy measure 

Be all of such moment- made up ; 
Thev 're horn on the liosoni of Pkasiire, 

Thi-y die 'mid-t the tears of the cup. 

" There are countries." says Montaigne. " where 
they believe the soul of the happy live in ail nianner 
of liberty, in delightful fields ; and that it is those 
souls, repeating the words we utter, which we call 




We saw how Ihe sun look'd in sinking, 

The waters beneath him hnw brtghl j 
And now, let our farewell of drinking 

Resemble that f.uewell of light. 
You SAW h(.w he iirnsh'd, by darting 

His beam <i'er a deep billow's hrint — 
So, till np, let's stiine at our parting, 

In full liquid gloty, like Itim. 
And oh! may our lile's h.ipp) measure 

Of momens like ihis be made up, 
'T ^'■aa bom on the bnsoiii of Pleasure, 

It dies 'mid the tears uf the cup. 


'T is the last rose of summer 

Lefi blooming alone ; 
All her h>vely cnnipanioni 

Are faded and gone ; 
No flower of her kindred, 

No rose-hud is nigh, 
To reflect back her bhishes, 

Or give sigh for sigh. 

I '11 not leave thee, thou lone one I 

Topiueon the stem; 
Since the lovely are sleeping, 

Go, sleep tliou with them. 
Thus kindly I scatter 

Thy leaves o'er the bed, 
Where thy ma'es of the garden 

Lie sceiiiless and dead. 

So soon may; follow, 

When friendships decay, 
And from Love's shining circle 

The gems drop away. 
When true hearts lie wiiher'd, 

And fond ones are flown, 
Oh! uho would inh;ibit 

This bleak world alone? 


The young May moon is beaming, love. 
The glow. worm's lamp is gleaming, love, 

Plow sweet to rove 

Through Mnrn.'s grove,> 
When the drowsy world is drenming, love! 
Then awake ! — the heavens lodk bright, my dear, 
'T is never loo late for delight, my dear, 

And the best of all ways 

To lengthen our days, 
Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dearl 

Now all the world 13 sleeping, love, 

But Ihe Sage, his s'ar-watch keeping, love, 

And 1, whose star, 

More glorious far, 
Is the eye from thai casement peeping, love. 
Then awake ! — till rise of sun, niv dear, 
The Sage's glas'. we *ll shun, my dear, 

Or. in vvatching the flight 

Of bodies nf light. 
He mighi happen to take ihee for one, my dear. 


The Minstiel-Boy to the war is gone. 
In the ranks of death you 'H find him; 

His fa her's sword he has girded on, 
And his wild harp slung behind him.- 

** Land of song!" said the warrior-bard, 
*'Tho'all the world betrays thee, 
One sword, at least, thy nghts slialt guard, 
•*0/ie faithful harp shall praise thee! " 

The Minstrel fell !— hut Ihe foeman's chain 

Could nut bring his proud soul under j 
The hirp he loi'd ne'er spoke again. 

For he tore its chords* asunder j 
And said, '' No chains shall sully thee, 

*'Thou soul of love and bravery ! 
" Thy songs were made for ihe pure and free, 

" They shall never sound iu slavery." 


The valley lay smiling before me. 

Where lately i left her behind j 
Yet I trembled, and sitmething hung o'er nie, 

That saddened the joy of my mind. 
I look'd for the lamp which, she told me. 

Should shine, when her Pilgrim returu'd; 
But, though darkness began to enfold me, 

No lamp from the battlements buru'd I 

I flew to her chamber — *t was lonely, 

As if the lov'd tenant lay dead ;— 
Ah, would }l were death, and dea'h only ! 

But no, the young false one had fled. 
And there hung the lute that could soften 

My very worst pains into bliss j 
While the hand that had wakM it so often. 

Now throbb'd to a proud lival'skiss. 

There was a time, false^l of women, 

When Brett'ni'sgood sword would have sought 
That man, thm' a million of foemen, 

Who dar'd but to wrong ihee in thought! 
While now — oh degenerate d.»ughter 

Of Erin, how fall'n is thy f:>Die ! 
And thro' ages of bondage and slaughter. 

Our country shall bleed for thy shaDie. 

Already, the curse is upon her, 
And strangers her valleys profane ; 

They come to divide, to dishonour. 
And tyrants they long will remain. 

i "Steals silently to Morna's grove." — See, in Mr 
Bunting's collection, a poem Iranslitcd from the Irish 

by the late John Brown, one of my earliest college 
companions and friends, whose death was as singular' | 
ly melancholy and unfortunate as his life had been | 
amiable honourable, and e^iemplary. | 

^ These stanzas are founded upon an event of most ' 
melancholy impor'ance to Ireland ; if, as we are told , 
by our Irish historians, it gave England the first op- 
portunity of profiting by our divisions and subduing 
u9. The following are the circumstances, as re- 
lated by O'Halloran : — " The king of Leinster had 
long conceived a violent affection for Dearbhorgil, 
daughter to the king of Meaih, and though she had 
been for some time married to ORuark^ prince of 
Brefl'ni.yet it could not restrain his passion. They 
earned on a priva'e conespondence. and she informed 
him that O'Ruai k intended soon to go on a pilgrimage 
(an act of piety frequent in those diys). and conjured 
him to embrace that opportunity of conveying her 
from a hu-'band she dttested to a lover -he adoTed. 
Mac Murchad too punctually f>be\ed Ihe summons, 
and had the lady conveyed to'his capi'al of Ferns."— 
The monarch Roderick espoused the c;iuse of O'Ruark, 
while Mac tied to England, and obtained 
I the assis'ance >'( Henrv II. 

" Such," adds Giral^us Cambrensis (as I find him in 
an old translation ), " is the variable and fickle nature 
of woman, by whom all mischief in the world (for 
the most part) do happen and come, as may appear by j 
Marcus Antoniua, ant? by the destrucliou of Troy." 
- J 



banner rearingi 

But onward ! — the green banner re: 
Go, tlesh every sword to the liiUj 

Or. fmr side is Virlue :ind Erin, 
Uu theirs is tbe Saxun aud Guilt. 


Oh ! had we some bright lillle isle of our own, 
111 a blue summer ocean, taroiiand alone. 
Where a leaf never dies in the still bluomlng bowers, 
And the bee bauqueis ou through a whole year of 
Jiowers ; 

Where the sun loves to pause 

With so fcmd a delay, 
Tli;it the ni^ht only draws 
A thm veil o'er the day; 
Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live, 
Is worth (he best joy that life elsewhere can give. 

There, with souls ever ardent and pure as tbe clime, 
We sliouldlove,aslhey lov'd in the first golden lime; 
'J'he §low of the sunshine, the balm of the air, 
Would steal lo our heart<^, and make all bummer there. 
Wilhafleciicn.ii, free 

From decline as the bowers, 
And, with hope, like the bee, 

Living always on flowers. 
Our life should resemble a loni;; day of lia;ht, 
And our death come on, hoiy and calm a^ ihe Dtgbt. 


Farewell ! —but whenever you welcome the hour, 
That awakens Ihe mght-snng of mirth in your bower, 
Then think of the friend who once welcom'd it too, 
And foigot his own griefs to be happy with you. 
H IS gi iefs may return, not a hope may reniaiii 
Of the few that have bnghten'd his pathway of pain, 
But he ne»er will forget the short vision, that threw 
Its euchanlmeut around him, while liogering with 

And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up 
To the highest top sparkle each hearl and each cup, 
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright, 
My soul, happy friends, shall be wi'ih you thnt njsht ; 
Shall join iu your revels, your sports, and your wiles, 
And re'urii to me, beaming all o'er with your sniiles— 
Too blest, if il tells me that, 'mid the gay cheer 
Some kind voice had murmur'd, "I wish be were 
here I" 

Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of jny, 
B ii(ht dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy; 
Which come in the mght-lime nf sorrow and care, 
And bring h^ck the features thai joy used to wear. 
I/)ng, long be my hearl with such memones fill'd ! 
Like thevase, in which roses h:iveonce been dis-ili'd— 
You may break, yu may shatter the vase, if ynu will, 
Bit the scent of tbe roses will hang round it still. 


Oh ! d. ubt rue not — the season 

h o'er, when Folly made me rove. 
Arid now the vestal. Reason, 
Shall watch Ihe hre awak'd by Love. 
AUho* this heart was early blown, 

And fairest hinds disturb'd the tree. 

They only shook some blossnnis down, 

Its fruit has all been kept for thee. 

Then doubt me not — the season 
Is o'er, when Folly made me rove, 

And now the vestal, Reason, 

Shall watch Ihe hie awakM by Love. 

And tho' my lute no longer 

May sing of Taj-^ion's ardent spell, 
Yei, dust me, all the stronger 
1 feel the bliss I do not tell. 
The bee through many a garden roves, 

And hums his lay oi courtship o'er, 

But when be tiuds the Ilower he loves, 

He settles there, and bums no more. 

Thendoub' me n'>t — the se.isoii 

Js o'er, when Folly kept me free, 
And now the vestal. Reason, 
Shall guard the Ilame awakM by thee. 


You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride. 

How meekly she blessed her humble lot, 
When the stranger, William, had made her his bride, 

And love wa^ the li^ht of their lowly col. 
Totjelher they toil'd through winds and rains, 

'I ill William, at length, in sadness said, 
" We must seek our fmtune on other plains i** — 

Then, sighing, she left her lowly shed. 

They roam'd a long and a weary way. 

Nor much was the maiden's bean at ease, 
When now, at close t,( one stormy day, 

They see a proud castle ami ng the trees. 
"Tn-uighl." 5aid the jouih, "we'll shel'er there: 

*'The wind blows cdd, the hour is late : " 
So he blew the horn with a chieftain's air. 

And the Porter bow'd, as ihey pasa'd the gate. 

"Now, welcome, Ladv,'* exclaimed the youth, — 

*' This cislle is thine, and these dai k woods all I »» 
She believ'd him crazed, but his words were Irulh, Ellen h Lady of Rosna Hall I 
And dearly the Lord of Rosna loves 

Whai William tbe s ranger woc'd and wed ; 
And >he light ot bli:^>>. in these iordly groves, 

Shines pure as it did in the lowly shed. 


IM mourn the hn| es that leave me, 

If thy smiles had left me tof>; 
I'd wie|) when friends deceive me, 

If Ibi.u vvert, like Ihem. untrue. 
But w bile I 've thee before me, 

With heart so warm and eyes so bright, 
N" clouds can linger o'er me. 

That smile tuins them alt to light. 

*T is not in fate lo harm me, 

While fate leaves thy love to me; 
*T IS not in joy to charm me, 

Unless joy be Mmed with thee. 
One minute's dream about thee 

Were worth a lone, an endless year 
Of waking bli's »iIbont 'h-e, 

My own love, my only dear ! 

And tho' tbe hope be gone, love, 

1 hat long sparkled o'er our way, 
Oh! we shill journey on, love, 

More safely, without its ray. 
Far better lights shall win me 

Along the path I *ve yet lo roam:'^ 
The mind that burns within me. 

And puie smiles from thte ai home. 

I This ballad was suffgested by a well-known ai 
interesting story told of a certain noble taiuily 





Thus, when the lamp that lighted 

'1 he iraveller ai first goes out, 
He feels awhile benighted, 

And looks round in ff-av and doubt. 
But soon, the prospect clearing, 

By cloudless starlight nn he treads, 
And thinks no iatnp so cheeung 

As that light wbicb Heaven sheds. 


Come oVr the sea, 

Maiden, with me, 
Mine thru' sunshine, sorm, and snows: 

Se.isons may roll, 

But the truK soul 
Burns the same, where'er it goes. 
Let fite frown on, so we love and part not; 
'Tis lite wherethmi art, 'tisdeaih where thow art not. 

Then come o'er the sea, 

M:Aiden, with me, 
Come wherever the wild wind blows; 

Seasons may roll, 

Ent the true s^ul 
Burns the same v%here*er it goes. 

Was not the sea 

Made for the Free, 

Land for couris and chains alone ? 


But. on the waves, 
Love and Liberty 's all our own. 
Nn eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, 
Ail earth forgot, and all heave. i around us — 

ThfU come o'er ihe sea, 

Maiden, with me. 
Mine thro* sunshine, storm, and snows ; 

Seasons may roll. 

But the irue' soul 
Burns the same, where'er it goes. 


Has sorrow thy young days shaded. 

As clouds o'er the morning fleei ? 
Too fast have those yonng days laded. 

That, even in sorrow, were sw eet ? 
Does Time with his cold wing wither 

Each feeling that once was — 
Then, child of misfortune, come hither, 

I 'il weep with Ihee, tear (or tear. 

Has love to that soul, so tender. 

Been like lur Lagenian mine.! 
Wheie sp.irkles of golden splendour 



But. if in pursuit we go deeper, 
Allur'd hv the gleam that shone, 

Ah! f.ilse as Ihe dieam of he sleeper. 
Like Love, the bright ore is gone. 

Has Hope, like Ihe bird in the',^ 

That fiitled from tree lo tree 
With the talisman's glittering glory — 

Has Hope bt^en ih «> bird to thee ? 
On branch after t.rarch alighting, 

The gem did she still display. 
And, when neare-t :ind mo^t inviting, 

Then waft the fair gem away f 

i Our VVicklow Gold Mines, to which this verse 
allude?, deserve, I fe«r, but too well the character 
here given of them. 

^ " The bird, liaving eot its prize, settled not far 
ott; with the talisman in his month. The prince drew 
near it. hoping it ^vould drop i( ; b^it, as he approached, 
the biid took wing, and settled a^ain," &u:.— Arabian 

If thus the young hours have fleeted, 

When sorrow itself looked bright; 
If thus Ihe fair hope hath cheated, 

'J hat led (hee along so light; 
If thus the cold world now wither 

Each feeling that once was dear : — 
Come, child of misfonuue, come hither, 

1 'U weep with thee, tear for tear. 


No, not more welcome the fairy numbers 

Of music fall on the sleeper's ear, 
When half-awaking from feaiful slumbers. 

He thinks li.e full quire of heaven is near, 
Than came that voice, when, all forsaken, 

This heait 1 >ng had sleepirg, 
Nor thought its cold pul^e would ever waken 

To such benign, blessed sounds again. 

Sweet voice of comfort ! 't was like the stealing 

Of sunnner winiJ throSome wreathed shell — 
Each secret winding, etch inmost feeling 

Ofall my soul echoed to its spell. 
*T was whispt-red balm— 't was sunshine spoken ! 

I'd live years of gnef and pain 
To have my long sleej) of sorrow broken 

By such benign, blessed sounds again. 


When first I met thee, warm and young, 

There shone such truth about thee, 
And on thy lip such promise hung, 

I dij not d^re to doubt thee. 
I saw thee change, yet s'ill relied. 

Still duns; with hope the f<inder. 
And ihought, tho' faJ e to all beside, 

from me thou couldst not wander. 
But go, deceiver! go, 

The heart, whose hopes could make it 

) falM 

l)e^eIves that thou shouldst break it. 

When every tongne thy follies nanfd, 

I (it;d the unuelcome story; 
Or found, in ev'n the faul's Ihey blam'd, 

Son-e gleams of future glory. 
/ still was true, when nearer friends 
Conspired to wrong, to slight Ihee; 
The heart that now thy falsehood rends, 
Would then have bled to right thee. 
Btil go, deceiver' go,— 

Some day. perhaps, thou 'It waken 
From pleasure's, to know 
The grief of hearts forssken. 

Even now, tho' youth its bloom has shed, 

No lighrs rf age adorn thee: 
The few, who lov'd thee once, have fled, 

And they who flaiter scorn thee. 
Thy midnight cup is pledg'd to slaves, 

No genial ties enwre.ilh it; 
The smiling there, like light on graves. 
Has rank cold hearts beneath it. 
Go — go — tho' worlds V' ere thine, 

I wou'd not now surrender 
One tail. tless tear of mine 
For all thy guilty splendour! 

And days may come, thou false one ! yet, 

When even ih .se hes shall sever; 
When th u wilt call, with vain regret. 

On her thou 'st lost forever; 
On her who, in Ihy fortune's fall, 

Wiih smiles had still receiv'd thee, 
And gl idly died lo prove tliee all 

Her fancv lirst beiiev'd thee. 



Go — go, — H is vain to curse 
'T is weakness to upbraid thee 

Hate cainint wisli thee worse 
Thau guilt and shame have made thee. 


While History's Muse the memorial was keeping 

Of all that theda.k liand of Destiny weaves, 
Beside her (he Genius of Erin stood weeping, 

For hers was the story that blotled the leaves. 

Rut oh ! how ihe tear in her eyelids t^rew hriglit, 

When, aiter whole pages of sorrow and shanie> 

She saw History write, 

Wiih a pencil of light 

That illuniM the whole volume, her Wellington'a 


" Hail, Star of my Isle '." said the Spirit, all sparkling 
With l>eams, such as break, from her own dewy 
skies — 
'*Thro' ages of sorrow, deserted and darkling, 

»' I 've watch'd fi>r some i^lory like thine to arise. 
" For, Ilio' Heroes 1 've number-d, unblest was iheir lot, 
*'And unhillow'd they sleep in the cross-ways of 
Fame j — 

*-Ilutoh! there is not 
" One dishonouring blot 
"On the wreath that encircles my Wellington's name. 

" Yet still the last crown of thy toils is remaining, 
** The grandest, the purest, ev'a thou hast yet 

** Tho' proud was thy task, other nations unchaining, 
'* Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy own. 

"At the fool o( that throne, for whose weal thou hut 

'Go, plead for the land that first cradled thy fain«| 
" And, bright o'er the flood 
"Of luT tears and her blood, 

' Let the rainbow of Hope be her Wellinguiu's name 


The time I 've lost in wooing, 
in watching and pursuing 

The li2:ht, that lies 

In wnniaM's eyes, 
Has been my heart's undoing. 
Tho' Wisdom oft has sought me, 
! scorn'd the lore she brought mo 

My only books 

Were wonmi's looks. 
And folly 'b all they 've taught me. 

Her smile when Beauty granted, 
1 hunff with gaze enchanted, 

Like him the Sprite,* 

Whom maids by nitrht 
Oft meet in glen ihat 's haunted. 
Like him, too. Beauty won me, 
But while her eyes were on me, 

If once their ray 

Was lurn'd away 
O! winds could net outrun me. 

1 This alludes to a kind of Irish fairy, which is to 
be met with, they say, in the fields at dusk. As long 
as you keep your eyes upon him, he is fixed, and in 
your power; — but the monnent you look away (ai>d 
tie is ingenious in furni^^hing some inducement) he 
vanishes. I had thought that this was the sprite 
which we call Ihe Leprechaun ; but a high authority 
upon such sulijfcs. Lidy Morgan, (in a note upon her 
national and inleres'ing novel, O'Donnel,) has given a 
very different account of that goblin. 

And are those follies going? 
And is my proud heart growin 

Too cold or wise 

For brilliant eyes 
Again to set it glowing 
No, vain, alas I th' endeavour 
froni bonds so sweet to sever) 

poor Wisdom's chance 

Against a glance 
Is now as weak as ever. 


Oh, where 's the slave so lowly, 
Condemu'd to chains unholy, 

Who, could he burst 

His bonds at first, 
Would pine beneath them slowly? 
What soul, whose wrongs degrade it 
Would wail till time decay'd it, 

When thus its wing 

At once may spiing 
To the throne ot Him who made itr 

Farewell Erin,— farewell, all, 
Who live to weep our fall 1 

Less dear the laurel growing, 
Alive, untouch'd and blowing, 

Than Ihat. whose braid 

Isplnckd to shade 
The brows with victory glowing. 
We tread the land Ihat bore us, 
Her green Hag glitters o'er us. 

The friends we've tried 

Are by our side. 
And Ihe foe we ha^e before us. 

Farewell, Erin,— farewell, all, 
Who live to weep our fall ! 


Come rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, 
Tho* Ihe herd have lied from thee, thy home is still 

here ; 
Here s'ill is Ihe smile, that no cloud can o'ercast, 
And a heart and a baud all thy own to the last. 

Oh 1 what was love made for, if 't is not the same 
1 hro' joy and thro' lormenl, thro' glory and shame? 
I know not, I ask nf)t, if guilt 's in Ihat heart, 
I but know that 1 love tliee, whatever thou art. 

Thou hast call'd me thy Aneel in moments of bliss, 
And ihy Aneel I '11 be, 'mid the hormrs of this,— 
Thro' the furnace, unshrinking, Ihy steps to pursue, 
And shield thee, and save Ihte, — or perish there too I 


d for ever, the light we saw breaking, 
hrst dawn o'er ihe sleep of the dead- 

er 18 gone 

Like H( 
When Man, from the slumber of a^es iwaking 

Look'd upward, and bleas'd tlie pure ray, ere it fled. 
'T is gone, and the gleams it has left of its burning 
But deepen the long night of bondage and mourning. 
That dark o'er the kingdoms of earth is returning 

And darkest of all, hapless Erin, o'er thee. 

For high was thy hope, when those glories were 

Around thee, thro' all Ihe gross clouds of the world j 
When TruHi, from her fetters indignantiy starling, 

At once, like a Sun-burst, her banner unfurPd.* 

a '* The" was the fanciful name given by 
the ancient Irish to the Royal Banner. 



Oh ! never shall earth see a moment so splendid ! 
'1 hen, then — had one Hymn of Deliverance blended 
The ton»ues of all nalious — how sweet had ascended 
The tirsl nole of Liberty, Erin, from thee ! 

But, shame on those tyrants, who envied the blessing ! 

And shame on the light race, unworthy its good, 
Who, at Dtath's reekiui; al ar, lilie furii-s, caressing 

The youiig hope of Freedom, b.ip.iz'd it in bluod. 
Then v.iiiish'd for ever that fair, sunny virion, 
Which, spite of the slavish, the cold hearCs derision, 
Shall long be remember'd, pure, bright, and elysian, 

As tiisl it arose, my lost Erin, on thee. 


I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining, 
A barb o'er the wafers move gloriously on ; 

I came when the sun o'er that beach was declining. 
The bark was still there, but the waiers were gone. 

And such is the fate of our life's early promise, 
So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known ; 

Each wave, that we danc'd on at morning, ebbs 
from us, 
And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone. 

I^e'er tell me of glories, serenely adorning 

The close of our day, the calm eve of our night j— 
Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of 
Her clouds and her tears are worth Evening's best 
Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning. 
When passion first wak'd a new life thro' liis frame. 
And his soul, like the wood, that grows precious 
Gave out all its sweets to love's exquisite flame. 


Fill the bumper fair! 

Every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of Care 

Smooths away a wrinkle. 
Wit's electric flame 

Ne'er so swiftly passes, 
As when thro' the frame 

It shoots from britnniing glasses. 
Fill the bumper fair I 

Every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of Care 

Smooihs away a wrinkle. 

Sages can, Ihey say. 

Grasp the lightning's pinions, 
And bring down its ray 

From the starr'd dominions : — 
So we. Sages, sit, 

And, 'mid bumpers bright'ning, 
From the Heaven of Wit 

Draw down all its lightning. 

Vould'sl thou know what first 
Made our souls inherit 

rhis ennobling thirst 
For wine's celes ial spirit? 

t chaiic'd upon thai day. 
When, as bards inform us. 



The living fires llial warm i» i 

The careless Youth, when up 
To Glory's fount aspiring. 

Took nor urn nor cup 

To hide the pilfer'd fire in 

But oh, his joy, when, round 
, The halls of Heaven spying, 

Among the stars he found 
A buwi of Bacchus lying ! 

Some drops were in that bowl. 

Remains of last nighl's pleasui 
With which the Sparki of Soul 

Mix'd (heir burning treasure. 
Hence the goblet's shower 

Hath such spells to win us; 
Hence its mighty power 

O'er that flame within us. 
Fill the bumper fair! 

Every drop we sprinkle 
O'er the brow of Caie 

Smooihs away a wrinkle. 


Dear Harp of my Country ! in darkness I *'ound thee. 

The cold chain of silence had hung o'er ihee long,' 
When pmudly, my own Island Harp, I unh und Ihee, 

And gave all thy chords lo light, freedom, and song! 
The warm lay of love and the light noie of gladness 

Have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest Ihiill ; 
But, so oft hast Ihou echo'd the deep sigh of sadness. 

That ev'n in thy mirth it will steal Irom thee still. 
Dear Harp of my coumry ! faiewell lo thy numbers. 

This sweet wiealh of song is the last we shall Iwine ! 
Go. sleep with the sunshine of Fame on thy slumbers, 

Till toncli'd by some hand less unwonhy than mine ; 
If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover. 

Have ihrobb'd al our lay, 't is thy glory alone; 
1 was but a^ the wind, parsing heedlessly over, 

And all the wild sweetness I wak'd was thy own. 

' In that rebellious but beautiful song, " When 
Erin first rose," there is, if I lecollect right, the fol- 
lowing line : — 
"The dark chain of Silence was tlirown o'er the deep." 

The chain of Silence was a sort of practical figure 
of rhetoric among the ancient Irivh. VValker tells us 
of "a celeb'a'ed contentinn for precedence between 
Finn and Gaul, near Finn's palace at Almhaim, 
where the attending Bards, anxious, if possible, to 
produce a cessation of hostilities, >hook the chain of 
Silence, and flung themselves anvng the ranks." S^-e 
also the Ode to Gaul, tfie Soil of Montij in Miss 
Brooke's Rdiques of Irish Poetry, 



The recollections connected, in my mind, with that 
early perioi ni niy life, when I lirst thought of inter- 
pre ing in verse the louching language of my country's 
music, tempt me a^.^in lo advert to th"se long 
days; 2nd. even at the risk of being thought lo in- 
dulge overmuch in what Colley Cibher calls "the 
great pleasure of writing about one's self all day," to 
Do;ice briefly some of those impressions and influences 

under which the atttempt to adapt \vnrds to our an- 
cient Mel dies was for some lime meditated by me, 
ani. at last, undertaken. 

There can be no doubt thit to the zeal and industry 
of Mr. Bunting his country is indebied ( t the preser- 
va'ion of berold »irs. During (he prevaleace 
of the Penal Code, the music of Ireland waa m »de to 
share in the fate of its people. Both were alike shut 



out from the pale of civilised life; and seldom any 
where but in ihe huls of Mie proscribed race could the 
sweet voice of the songs of olher days be heard. Evt-n 
of ihai cias>, ihe itinerant harpers, auiong whom for 
a l>ng peiiod our aiicieni music had been kepi ali\e, 
there reiiiijiied but tew lo cmtiinue the precious tr.»- 
ditiuii ; and a gteal music-meeting held ai Kelfa^t in 
the year 1792, at which Ihe two or three still remain- 
ing of Ihe old race of wandering harpers as-.istrd, 
exhibited Ihe hst public elioit made by ihe lover* of 
liish music, to preserve to their coumry ihe only 
grace or ornanieul left to her, out of Ihe wreck of all 
her libei ties and hopes. Thus what the fierce legis- 
Utuie of the F»le liad endeavoured vainly through so 
many centuries lo effect,— ihe utter extinciion of Ire- 
land's Miosii-elsy,— ihe deadly pressure of the Tenal 
Laws had nearly, at the clo^e of ihe eighteenth cen- 
1 tury, accompliiihed ; and, but for the zeal and tntetli- 
gent research of Mr. Bunting, at that crisis, the gieater 
part of our nm.sical treasures woiild probably hive 
been hist to Ihe world. It was in the year 1796 that 
this gentleman published his first volume; atid tlie 
national spirit and hope then wakened in Ireltnd, by 
the rapid spread > f the democratic piinciple ihrimghoul 
Kurope, could not but insure a mosi cordial reception 
for such a work; — fla'leriiig as it was to the fond 
dreams of F.riu's early da\s, and containing in itself, 
indeed, remarkable testimony to the truth of her claims 
to an early dale of civilisaii'n. 

It was in the yetr 1797 ihat, through the medium 
of Mr. Bunting's book, I was tirst made acquainted 
with the bfau ies of our native music. A yung friend 
of our family, Edward Hudson, Ihe nephew of an 
eminent deulist of Ihat name who placed with much 
taste and feeling on the flute, and, unluckily ir him- 
self, was but too deeply warmed with tlie patriotic 
ardour then kindling around him, was the first who 
made known o me this rich ntine of our counir)'s 
melodies ;— a mine, front ihe wirking of which my 
humble labours as a pi el have since derived their sole 
lustre and value. About ihe sanie period I fnimedan, whi^h soi.n grew into iutinjacy, with 
young Rubeit Emmet. He was my senior, I think, 
by one class, in the university ; for when, in the first 
ytar of iny course, 1 became a meniber of the Debat- 
iDi! Sociei\, — a sort of nursery to the autlK>rised His- 
torical Society — 1 found him in full reputation, n<>t 
only for his learning and eloquence, but :tUo for the 
blanielessness of his life, and the grave suavity of his 

Of the political tone of ibis minor school of oratorj-, 
which was held weekly at the roonis of dilfereoi 
resident member!:, some notion may be fo nied fmm 
the naure of the questions proposed fur discussion,— 
one of which, 1 recillect, was, *• Whe'her an Aristo- 
cracy or a Democracy is nu'Sl favourable to the ad- 
vancement of science .»nd liierUure?'' while another, 
bearing even more pointedly on the relative position 
of the government and the people, at this crisis, was 
thus significantly profiounded : — '* Whether a soldier 
was bound, on all occasions, to ol ey the orders of his 
comm nding officer ?" On the former of ihese (jues- 
lions. the effect of Emmet's eloquence upon his young 
auditors was, I lecollect, most sriking. The piohi- 
bitinn agunst touching upon modern politics, which 
it was subsecjuently found necessary lo enforce, had 
not yet lieen inln^uced ; and Emmet, who took of 
course ardently the side of deniocracy in the debate, 
after a brief review of Ihe republics of antiquity, 
showing how much they had all done for the advance- 
ment of science and the' arts, procteded, lastly, to the 
grand and i erilnus exaniple, then before alt 
eyes, the young Republic of France. Referring -o the 
circumstance tnld of Cae-ar, iha', in swimming across 
the Rubicon, he contrived to carry with him hn Com- 
mentaries and his sword, Ihe young orator said, " Thus 
Fiance wades through a sea nf storm and blood ; but 
while, '■- fne hand, she wields the sword againsi her 
agicressors, with the other she upholds Uie glories of 
science and literature unsullied by the ensinguined 
tide ihrough which she s'ruggles. In another of his 

remarkable speeches, I remember his saying, " When 
a people advancing rapidly in knowledge and power, 
perceive .at last how far Iheir government is lagging 
behind them, what then, 1 ask, is to be done in such a 
case? What, but to pull Ihe government uji to the 
people ?" 

In a few months after, both Emmet and myself 
were admitted members of the greater and recognised 
institution, called the Historical Society; aid even 
here, the political feeling so rife abroad contrived 10 
mix up its restless spirit with all our debates and pro- 
ceedings; notwithstanding the constant watchfulness 
of the colleee authorities, as well as of a sirong party 
within the Society itself, devoted adherents to the 
policy rif the gt»vernmeiit, and taking invariably part 
%viih the Provost and Fellows in all their restrictive 
and inquisitorial measures. The most distinguished 
and eloquent of these supporters of power weie a 
young man named Sargent, of whose fate in after 
days I know nothing, and Jebb, the late Bishop of 
Limerick, who was then, as he continued to be 
through life, much respected for his private worth 
and learning. 

Of the popular side, in the Society, Ihe chief cham- 
pion and ornament was Riberl Emmet ; and though 
every care was I:iken to exclude from (he subjects ol 
debate all questions verging tt)ward>* ihe politics of Ihe 
day, it was always easy enough, by a side-wind of 
digression or allusion, to bring Ireland and the pros- 
[lecis then opening upon her within the scope of the 
orator's view. So exciting and powerful, in this re- 
spect, were Emmet's speeches, and so little were even 
the most eloquent of the adverse party able to cope 
with his powers, th;it it was at length thought ad- 
visable, by the higher authorities, lo send amor'g us a 
man of more advanced standing, as well as belonging 
lo a former race of renowned speakers, in Ihat Society, 
in order that he might answer the speeches itf Emmet, 
and endeavour in obviate Ihe niischievous impression 
they were thought to produce. The name of this 
mature champion of the higher powers it is not neces- 
sary here In record; but the object of his niission 
among us was in some respect gained ; as it uas in 
replymg to a lor^g oration of his, one night, that 
Emmet, much to the mortification of us who gloried 
in him -■'s our leader, became suddenly embarrassed in 
the middle of his speech, and, to use the parliament- 
ary phiase, broke down. Whether from a moment- 
ary confusion in the thread of his argument, or p.-s- 
sib y from difhdence in encountering an adversary so 
much his senior,— for Emmet "as as modest as he 
was high-minded and brave,— be began, m the full 
career of his eloquence, to hesilate and repeal his 
words, and then, alter an effort or two to recover him- 
•elf. Bale down. 

It fell to my own lol to be engaged, about the same 
time, in a brisk struggle with the dominant party in 
the Society, in consequence of ,i burlesque poem 
which I gave in, as candidate for Ihe Literary Medal, 
entitled *' An Ode upon Nothing, with Notes, by Tns- 
megistus Rusiituslius, I). I).*' &c. &c. For this squib 
against the gre.t Dons of learning, ihe medal was 
voted to me by a triumphant nMJcrily, But a motion 
was made in the following week to rescind this vote ; 
and a fierce contest beiween the two parties ensued, 
which 1 at last put an end to by vrduntarily withdraw< 
ing mv composition from the Sf>ciety's Bonk. 

1 have already adverted to the period when Mr. 
Bunting's valuable volume first became known lo me. 
There elapsed no very long time before I was myself 
Ihe hippy proprietor of a copy of the work, and, 
though never regularly instructed in music, could 
play over Ihe airC with tolerable facility on the piano- 
forte. Robert Emmet used soiiu times to sit by me, 
when I was thus engaged ; and 1 remember one day 
his starling up as from a reverie, when I had just 
finished playing that spirited tune called the Red 
Fox,» and exclaiming, " (.)h, that I weie at the head 
of t» en'y thousand men, marching to that air ! " 

i ** Let Er 

nemher the days of old.' 



How little did I then think that in one of the most 
touchinsrtit the sueet airs I used tn jiiay to him, his 
OWD dying words would find an interpreter so wonhy 
of their sad, bnl proud feelinK; * or that another of 
those mournful strains '^ wnuld lon^ Lie associated, in 
the hearts of his counlryni'-n, \\\\.\\ ihe memory of 
her a wlio shared « ith Ireland his last blessing and 

Though fully alive, of cnur»e, to the feel'ingrs which 
such nm&ic cnuld not but inspire, 1 hid not yet under- 
taken the task of ad.ipliiii; words to any of Ihe airs; 
and il was, 1 am nshamed lo say, in dull and turgid 
prose, thit I made my first appearance in print as a 
champi in of Ilie popular cause. Towards the latter 
end ol the year 1797, the celebrated newspaper called 
*' The Press" was set up by AnliurU'Connor, Thomns 
AdJis Enjmeti, and other chiefs of the United Irish 
conspiracy, with Ihe view of preparing and ripening 
the public mind f r Ihe great crisis then fast approach- 
ing. This memor.tble, according lo the im- 
pression I at pre^^ent regain of it, was far more distin 
guished for and m're[iidity, than 
for any great display of literary talent; — the bold 
letters written by Emmell (the elder), under the 
signature of "Montanus.'' being the only composi- 
tions I can now call to mind, as entitled to praise for 
their literary merit. II required, however, but a 
small sprinkling of talent to make bold writing, at that 
lime, palatable; and, froni the expeiience of my own 
home, 1 can answer for the avidity with which every 
line of this daring journal was devoured. It used to 
come out, I think, twice a week, and, on the evening 
of publication, I always read it aloud to our small 
circle after supper. 

It may easily be conceived that, what with my 
ardour for the national cause, and a growing con-cjnus- 
ness of some little turn for authorship, I was na urally 
eager to become a contribulor lo ihose patriotic and 
popular columns. But the C(>n5tant anxie'y about me 
which I knew my own family fell,— a feeling more 
wakeful far than even their zeal in the public cause, 
— « ithheld me from hazarding any step that miglit 
cause them alarm. I had ventured, indeed, one 
evening, to pop privately into the lelter-bnx of The 
Press, a short Fras^ment lu imitation of Os-ian. But 
this, though inserted, p.S'^ed oft" quietly ; and nobody 
was, in any sense of the phia^^e, the wi^er for if. I 
was soon lempted, however, to try a more daring 
flight. Without cnnimunicatiitg my secret to anyone 
but Edwaid Hudson, I addressed a Ion? Letiei, in 

prose, to the of , in which a pro. 

fusion of bad tlowers of iheloric was enwreittied 
plentifully wiih that weed which Nhakspeare calls 
"the cockle of rebellion.'- and. in the same manner 
as before, committed il tremblingly to the ch.inces of 
Ihe letter-box. I hardly expected my piose would be 
honoured with insertion, when, lo, on the next even- 
ing of publicaiion, when, seated as usual in my li lie 
corner by Ihe fire, I unfolded the i^per for the pur- 
pose of reading it to my select auditoiy, there was niy 
own Letler st;iring me full in the face, being honoured 
with so conspicu"u9 a place as lo be one of the fiisl 
articles my audience would expect to hear. Assum- 
ini^ an outwird appearance of ease, while every nerve 
Within me was trembling, I conrived to accomplish 
the reading of the Lelter without raising in either of 
my auditoVs a suspicion that it was my own. I 
enjoyed the pleasure, loo, of hearing it a good deal 
li'-aised by ihem ; and might have been temp'ed by 
this to acknowledge myself the author, had 1 not 
fonn.I that ihe language and sentiments of Ihe article 
were considered by both to be " very bold,"* 

< *' Oh, breathe not liis name." 

1 " She is far from the laud where her young hero 

3 Miss Curran. 

* So thought also higher authori'ies ; for amnng the 
ertrirU front Tb** PrpsR brought forward by theSeciet 

I was not destined, however, to remain long unde> 
tecied. On the following day, Edward Hudson,* — 
Ihe only one, as I have said, entrusted with my secret, 
called to pay us a morning vi^it, and had not been 
long rn the mom, conversing with my nio'her, when 
lonkioL' significantly at me, he sa:d, •' Well, you saw 

" Heie he stopped ; but ihe mother's eye bad 

foilnwed his, with the rajiidiry of lightning, to mine, 
and at once she perceived the whole truth. "That 
Letter was yours, then?'" she a>ked of me eagerly; 
and. without hesita'ion, of course, 1 acknowledged Ihe 
fact ; when in the most earnest manner she enlreated 
of me never agiin to have any connexion with that 
paper; and, as every wish of hers was to me law, I 
readily pledged the solemn promise she required. 

Though well av^are how easily a sneer may be 
raised at the simple details of this domes'ic scene, 1 
have yet ventured to put it on record, as atiording ao 
ins'ance of the gentle aid womanly watchfu'ness,— 
the providence, as il may be called, of the linle world 
of home,— by which, although placed almost in the 
very curren' of so headlong a movement, and living 
familiarly with some of the" most djhng of ihose who 
propelled it, I yet was guarded from any participation 
in their secret oaths, counsels, or plans, .nid thus 
escaped all share in that wild s'ruggle to which so 
many far better men than myself fell victims. 

In the mean while, Ihisgieat conspiracy was hasten- 
ing on, with fearful precipitancy, to its outbreak ; and 
vague and shapeless as are now knovvn to have been 
the views, even of those who were engaged praci- 
cally in the plot, it is not any wonder that to the 
young and uniliaied like myself it should have opened 
prosptcts partaking far more of the wild dreams of 
poesy than of the plain and honest prose of real life. 
Bur a crisis was then fast approaching, when such 
se'f-delusions C'^uld no longer be indulged; and when 
Ihe mys'ery which had hitherto hung over the plans 
of the cons|iira'ors was to be rent asunder by the 
stern hand of power. 

Of the horrors tliat fore-ran and followed the flight- 
fu! explosion of the year I79S, I have neither incli- 
nation, nor, luckily, occasion to speak. But among 
th'se introductory scenes, \vhich had somewhat pre- 
pared the [iublTt mind for such a catastrophe, there 
was one, of a painful description, which, as Iiaving 
been myself an aclor in it, I may be allowed briefly 
to notice. 

It WAS not many weeks, I think, before this crisis, 
that, owing to information gained by the college 
authorities of the rapid spread, amottg the studenls, 
not on'y of the principles, but ihe organisation of the 
Iri^h Union. 6 a solemn Visilation was held by Lord 
Clare, the vice-chancellor of the University, with the 
view of inquiring into the extent of this branch of the 
plot, and dealing summarily with those engaged in it. 

Imperious and harsh as then seemed the policy of 
thus setting up <t sort of inquisitorial tribunal, armed 

Comniittees of the House of Commons, to show how 
formidable had been the designs of the United Iiish- 
men, there are two ur three paragraphs cited from 
this redoubtiible Letter. 

b Of the depth and extent to which Hudson had 
involved hiniself in ihe conspiracy, none of our faniily 
had harljourtd the least notion ; till, on the seizure of 
the thirteen Leins'er delegates, a' Oliver Bond 9, in the 
month of March, 179S, we found, to our asionishment 
and >orrow, that he was one of ihe number. 

To those unread in Ihe painful histor> of this period, 
it is right lo mention that almost all Ihe leaders of the 
United Irish conspiracy were Pro'eslan s. Among 
those companions of my own al'uded to in these pages, 
1 scnicely remember a single Catholic. 

6 In the Report from the Secret Committee of the 
Irish Hou«e of Lords, this extension of the plot to the 
College is noticed zl^ " a desperate pn^ject of the same 
faction to corrupt the youth of the country tjy intro- 
ducing tlieir organised system of treason into the Uni- 



with the power of examining witnessea on oalh, and 
ill a place devoted to the inslructinn oi' yimth, 1 can- 
not but confess that the facts which came out in the 
course of the evidtnce, ^^ellt far tuvvaids justifying 
even this arbiliary pruceedin^; and to iJie ntany v\h ', 
like myself, were acquainted only with the general 
views of the Union leadeis, wilhoul even knowing, 
except from conjtctuie, who those leaders uere, ur 
what their pl.ins (ir objei;ts, it was most slanling lo 
hear the disclosures winch every succeeding wiliiess 
brought forth. There were a few, — and among that 
number, poor Rubtrt Eniniet, John Brown, and the 
two* ** * * *s,» whose total absence from the 
whole ^cene, as well as ttie dead silence that, day after 
day, followed the calling out of their mines, pro- 
claimed how deep had been Iheir share in the unlaw- 
ful proceedings inquired into by this tribunal. 

Iliit there was one young friend of mine, ****##, 
wliose appearance among the suspected and examin- 
ed as much surprised as it deejJy and painfully in- 
terested me. He and Emmet had long tjeen intimate 
and attached friends; — their congenial fondness for 
niathenuticat studies having been, 1 think, a t^r mure 
binding symp.ilhy belween lliem than any ari-^ing out 
of their political opinions. From his bemg called 
up, however, en thi^ diy, when, as it appeared alter- 
ward:>, all the most imporlaut evidence was brought 
forward, there could be little doubt that, in addiiion lo 
his intimacy with Emmet, the college authorities 
must have possessi^d >ume niiorination which led them 
lo suspect him of being an accomplice in the con- 
spiracy. In the coU'Se of his examination, some 
qiiestinns were put to him which he refused to 
answer, — most probably from their tendency to in- 
volve or inculpate others; and he was accordingly 
dismis>ed, with the melmchtly certainly that his 
future prospects in life were bias ed ; it being already 
known ihal the punishment for such contutnacy was 
nut merely expulsion from the University, but exclu- 
sion from all the learned [trofessions. 

The proceedings, indeed, of ihis whole day had 
been such as to send me ti> my home in the evening 
wi'h no very agreeable feelings or p Ohptcls, 1 hid 
heard evidence given afiecling even the live* of snme 
of those friends whom 1 had long regarded with ad- 
uiiraiioii as well as atlcclion ; and what wr.s stilt 
worse than even their danger. — a dinger ennobled, I 
thought, by the cause in u hich they sutieied,— was 
the -shameful spectacle exhibited by Uiose who had 
appeared in evidence asaiusi ihem. Of these wit- 
nesses, the greater unntljer had been themselves in- 
volved in the plot, and now canie forward ei her as 
voluntary informers, or else were driven by 'he fear 
of the cimsequences of refusal to secure their own 
safely at the expense of companions and friends. 

I well remember the gloym, so unusual, that hung 
over our faniily circle on that evening, as, talking 
together of the events of ihe day, we discussed the 
likeliho'd of my being among those who uould be 
called up for txamination on the morrow. The 
deliberate conclusion to vvhich niy dear Iioncsl ad- 
viseis came, was that, overwhelming as the conse- 
quences weie to all their plans and hnpes for me, yet, 
if the ques'inns leading tu criminate others, which 
had been put to alnnst all examined on that day, and 
which poor * * * » alone h.*d refused to answer, 1 
must, in (he same nianiier, and at all risks, return a 
simdar refusd. I am not quite certain whether I re- 
ceived any ititima inn, on the following morning, that 
I was to be one nf those examined in the cour^e of the 

day; but I rather think some such notice had been 
conveyed (o me ; — and, at last, my awful turn came, 
and 1 stood in presence of the formidable tribunal. , 
'Ihere sate, with severe look, the vice-ch.tncellor, and, 
by his side, the memorable Doctor Duigenan,— 
memorable for his eternal pamphlets against the 

'J he oath was proffered to me. "I have an objec- 
tion, my Lord," Slid i, '* lo laking this oath." "What 
is your objt,-cli"n ? " he asked sternly. "I have no 
fears, my Und, that any thing I might say would 
criminate myself; but it might lend lo involve others, 
and I despise the character of the person who could 
be led, under any such circumstances, lo infotm against 
his ass(ici.ites." I'his was aimed at some of Ihe reve- 
lations of Ihe pieceding day ; and, as 1 learned after- 
wards, was ^o understodd. '*How old are you, Sir ?'* 
he then askrd. "Between seventeen and eighteen, 
my Lord." He then turned to his assessor, Uuigenan, 
and exchanged a few words with him, in an under 
lone of voice. " We cannot," he resumed, again ad- 
dressing me, "sutler any one (o remain in our Uni- 
versity, who refuses to labft this oath." "1 shall, 
then, iny Lord," i replied, "lake the oath,— still re- 
seiving to mjself the power of refusing to answer 
ariy such questions as I have just described." " We 
do not sit here to argue wnh you, Sir," he rejoined 
shaiply ; upon which I took the oath, and seated my- 
self m Ihe witius^es' chair. 

The following are the (Questions and answers that 
then ensued. After adverting to Ihe proved existence 
of United Irish Societies in the University, he asked, 
«' Have you ever belonged lo any of these societies ?" 
*' No, my Lord." *• Have you ever known of any of 
the proceedings that h.ok. plane in (hem ?'' " No, my 
Lotd." '*Uid you ever hear of a proposal at any of 
their meetings, for Uie puichase of arms and ammu- 
nition ?■' " Never, my Lord." " Did you ever hear 
of a proposition made, in one of these societies, with 
respect 10 the expediency of aesassinalion ?" " Oh no, 
niV Lord." He then luined again to Duigei an, and, 
after a tew words with him. snid to nie: — " When 
such are the answers you aie able to give,^ pray what 
was the cause of vour great lepugnance to taking the 
oath ?" **1 have already tcdd your Lordship my chief 
rea>ou ; in addition lo which, it was the tiist oath I 
ever took, and the hesitation was, 1 think, natural. "3 

I was now dismissed without any f^ilher question- 

» One of these btothers has long been a general in 
the French army; havins taken a |iait in all those 
great enterprises of Napoleon winch have now be- 
come matter of history. Should these pages meet the 
eye of General ■ • • • "^ they will c«ll lo his mind 
the days we pas'-ed lo^eher in Ntirmandy, a few ^um- 
niers since; — more esptcially our excursion to Ba\- 
eux, when, as we talkeii ou Ihe way of old college 
times and friends, all Die eventful and s'otmy scenes 
he had passed tlnough since aeeined forgotten. 

1 There had been two q'jestions put *o all those 
examined on Ili-i first day,—*' Were you ever asked to 
joinanvof these societies ?"— and "By whom were 
you a-k"ed?"— which I sh*uld have refused lo answer, 
and must, of course, have abided Ihe consequences. 

3 For the correctness of the above report of this 
short examination, i can pretty confidently answer. It 
may amuse, therefore, my readers, — as showing the 
manner in which biographers make the most of ^niall 
iacts.—to see an extract or two from another account 
of Ihis affair, published not many years since by an 
old and zealous friend of our fan.ily. After stating 
with tolerable correctness one nr two of my answers, 
the writer thus prt^ceeds : — '* Ui)nn Ihis, Lord Clare 
repeated the question, and >oung M'>oie made such an 
appeal, as caused his Lordship lo relax, austere and 
rigid as he was. The words I cannot exactly remem- 
ber; the eubs'ance was as follows: — that lie entered 
college to receive 'he education of a scholar and a 
gentleman; that he knew not how to compromise 
these characters by informing against his college com- 
panions; that his own speeches in the debating so- 
ciety had been ill construed, when the wor>l that 
could be said of them was, if truth had been spoke'i. 

thai they were panotic that he was awaie of 

the higli-niindtd nobleman he had the honour of ap- 
pealing to, and if his lordship could for a moment 
cndescend lo step from his high station and place 
himself in his situation, (hen ^ay how he would act 
under such circunistances,— it would be his guidance." 
— IJerbtTt's Irish yaneties, London, 1636. 



ing; and, however tn-io^ had been this short opera- 
tion, was amply repaid for it by the kind zeal with 
which my young triends and coinpamons Hocked to 
congratulate me j — imt so much, 1 was inclined to 
hope, on my acquittil by Ihe ccuii, as on the ntanner 
in which I had arqui ted rnyxcff. Of my reception, 
on returning home, afier the feats en'ertaioed of so 
very ditfererjt a result, 1 will not attempt any descrip- 
tion ; — il was all that siuJi a home aloue could fur- 

I have been induced thus to continue down to the 
very verge of the waruing outbreak of 1798, the slight 
sketch nf my early diys which I ventured to com- 
mence in the First Vnjumenf ihis C' 'I lection : nor could 
I have furnished the Irish Melodies wiih ;'ny more 
pregnant illustia'ion, as it was in those times, and 
among Ihe ever.ts then stirring, (hat the feeling which 
afterwards found a voice in my country's mu^ic, was 

1 and I 


i shall now string loge'her such detached notices 
and memoranda respecting this woik, as I think may 
be likely to interest my readeis. 

Of the few songs written vvith a concealed political 
feeling.— such as *• When he who adnres thee," and 
one or two more,— the mnsi successful, in its dav, was 
"When firs' I me' ihee warm and young," which 
alluded, in its hidden sense, lo the Fr.nce Regent's 
desertion nf his pntiiical friends. It was little less, I 
own, than prnfanai 'n to disturb the sentiment '•{ so 
beautiful an air by any connexion with 'uch a subject. 
Ihe great succe s nf this soiig. eoon after 1 wrote itt 
among a large pirtv slaving at Chalswoith, is thus 
alluded in of Lord Byron's iefers to me: — ■' I 
have heard fiom Lnndon that you have left Chats- 
worth and all 'here full of * entusymu^y' 

and. in particular, that * When I met thee* has 
been quite overwhelming in is eti'ect. I told you it 
was one of the best things you ever vvrote, though 
that dog * # » * wanted yuu lo omit pait nf it." 

It has been sometimes su|)pi.sed ttiat •• Oh, tireathe 
not his name," was meant to allude to Lord Edwal"d 
Fitzgeiald : but this is a mistake; the song having 
been suggested by the well known passage lu R >bert 
Emniet'o dying speech, "Let no man write my epi- 
taph let my tomb remain uninscribed, ii>I 

other times and other men shall learu to do justice to 
my memory." 

The fei'ble attempt to commemorate the glory of 
our great Duke—*' When Hisory'a Muse," &c. — is 
in so far remaikable, that it made up amply f*ir its 
w.tni of poetical spirit, by an out pnuring,r> rely granted 
to bard) in these days, of the si'irit ot Prophecy. It 
was in the year 1S15 that th« following lines fiist Diade 
their appearance : — 

And Bljll Itie last rrnwn nrthy toils Is remaining, 

Tlie granUesl, the purest, ev'n tkou hast yet knnwn ; 

Though [troiid waa tliy l:isk, other natioiui unchaitiing. 
Far proud<-r to heal the deep wuunda of thy own. 

At tht; foot of that throne, for whuse weal thnu hast stood. 
Go, plead for the laud that firHt cradled thy fame, Sec* 

About four'een years after these lines were written, 
the Duke of Wellington reconmiended to the throne 
the grt-at measure of Catholic Emuicipalion. 

The fancy nf the " Origin of the Irish Harp," was 
(as I have elsewhere acknowledged) * suggested, by a 

I '* When, in consequence nf Ihe compact en'ered 
into between goveinment and the chief leaders of the 
conspirac\', the State Prisoners, before proceeding into 
exile, were allowed to see their friends, I paid a vi'-il 
to Edward Hudson, in the jail of Kilniainham, where 
he had then lain immured for fnur or five nmn b-, 
hearing of friend afier friend being led nut to death. 

and < 

rpec 1 

found 'hat to ; 

ek hi 

I toe 

ith ch< 

lilude he had made a large 
1 on the wall of his prison 

ling that fancied origin of the Irish Harp. 
some years after, 1 adopted as the Nubjecl of 
Melodies.'"— /,(/« and Death of Lord 
rd Fitzgerald, vol. i. 

of til 

drawing made under peculiarly painful circumstances, 
by the friend so otten mentioned in this sketch, Ed- 
ward Hudson. 

In connexion with another of these matchless airs, 
—one that defies all potliy lo do it justice,— I find the 
following singular and touching statement in an article 
of Ihe Quarterly Review. Speaking of a young and 
promising poetess, Lucretia Davidson, who died very 
eaily from nervous excitement, the Reviewer says, 
*' Stie was particularly .sensitive to music. There was 
one song (it was Moore's Farewell lo his Harp) to 
which she look a special fancy. She wished to hear 
it only ai twilight,— thus (wi fa that lame perilous love 
of excitement which made her place ttte .d^oliaii harp 
m the window when she was ci>mp05ing,j seeking to 
increase Ihe ell'ect which Ihe song produced upon a 
nervous system, already diseasedly susceptible; for it 
is said that, whenever she heard this song, she became 
cold, pale, and almost fainting ; yet it was her favour- 
i'e of all songs, and gave ncciston to those verses ad- 
dressed in her litteemh year lo her sister."^ 

With the Melody enlilied •* Love, Valour, and 
Wit," an incident is connected, which awakened feel- 
ings in me of proud, but sad pleasure, to think that 
my songs had reached the hearts of some of the 
descendants of those great Irish families, who found 
themselves forced, in the dark days of persecution, to 
seek in other lands a refuge from theshime and ruin 
of their own ; — those, whtse stoiy I have thus asso- 
ciated with one of their country's most characteristic 

Ye Dlakes and O'Donnella. v^hose fathers rceiBii'd 
The green hills of their youth, amony 8iraiigL-rs to find 
That repuse which at home they had sigh'd for iu valu. 

From a foreign lady, of this ancient extraction, — 
whnse names, could 1 venture to mention them, «oiild 
lend to the incident an additional Irish charm. — ] re- 
ceived, about two years since, through the hands of a 
gentleman to whom it had been entrusted, a large 
portfolio, adorned inside with a btauiiful drawing, 
representing Love, Wit, and Valour, as described in 
the song. In the border that surrounds the drawing 
are introduced the favourite emblenis of Erin, the 
harp, the shamrock, the mitred head of St. Patrick, 
together with scrolls containing each, inscribed in lel- 
teis of gold, ttie name of some favourite melody of 
the fair artist. 

This present was accompanied by the following let- 
ter from the lady her-elf ; and her Irish race, 1 fear, 
is bm toodiscermble in the generous indiscretion with 
which, in this ins ance, she allows praise so much to 
outstrip desert : — 

" Lc 25 ^outj 1836. 

** Monsieur, 
•• Si les poetes n'etoient ei» quelque sorte une pro- 
priete intelleciuelledoni chacunprend sa part a raison 
de la puis-arice qu*ils exercent, je ne saurois en verite 
comnient fa ire pour just ifier nion courage I — car il en 
falloit beaucnup pour avoir ose consacter mon pauvre 
t:iient d'amaleur a vos delicieuses pne^ies, et plus 
encore pour en renvoyer le pale reflet a son veritable 

•* J'espere toufefois que ma sympathie pour I'lrlande 
vous feia juger ma foible prndnciion avec cette heu- 
reu-e partialife qui imp'se silence a la critique: car, 
si je n'appariiens pas a I'lle Veite par ma nai-sance, 
ni mes relations, je puis dire que je m'v imeresse avec 
un cccur Irlandais, et que jai conserve plus que le 
nomde mes peres Cela seul me fait esperer quemes 
pefi's vf>yageurs ne subiront pas le triste noviciat des 
e'rangera. Puissent-ils remplir leur mission sur le 
sol natal, en agis.ant conjoiniement et toujnurs pour la 
cause Irlandaise, et arnener enfin une ere nouvelle 
pour cetie heroique et malheureuse nation: — le 
nioyen de vaincre de tels advers^ires s"ils ne foul 
qu'un ? 

"Vous dirai-je, Monsieur, les doux moments que je 
dois a vos ouvrages ? ce i-eroit repeter une fois de plus 

^ Quarterly Review, vol. xH. p. 294. 



[idfpit de I'espace 

ce que vous entendez tous les jours et de tous les cojds 
de la lerre. Aussi j'ai garde de vous ravir un terns 
trop precieux par Techo de ces vieilles verites. 

" Si jamais nion etoile me conduit en Irlande, je ne 
m'y croirai pas etraneere. Je sais que le passe y 
laisse de longs souvenirs, et que la conforu 
desirs et des e perancesrapprocnecni 
et du teins. 

•*Jusque la, reccvez, je vou8 prie, I'aasurance de ma 
l^arfaite consideration, avec laquelle j'ai I'hooueur 

" Monsieur, 

" Votre tres-humble servantc, 

*'LA COMTESSE ••••♦.» 

Of the translations that have appeared of the Melo- 
dies in diliereiit languages, I sliatl here mentioa such 
as h:ive come to my knowledge. 

Z.a(m.— " Cantus Hibernici,'* Nicholas Lee Torre, 
London, 1835. 

Italian.— O. Flechia, Torino, 1S36.— Adele Custi, 
Milan.., 1836. 

French —Madame Belloc, Paris, 1823.— Loeve Vei- 
mars, Paris, 1829. 

^twsia/i.— Several detached Melodies, by the popu- 
lar Russian pnet Kozlof. 

Polish. — Seleciions, in the same manner, by Niem- 
cewich, Kosmian, and others. 

I have now exhausted not so much my own recol- 
lections, as the patience, I fear, of my readers ou this 
subject. We are told of painteis calling those last 
touches of the pencil which Ihey give to sume favour- 
i'e picture the "ultima basia ;" and with tlie same 
sort of atFectionate feeling do I now take leave of the 
liish Melodies, — the only work of my pen, as I very 
sincerely believe, whose fame (thanks to the swte'l 
music in which it is enibalmed) may bnast a chance 
of prolonging its existence to a day much beyond our 




My gentle Harp, once more I waken 

The sweetness of thy slumbering strain j 
In teais our last farewell was taken, 

And now in fears we meet again. 
No li?ht of joy bath o'er thee broken. 

But, like thnse Harps whose heav'nly ekill 
Of slavery, dark as ibine, bath spoken, 

Thou bang'st upon the willows still. 

And yet, since last thy chord resounded, 

An hour of peace and triumph came, 
And many an ardent bosom bounded 

With hopes— that now are turn'd to shnmfi. 
Yet even then, while Peace was singing 

Her halcyon song o'er land and sea, 
Tbo' jny and hope to others bringing, 

She only brought new tears to thee. 

Then, who can ask for notes of pleasure. 

My drooping Harp, from chords like thine? 
Alas', the lark'- gay morning me sure 

As ill would suit the swan's decline ! 
Or how shsll I. who love, who bless ihee. 

Invoke i!:y breath for Freedom's strains. 
When ev'n the wreaths in which I dress Ibee, 

Are sadly mix'd - half fiow'rs, half chains? 

But come — if vet thy frame can borrow 
One breith of jov, oh. breithe for me, 

And sh"w the v^orld, in chains and sorrow. 
How sweet thy niusic still can be; 

How gaily, ev'n mid gloom surrounding, 
Thou yet canst wake at pleasure's thrill — 

Like Memnon's broken image sounding, 
'Mid desolation tuneful still I & 


In the morning of fife, when its cares are unknown 

And its pleasures in all their new lustre begin, 
When we live in a bright-beaming world of our own 

And the light that surrounds us is all from within ; 
Oh 't is not, believe me, in that hapjiy time 

We can love, as in hours of less transport we may ;— 
Of our huiiles, of our hopes, 't is the gay sunny prime, 

But att'ection is truest when these fade away. 

When we see the first glory of youth pass us by, 

Like a leaf on the slreani that will never return ; 
When our cup, which had sparkled with pleasure so 

First tastes of the other, the dark -flowing urn ; 
Then, then is the time when atltction holds sway 

With a depth and a tenderness joy knew j 
Love, nursed aniong pleasures, is faithless as they. 

But the love born of Sorrow, like Sorrow, is true. 

In climes full of sunshine, though splendid the flowers, 

Their sighs have no freshness, their odour no worth ; 
'Tis the cloud and the mist of our own Isle of showers, 

That call the rich spirit of fragrancy forth. 
So it is not mid splendour, prosperity, 'mirth, 

That the depth of Love's generous spirit appears ; 
To the sunshine of smiles it may first owe ils birth. 

But the soul of its sweetness is drawn out by tears. 


As stow our ship her fnamy tmck 

Against the wind was cleaving. 
Her trembling pennant still look'd back 

To that dear isle 'I wa« leaving. 
So loath we part from all we love, 

From all the links that bind us; 
So turn our hearts as on »e rove, 

To those we 've left behind us. 

When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years 

We talk, wi'h jnyous seeming — 
With smiles that might as well be tears, 

So faint, so sad their beaming; 
While mem'ry brings us back again 

Each early tie that twined us. 
Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then 

To those we 've left behind us. 

And when, m other climes, we meet 

Some isle, or vale enchanting. 
Where all looks flowVj^ wild and sweet, 

And nought but Inve is waniing; 
We think how great had been our bliss. 

If Heav'n had but a'sign'd us 
To live and die in scenes like this. 

With some we 've left behind us! 

As IravMIers off look back at eve. 

When east waid darkly facing, 
To grize upon that light they leaie 

Still faint behind them glowing. 
So, when the clo-e of plensuie's day 

'I'o gloom halb near cnnsign'd us, 
We 'urn to catch one fading ray 

Of joy that's left behind us. 




When cold in the earth lies the friend Ihou hast loved, 

Be his faults and his follies foie;ot by thee then ; 
Or. if Irom their slumber the veil be reniov'd. 

Weep o'er them in silence, and close it ;igain. 
And oh ! if 't is pain to remember how far 

From the pathways of light he was tempted to roam, 
Be it bliss to remember that thou wcrt the star 

That arose on his darkness, and guided him home. 

From thee and thy innocent beauty first came 

The revealin^s, that taught him true love to adore, 
To feel the brisjht presence, and turn him with shame 

From the idols he blindly had knelt to before. 
O'er the waves of a life, long benighted and wild. 

Thou earnest, like a soft golden calm o'er the sea; 
And if happiness purely and glowingly smiled 

Uu his ev'aing horizon, the light was from thee. 

And tho\ sometimes, the shades of past folly might 

And tho' falsehood again would allure him to stray, 
He but turn'd to the glory that dwelt m those eyes, 

And the folly, the falsehood, anon vanish 'd away. 
As the Priests of the Sun, when their altar grew dim. 

At the day-beam aioiie could its lustre repair, 
So, if virtue a moment grew languid in him, 

He but flew to that smile and rekindled it there. 


Remember thee? yes, while there's life in this heart, 
it shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art ; 
More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom, and thy showers, 
Than the rest of the world in Ibeir sunniest hours, 

Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious, and 

First flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea, 
1 might hail thee with prouder, with happier brow. 
But oh ! could 1 love thee more deeply than now ? 

No, thy chains as thev rankle, fhy blond as it runs, 
But make thee more painfully dear to thy sons — 
Whose hearts, like the young of the deserf-bird's nest, 
Drink love in each life-drop that flows from thy breast. 


Wre.ath the bowl 
With flowers of snul, 

The brightest Wit can find us : 
We'lMake a flight 
TowVds heaven to nighf. 

And leave dull earth behind ui. 
Should Love amid 
The wreaths be hid, 

That joy, th' enchanter, brings us, 
No danger fear, 
While wine is near. 

We'll diown him if he stings us. 
Then, wreath the bowl 
With flowers of soul, 

Tlie brightest Wit can find us; 
We'll take a flight 
Tow'nls heaven tn-night, 

And leave dull earth behind us. 

'T was nectar fed 

Of old, 't is said, 
Tbei- Jnnos, Joves ApoUos 

And man may brew 

His nectar ion. 
The rich receipt 's as follows ; 

Take vv 

ne like If 


Lei loni 

s of bliss 

Around il w 

ell be blended. 

'I'lien b 

iiig Wit's 


To wai 

ji the sti 


And there 's 

your nee 

ar, splendUt 

So wren 

til the bo 


Willi n 

nvers of 


The brighie 

t Witca 

find us; 

We'll lake a Hiffht 
Tow'ris beaveuto-nijht, 
And leave dull earth hehiud us, 

Ssy, whv did Time 

His glass sublime 
fill up with sands unsightly, 

VVhen wine, he knew, 

Runs brisker through. 
And sparkles far more biightly ? 

Oh, lend il us. 

And, smiling thus, 
The glass in two we 'II sever, 

Make pleasure glide 

In double tide, 
And fill both ends forever! 

Then wreath the bowl 

Wilh flowfrs of soul 
The brightest Wit can find us; 

We '11 take a flight 

Tow'rds heaven lo-night, 
And leave dull earth behind us. 


"Whene'er I see those smiling eyes, 

So full of hope, and jny, and light, 
As if no cloud could ever rise, 

To dim a heav'n so purely bright — 
I sigh to think how soon that biwv 

111 grief may lose its every ray. 
And ihat light heart, so j-yous now, 

Almost forgel it once was gay. 

For time will come wilh all its blights, 

The ruined hojie, the friend unkind. 
And love, that leaves, where'er it lights, 

A chill'd or burning heart behinil ; — 
While youlh, Ihat now like snow appears, 

Ere sullied by Ihe dark'ning rain. 
When once 'I is touch'd by sorrow's tears 

Can never shine so bright again. 


If thou 'It be mine, the treasures of air. 
Of earth, and sei, shall lie at thy feel; 

Whatever in Fancy's eye looks fair, 
Or in Hope's sweet music sounds most sweef. 
Shall be ours — if thou wilt be mine, love 1 

Bright flowers shall blnoni wherever we rove, 
A voice divine shall talk in each stream ; 

The stars shall look like worlds of love, 
And this earth be all one beautiful dream 
la our eyes — if thou wilt be mine, love! 

And thoughts, whose source is hidden and high. 
Like streams, that come from hciven-ward hi b, 

Shall keep our hearts, like meads, Ihat lie 
To be bathed by Iho-e eternal rills, 
Evergreen, if thou wilt be mine love! 

All this and more Ihe Spirit of I.nve 
Can breathe o'er Iheni. who feel his spells; 

That heaven, which forms his lion e above. 
He can make on earth, wherever he dwells, 
As thou '11 own,— if thou wilt be mine, love! 




To Ijiidies* eyes around, b^y. 

We can'l refuse, we can't refuse, 
Tho' briehl eyes so .ibound, boy, 

'T is hard lo choose, 't is hard 10 choose. 
For thick 2s stars that lighten 

Yon airy bow'rs, ynn airy bnw'rs, 
The countless eyes that bngh'en 

This eirth of ours, this earth of oura. 
But fill ilie cup — where'er, boy, 

Our chriice may fall, our choice may fall, 
We're suie lo find Love 'here, boy. 

So drink them all ! so drink them all ! 

Some looks there are so hnly, 

Thev seem but givn. they seem but glv'D, 
As shining beacons, solely. 

To light to beav'n, to light lo heav n. 
While some — oh! ne'er believe them — 

With tempting ray, wiih tempting ray, 
Would lead us (God forgive them !) 

The oilier way, the other way. 
Bui fill the cup— where'er, b>y, 

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, 
We 're sure to lind Love there, boy, 

So drink them ail 1 so drink Ihem all I 

In some, as in a mirror. 

Love seems pourtray'd. Love seems pourlray a, 
But shun the fi itlenng error, 

'T is but his shade, 't is but his shade. 
Himself has fixd his dwelling 

In eyes we know, m eyes we know, 
And lips— bul this is telling — 

So here they go ! so here ihey go ! 
Fill up, fill up— where'er, boy. 

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, 
We're sure to find Love there, boy. 

So drink them all ! so drink them all ! 


Forget nol the field where Ihey perish'd, 

The truest, the last of ihe brave, 
All gone— and liie bri2ht hope we cherish'd 

Gone with them, and quench'd in their grave ! 
Oh ! could we from death but recover 

Th'fe hearts as they bounded before. 
In the face of hi?h heav'ii to fi'ht over 

That combat for frecd.'m once more; 

Could Ihe chain for an instant be riven 
Which Tyranny flung round us Ihen, 

No, 't is not in Man, nor in Heaven, 
To let Tyranny bind it again ! 

But 't is past — and, iho' btazon'd in story 

The name of tur Victor mav be. 
Accurst is the march of that glory 

Which treads o'er Ihe hearts of the free. 

Far dearer the grave or the prison, 

Illumed by one patriot name. 
Than the trophies of all, who have risen 

On Liberty's ruins to fame. 


They may rail at Ihis life — from the hour I began it, 

1 f.un.l it a life full of kindness and bli>s: 
And, until ihty can show nic some hapiiier planet, 

More social and hrighl, I 'II conteni nie w ilh Ihis. 
As long as the world has such lips and such eyes, 

As before me ttiis moment enraplmed 1 see, 
They may say what thev will of their orbs in the skies. 

But this earth is Ihe planet for you, love, and me. 

In Mercury's star, where each moment can bring them 

New sunshine and wit from the fountain on high, 
Tho' the nvniphi may have li velier poets lo sing theni,« 

They 've none, even there, nioie enamour d than 1. 
And, as long as this harp can be waken'd lo love. 

And that eve ils divine iuspiralion shall be. 
They mav talk as thev will of their Edeiis above. 

But Ihis earth is the planet for you, love, and me. 
In that star of the west, by whose shadowy splendour, 

Ai twilight so often we 've roam'd thrnugh the dew 
There are maidens, perhaps, who have bosoms as 

And look, in their twilights, as lovely as you.a 
But tho' they were even more briglil Ihan Ihe queen 

Of that isle they inhabit in heaven's lilue sea, 
As 1 never those fair young celesiials have seen, 

Why— this earth is the plaoel for you, love, and me. 

As for those chilly orbs on the verge of creation, 
Where sunshine and smiles must be ecpially rare. 

Did Ihey want a supply of cold hearts for that station, 
H&iv'n knows we have plenty on earth we could 

1 ! thiiik what a world we should have of it here. 
If the haters of peace, of atieclion and giee, 
'ere to fly up to Saturn's comfortless s| here. 
And leave earth to such spirits as you, love, and me, 


Oh for the swords of former lime ! 

Oh for the men who boie them, 
When arm'd fiir Right, they stood sublime, 

And tvranls crouch'd bef re them: 
When free yet, ere courts began 

With honours lo enslave him, 
The hi St honours worn by Man 

Were tliose which Virtue gave him. 
Oh for the swords, &c. &c. 

Oh for the Kings who flourish'd then ! 

Oh for the pomp Ihal crown'd them. 
When hearts and hands of fieeborn men 

VVeie all the ramparN round them. 
When, safe built on bosoms irue. 

The Ihroiie was but the cer.tre, 
Round which Love a circle drew. 

That Treason durst not enter. 
Oh for the Kines who flourish'd Ihen! 

Oh for Ihe pomp tliat crnwn'd them, 
When hearts and hands of freeborn men 

Were all the ramparts round them ! 


**0h ! hasle and leave 
•* Unholy bark, ere mi 

s sacred isle, 
iig smile ; 

1 Tons leshabitans de Mercure sont vUa.—PluraUU 
du Maiid&a. 

» La Terre pourra etre pour Venus I'etoile du ber- 
ger ei la mere des amours, comnie Venus Test pour 
nous. — Ibid. 

a In a metrical life of S'. Si-nanns, which is taken 
from an old Kilkeniiv MS., and may be found among 
the .Seta Savclonim HiUrniz, we are told of his 
flight lo Ihe island of Scalleiy, and 
to .admit any woman of the nariy 


isler > 

nt, St, Ca 

had taken to the island for the express purpose ol 
introducing her to him. The following was the un- 
gracious answer of Senanus, according to his poetical 
biographer : 




** For on thy deck, though dark it be, 

** A female form I see ; 
*' And I have sworo this sainted sod 
"Shall ne'er by woman's feet be trud,'* 


•* Oh ! Fnther, send not hence my bark, 
"Through wintry winds aiul billows dark: 
•* ] come v\ith bumble heart io share 
" Thy morn and evening prayer ; 
•' Nor mine the feet, oh ! holy Saint, 
"The brightness of thy sod to taint." 

The Lady's prayer Senanus spurn'd ; 
The winds blevv fresh, Ihe bark returnM ; 
Eul legends hint, that had the maid 

Till morn-iiig's Hght delay'd, 
And given the sahit one rosy smilei 
She ne'er had left his lonely isle. 


Ne'cY ask the hnur — what is it to us 

How Time deals out his treasures? 
The golden momeiUs lent us thus, 

Are not his coin, but Pleasure's. 
If cnunting ihem o'er could add to their blisses, 

I M number each glorious second : 
Bui moments of joy are, like Lesbia's kisses. 

Too quick and sweet lo be reckon'd. 
Then fill the cup— what is ii to ua 

How time his circle measures? 
The fairy hours we cWI up thus, 

Obey no wand but Pleasure's.. 

Youn^ Joy ne'er thought of counting hours. 

Till Care, one summer's morning, 
Set up, among his smiling floweis, 

A dial, by way of warning. 
But Joy loved better to gaze on the sun 

As long as its liijht was glowmg, 
Than to watch with old Care how the shadow stole c 

And how fast that li^ht was going. 
So fill the cup— IV hat is it to us 

How Time his circle measures? 
The fairy hours we c;tll up thus, 

Obey no wand but Pleasure's. 


Sail on, sail on, thou fearless bark — 

Wtierever blows the welcome wind, 
It cmnot lead to scenes more dark. 

More sid than tho?e we leave behind. 
Each wave th^it passes seems to say, 

'* Though deatli beneath our smi!c may be, 
" Less cold we are, less false than they, 

" Whose smiling wreck'd thy hopes and thee." 

Sail on, sail on,— through endless space — 

Through c^lni — through tempest— stop no more: 
The stormiest sea's a res'ing place 

To him who haves such hearts on shore. 
Or — if some desert land we meet, 

Where never yet false-hear'ed men 
Profan'd a world, that else were sweet,— 

Then re.l thee. ba:k, but not till then. 

Cui Prnecvl, quid foeminia 
Commune est cum mmiachtt T 
KfC te nee uU-im aUnm 

See the Mta. Sanct. Hib., page 610. 

According to Dr. Ledwicli, St. Senmus was no less 
9 personage than the river Sliannon ; but O'Connor and 
olherantiquanansdeiiy thenietaniorphose indignantly. 


Yes, fad one of Sion,i if closely resembling. 

In shame and in sorrow, (by wither'd-up heart— 

If drinking deep, deep, of the sAtue "ccp uf treiD- 
Could make us thy children, our parent thou art. 

Like thee do'h our nation He conquered and broken. 
And fall'n from her head is ihe once royal crown; 

In her streets, in her halls, Desolation hath spoken. 
And "while it isdty yet, her sun hath gone down."* 

Like thine doth her exile, *mid dreams of returning, 
Die f tr froni tlje home it were life to behold j 

Like ihine do her sons, in ihe day ot their mourning, 
Remember the bright things thaibl&ss'd them of old. 

Ah. well may we call her, like thee " the For5aken,"» 

Her boldest are vanquisli'd, her proudest are slaves; 

And the harps of her minstrels, when gayest they 


Have tones mid their mirth like Ihe wind over 

gravei ! 

Yet hadst thou thy vengeance — yet came there the 

That shines out, at last, on the longest dark night. 
When Ihe sceptre, that smote thee with slavery and 

Was shiver'd at once, like a reed, in thy sight. 

When that cup, which for others Ihe proud Golden 
Had biimm'd full of bitterness, drench'd her own 
lips ; 
And the world she had trampled on heard, without 
The bowl in her halls, and the cry from her ships. 

When the curse Heaven keeps for the haughty came 

Her merchants rapacious, her rulers unjust. 

And. a ruin, at last, for the eanhworm to 'cover,* 

The Lady of Kingdoms ^ lay hiw m the dust. 


Drink of this cup ; — you 'II find there 's a spell in 

Its every d'Op 'gaii'st the ills of mortality ; 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen ! 

Her cup was a fiction, bu' this is reality. 
Would you forget Ihe dark world we are in, 

Just las'e of the bubble that gleams on the top of it ; 
But would you rise ^bove earth, 'ill akin 

To Immortals themselves, you must drain every 
drop of it; 
Send round the cup — for oh. there's a spell in 

Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality j 
Talk of the cordial thjt spa-kled for Helen ! 

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. 

Never was philter fnrm'd with such power 
To charm and bewilder as ihis we are quaffingj 

Its magic began when, in Autumn's rich hour, 
A harvest of gold in Ihe fields it stood laughing. 

1 These verses were written after Ihe perusal of a 
treatise by Mr. Hamilton, professing to prove that Ihe 
Irish were origimlly Jews, 

1 *' Her sun is gone down while it was yet day.'* — 
Jer XV. 9. 

5 "Thou shalt no more be termed Forsaken," — 
Isaiiih. Ixii. 4. 

6 " Thy pomp is brought down to ths erave . • • • • 
and the worms cover thee." — Isaiah, xiv. 4, 

6 ** Thou Shalt no more be called the Lady of Kiog* 
doms." — Isaiah, xlvii. 5. 



There having, by Nature's enchaatnient, been fiUM 

With th£ balm and the bloom of ber kiudliest 
I weather^ 

This wonderful juice from its cnre was distill'd 

To enliven such ht-arls as are here brought together. 
Then diink of the cup— you'll hnd there's a spell in 

Its every drop '£r,iin t the ills of mortality ; 
Talk of the coidial that sparkled for Helen! 

Her cup was a ficiion, but this is reality. 

And though, perhaps — but breathe it to no one — 

Like liquor the witch brews at nildni«tht so awful, 
This philier in secret was fir^t t.iu^lit to flow on, 

Yet 'I is n't less potent for being unlawful. 
And, ev'n though ii taste of the smoke of that flame, 

Which in silence extiac'ed its virtue forbidden — 
Fill up — there 's a fire in some hearts I could name, 

Which may work too its charm, though as lawless 
and hiJden. 
So drink "f the cup — for oh, there 's a spell in 

lis every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality ; 
Talk of the cnrdial 'hat sparkled for Helen! 

Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. 


Down in the valley come meet me to-night, 
And i 'II tell ynu your (orlune truly 

As ever '1 was told, by the [lew-nmon's light, 
To a young maiden, shining as newly. 

But, fnr the world, lei no one be nigh, 
Lest haply the stars should deceive me; 

Such secrets between ynu and me and the sky 
Should never go f.irtlier, believe uie. 

of hia 

If at that hour the heav'ns be not d 

RIy science shall cill up befo 
A male apparition,— the image 

Wtiose destiny '( is to adore you. 

And if to that phantom you *I1 be kind. 
So fondly around you he Ml hover. 

You '11 hardly, my dear, any difference find 
'Twixt him and a true living lover. 

Down at your feet, in the pale moonlight, 
He 'li kneel, with a warmth of devotion — 

An ardour, of which such an innocent sprite 
Ynu 'd scarcely believe had a notion. 

What o^her thoughts and events may arise, 
As in destiny's book I 've not seen them, 

Must only be left to t*ie stars and your eyes 
To settle, ere uiCi'niiig, between them. 


Oh, ye Dead ! oh, ye Dead ! i whom we know by the 

light you give 
From your cold gleaming eyes, though you move like 
men who live. 

Why leave yon thus your graves, 
In fir.-'ff fields and waves. 
Where the worm and the sea-bird only know yourbed, 
To haunt this spot where all 
Those eyes that wept your fill, 
And the hearts that waiPd you, like your own, lie 

I TauI Zealand mentions that there is a mountain in 
some part of Ircl-ind. w here Hie ghosts of persons who 
have died m foieign lands walk about and converse 
with those they niee', like living people. If asked 
whv they do not return to their homes, they siy ihey 
are obliged to go to Mount Hecla, and disappear im- 

It is true, it is true, we are shadows cold and wan; 
And the fair and the brave whom we lov'd on earth 
are gone ; 

But still thus ev'n in death. 
So sweet the living breath 
Of the fields and the flow'ra in our you 3i wo wanderM 

That ere, condemn'd, we go 
To freeze *mld Hecla's snow, 
We would taste it awhile, and thins we live once 
more ! 


Of all the fair months, that round the sun 
In light-linkM dance their circles run, 

Sweet May, shine ihou fnr me ; 
For still, when thy earliest beams arise, 
That youih, who beneath the blue lake lies, 

Sweet May, returns to me. 

Of all the bright haunts, where daylight leaves 
Its lingering smile on golden eves, 

Fair Lake, thou 'rt dearest to me ; 
For when the last April sun grows dim, 
Thy Naiads prepare his steed ^ fnr him 

Who dwells, bright Lake, in thee. 

Of all the proud steeds, that ever bore 
Young plumed Chiefs on sea or shore. 

While Steed, most joy to thee ! 
Who still, with the first vounc glance of spring. 
From under that glorifius lake dost bring 

My love, my chief, to me. 

While, white as (he sail some hark unfurls, 
When newly launch'd, thv long mane 3 curls, 

Fair Steed, as white and free ; 
And spiiits. from all the lake's deep bowers 
Glide o'er ihe blue wave scattering flowers, 

Around my love and thee. 

Of all the sweet deaths that maidens die, 
Who^e lovers beneath the cold wave lie, 

Most sweet that death will be. 
Which, under the next May evening's light. 
When thou and thy steed are lost to sight, 

Dear love, I '11 die for thee. 


How sweet the answer Echo makes 

To music at night. 
When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, 
And far away, o'er lawns and lakes. 

Goes ansvvering light. 

* The particulars of the tradition respecting O'Do- 
nohne and his White Horse, may be found in f" 
Weld's Account of Killarney, or nmre fully detailed in 
Derrick's Letters. For miny years after bis death, 
the spirit of ihis hern is supposed to have been seen or 
the niornins of May-day. gliding over Ihe lake on hi) 
favourite white hor-e. lo the sound of sweet unearthly 
music, and preceded by groups of youths and maidt 
who flung wreaths of delicate spring flowers in 

Among other stories, connected with this Legend of 
the Likes, if is said ihal there was a ynung and beau 
lifui girl whose imagination was so impressed with 
the idea of ihis visionary chieftain, that she fancied 
herself in love with him, and at last, in a fit of insani- 
ty, on a May-morniug threw hdself into the lake. 

3 The boatmen at Killarney call those waves which 
come nil a windy day, crested with foam, "O'Douo- 
hue's white horset." 



Yet Love hath echnea truer iar, 

Aud far more eweer. 
Than e'er beneath the moonligi.s star, 
Ul' horn or lute, or scit't euilar, 

The 5ongs repeal. 

'Tis when the sis:h, in voulh sincere, 

And niily then,— 
The sitch 's breath'd for one to hear, 
Is by Ihat one, tha» c.iily dear, 

Breathed back again 1 


Oh banquet not in tho-e shining bowers, 

Where Youth resorts, but c 'ine to me: 
For mine 's a guden of fadfd flowers, 

More fii for sorrnw, for age, and thee. 
And theie we shall have our fe-isl of tears, 

And many a cup in silence pour ; 
Our guests, llie shades of former >ear3, 

Our toasts, lo lips that bloom no more. 

There, while the myrtle's withering boughs 

Their lifeless leaves around us shed, 
We'll brim the bow] lo broken vows. 

To friends long lost, the changed, the dead. 
Or, while snme blighted laurel waves 

Its br.mches o'er the dreaiy spot, 
We 'II drink to those neglected graves, 

Where valour sleeps, unnamed, forgot. 


The dawning of morn, the daylight 's sinking, 
The nighi's long hours still find me thinking, 

Of ihee, thee, only thee. 
When Iriendi are met, and goblets crown'd, 
And smiles are near, that once enchanted 
Unreach'd by all Ihat sunshine round. 
My s-iul, like s''>me d irk spot, is haunted 
By thee, thee, only thee. 

Whatever in fanieN high path could waken 
My spirit once, is now forsaken 
For Ihee, thee, rnly thee. 
Like shores, by which some headlong bark 

To th' ocean hurries, resting 
Life's scenes t;o by me, bright or dark, 
1 knnw not, heed not, hastening ever 
To thee, thee, only thee. 

I have not a j^y but of thy bringing, 

And pnin itself seems sweet when springing 

From thee, thee, only thee. 
Like spells, that nought on earth can bre:»k, 

Ti I lips, that know the chnrm, have spoken. 
This heait. hovve'erthe world mav wake 
Its grief, ils scorn, can bu' be broken 
By ttiee, thee, only thee. 


I Shall the Harp then be silent, when he who first gave 
To our counrry a name, is withdrawn frnm all eyes ? 
Shall a MinP'.rel of Enn stand nuite by 'lie grave. 
j Where the fifst- where the la^-t of her Patriots lies? 
No— fnint tho' the dea'h-son^ may fall frm his lips, 
Tho' his Harp, like his soul, may with sliadows be 
Yet, yet shall it sound, 'mid a nation's eclipse. 
And proclaim lo the world what a star hath been 
lost ;i— 

- where he 
of alt tis'.e; 

What a union of all the affec'ions and powers 
By which life is exalted, embellish'd, rehned. 

Was emt-raced in that spirit — u h"se centre was ours, 
While its mighty circumfereuce circled mankind. 

Oh, who that loves Erin, or who that can see, 

Through the wa.ite of her annals, that epoch sub- 
Like a p> ram 
And his glo 

That ojie lucid interval, snatch'd from the gloom 
And ihe madness of ages, « hen fill'd « ith his soul, 

A Nation o'erleap'd the dark bounds of her doom, 
And for 07ie sacred mstant, touch'd Liberty's goal ? 

Who, that ever hath heard him — hath drunk at the 

Of that wonderful elcquence, all Erin's own, 
In whose Iiigh-thoushted daring, the Hre, and Ihe force, 
And the yet untamed spring of her spirit are shown ? 

An eloquence rich, wheresoever ils wave 

Wander"d free nud Iriumphant, with thoughts that 
shone through, 

As clear as the brook's "stone of lustre.'' and gave, 
With the flash of the gem, i'.j solidity too. 

Who, that ever approach'd him, when free from the 
In a home lull of love, he delighted to tread 
'Mong the trees which a nation had giv'n, and which 
As if each brought a new civic crown for his head — 

Is there one, who halh Ihus, through his orbit of life 
But at distance observed him — through glory, 
through blame, 
In the calm of retreat, in the grandeur of strife. 
Whether shimng or clouded, still high and the 
same, — 
Oh. no, not a heart, that e'er knew him, but mourna 
Deep, deep oer the grave, wlicrc such glory is 
shrined — 
O'er a monument Fame will preserve, 'mong the urns 
Of the wisest, the biavest, the best of mankind ! 


Oh, the sight entrancing, 

When morning's beam is glancing 

O'er files airay'd 

With helm and blade, 
And plumes, irt the gay wind dancing) 
When henrts aie all high beating, 
And the trumpet's voice repealing 

That song, whose breath 

May lead (o death, 
But never to retreating. 
Oh, the sight enliancing. 
When morning's beani is glancing 

O'er files array'd 

With helm and blade, 
And plumes, in the gay wind dancing. 

Yet, 't is not helm or feather — 
For a^k yon despot, whether 

His plumed bands 

Coidd bring snch hands 
And hearts as ours together. 
Leave pnnips to (ho-e who need 'em — 
Give man but heait and freedom, 

And prnud he braves 

The gaudies! slaves 
That crawl where monarchs lead 'em. 
The sword may pieice the beaver, 
Stone walls m time m'«y sever. 

* These lines were " ritten on the death of our great | 

» the ye 

r 1S20. 

B only the t _ 
ittid to be sung- j 



T h mind alone, 

VVorth steel and stone, 
That keeps lueri free for ever. 
Oil, that sight eiitraiicitig, 
When the ujoriiing's beam is glancing, 

O'ei lUes a I ray 'd 

With helm and blade, 
And iu rrecdomS cause advancing 1 


Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well, 
May calm and sunshine long be thine I 

How fair thou art let others tell,— 
To feci how fair shall long be mine. 

Sweet Innisfallen, long shall dwell 
111 memory's dieani ihal suiiuy smile, 

Which o'er Ihee on 111 it evening fell, 
When first I saw thy fairy isle. 

'T was lighi, indeed, too blest f r one, 
Who had to luin to paihs of care — 

Through crowded hauii s again to run. 
And leave Ihee bright and silent there; 

No more unlo thy shores to come, 
But, on the woildN rude iccan tost. 

Dream of thee sometimes, as a home 
Of sunshine he had seen aud lost. 

in thy 

Like sorrow's 

veeping hours 
:e, a, 1 do now, 
thy blooming bowers, 
;il on beauty's brow. 

For, though unrivall'd slill thy grace. 

Thou dust not look, as then, I'lO blest, 
But thus in shadow, seem'si a place 

Wheie erring man might hope to rest- 
Might hope to rest, and find in thee 

A gloom like Eden's, on the day 
He left I's shade, when eveiy tree, 

Like thine, hung weeping o'er his way. 

Weeping or smiling, lovely isle I 
And all Ihe lovelier for thy tears — 

For iho' but rare thy sunny smile, 
'T is heav'u's own glance when it appears. 

Like feeling hearts, whose joys are few, 
But, w hen indted they come, divine — 

The brighle-t lighl the sun e'er ihrew 
Is lifeless to one gleani of thine 1 


'T was one of those dreams, that by music are brought, 
Like a briglit summer haze, o'er the pi-et'a waim 

thought — 
When, lost it. the future, his soul wanders on, 
And all of Ihis life, but its sweetness, is gone. 

The wild no'es he heard o'er llle water were those 
lie had taught to sing Erin's daik bondage and woes. 
And the breath i f the bujle now wafted them o'er 
From Dinis' green isle, to Glena's wooded shore. 

He li-ten'd — w hile. high o'er Ihe eagle's nest. 
The lingering sounds mi their way loved to rest; 
And the echoes sung back fiom Iheir full mouutiin 

As if liitb to let song so enchanting expire. 

• Written during a visit to Lord Eenmare, at Kil-