taste and too delicious a flavour, to be devoured like common food; it is properly the desert that crowns the feast, and it rather shows the glutton than the true epicure to take it promiscuously with other things. For this reason, though there may be in a song a variety of such ingenious turns as come under the denomination of fine writing, yet the point of genuine wit ought to be single. The surprise which it excites, is of a kind that does not mix readily with any other emotion, and when it occurs in different parts of a song, it seems to divide it into so many distinct portions. Thus the following piece rather appears like three excellent epigrams united, than a connected song. Cosmelia's charms inspire my lays; Cosmelia cruel at three score, Like bards in modern plays, If e'er impatient for the bliss The plaster'd fair returns the kiss, There cannot be a more complete instance of fine taste and elegant simplicity in the management of a witty conception, than in the song, Why will Florella, while I gaze; and among a variety of beautiful pieces of a similar kind which this Collection affords, I would fix upon it as the most perfect. The two songs by which Mr. Phillips exemplifies his idea of songwriting, On Belvidera's bosom lying, and Boast nót, mistaken swain, thy art, must be acknowledged finished pieces of the ingenious song, where, without any remarkable brilliancy, there is a pleasing vein of uncommon sentiment expressed with great delicacy of language, and managed so as to conclude with a striking turn of thought. For this kind of writing he justly cites the French as peculiarly excellent; and it may not be improper to give a few specimens of their songs, by way of comparison with ours of a similar turn. Quand le sage Damon dit, que d'un trait mortel, Mais quand le jeune Atis me vient dire à son tour, Que je le trouve redoutable! Dieu des amants, viens accorder ma lyre, A mes accents rend la belle attentive, Fai moi trouver la route de son cœur ; Qui lui defend d'écouter ma langueur. Va, dit Amour, j'exauce ta prière, Tu recevras le prix que tu prétends : Pourriez vous bien être encore inflexible, La Raison n'est pas raisonable, Bien fou qui s'en laisse charmer, Et me defend de vous aimer. Aime Iris, dit l'Amour, puisque elle a su te plaire, Profite des beaux jours de ta belle saison; Ma foi, l'Amour sur cette affaire Raisonne mieux que la Raison. Tircis, votre langueur extrême Le berger qui suivoit mes loix Je me plaindrois avec éclat,. Pensez y bien, jeune Climène, Remplissez mes tendres désirs; Helas! si près de vous j'allois perdre ma peine Vous perderiez mille plaisirs. Autrefois la charmante Hortense, Dont mille amants formoient la cour, Par une heureuse préférence, Me donna des leçons d'amour. Par elle j'appris l'art de plaire, Elle m'avoit instruit à peine De ces doux mystères d'amour, J'en fis des leçons à mon tour. |