Songs of chiefs, and heroes old, With sudden chill his bosom struck. Daughters of Jove, receive the child, Conduct him thro' your fav'rite bowers, Ah, luckless hour! mistaken maids! Now of power his darts are found, The garland bless'd with many a vow, For haughty Sacharissa's brow ; And, wash'd with tears, the mournful verse That Petrarch laid on Laura's herse. But more than all the sister quire, The British pipe has caught the strains; Or Thames his oozy waters leads Tis your's to cull with happy art To lay the wreath at Beauty's feet. ESSAY ON SONG-WRITING IN GENERAL. WHILE the two capital species of poetry, the epic and dramatic, have long the B soil, whereas the latter have never flourished without acquired richness in the soil and the fostering hand of art. This critical neglect has given rise to uncertainty in the distinctions, and irregularity in the composition of most of the minor classes of poetry; and while the long established divisions of ode, elegy, and epigram, are involved in these difficulties, it is not a matter of wonder to meet with them in the modern pieces which range under the general title of Songs. Although many of our most celebrated poets have exercised their talents in composing these little pieces, and their pleasing effect is universally known and acknowledged, yet have we but one professed criticism on their composition; and this, though elegant and ingenious, is both too short and too superficial to give precision and accuracy to our ideas on this subject. It is contained in a paper of the Guardian, written by Mr. Phillips. |