Where Richards wakes a genuine poet's fires, For me, who, thus unask'd, have dared to tell The host of idiots that infest her age; No just applause her honour'd name shall lose, Then, hapless Britain! be thy rulers blest, Yet once again, adieu! ere this the sail And Stamboul's || minarets must greet my sight: Thence shall I stray through beauty's native clime, T Where Kaff** is clad in rocks, and crown'd with snows sublime. But should I back return, no letter'd rage Shall drag my common-place book on the stage. Let vain Valentia++ rival luckless Carr, And equal him whose work he sought to mar; The shade of fame through regions of virtù ; The " Aboriginal Britons," an excellent poem by Richards. The mad, prophetic daughter of Priam, whose predictions were never believed. A friend of mine being asked why his Grace of P. was likened to an old woman? replied," he supposed it was because he was past bearing." Calpe is the ancient name of Gibraltar. Stamboul is the Turkish word for Constantinople. Georgia, remarkable for the beauty of its inhabitants. **Mount Caucasus. tt Lord Valentia (whose tremendous travels are forthcoming with due decorations, graphical, topographical, and typographical) deposed, on Sir John Carr's unlucky suit, that Dubois's satire prevented his purchase of the "Stranger in Ireland."-Oh, fie, my lord has your lordship no more feeling for a fellow-tourist ? "But two of a trade," they say, &c. Lord Elgin would fain persuade us that all the figures, with and without noses, in his stone-shop, are the work of Phidias!" Credat Judæus !" Waste useless thousands on their Phidian freaks, Of Dardan tours let dilettanti tell, Thus far I've held my undisturb'd career, The time hath been, when no harsh sound would fall And, arm'd in proof, the gauntlet cast at once • Mr. Gell's" Topography of Troy and Ithaca " cannot fail to insure the approbation of every man possessed of classical taste, as well for the information Mr. G. conveys to the mind of the reader, as for the ability and research the respective works display. I POSTSCRIPT. I HAVE been informed, since the present edition went to the press, that my trusty and well-beloved cousins, the Edinburgh Reviewers, are preparing a most vehement critique on my poor, gentle, unresisting Muse, whom they have already so bedevilled with their ungodly ribaldry: "Tantæne animis cælestibus iræ !" I suppose I must say of Jeffrey as Sir Andrew Aguecheek saith, "An I had known he was so cunning of fence, I had seen him damned ere I had fought him." What a pity it is that I shall be beyond the Bosphorus before the next number has passed the Tweed. But I yet hope to light my pipe with it in Persia. My Northern friends have accused me, with justice, of personality towards their great literary Anthropophagus, Jeffrey; but what else was to be done with him and his dirty pack, who feed by "lying and slandering," and slake their thirst by "evil speaking?" I have adduced facts already well known, and of Jeffrey's mind I have stated my free opinion, nor has he thence sustained any injury;-what scavenger was ever soiled by being pelted with mud? It may be said that I quit England because I have censured there" persons of honour and wit about town;" but I am coming back again, and their vengeance will keep hot till my return. Those who know me can testify that my motives for leaving England are very different from fears, literary or personal; those who do not, may one day be convinced. Since the publication of this thing, my name has not been concealed; I have been mostly in London, ready to answer for my transgressions, and in daily expectation of sundry cartels; but, alas! "the age of chivalry is over," or in the vulgar tongue, there is no spirit nowadays. There is a youth yclept Hewson Clarke (subandi, Esquire) a Sizer of Emanuel College, and I believe a denizen of Berwick-upon-Tweed, whom I have introduced in these pages to much better company than he has been accustomed to meet; he is, notwithstanding, a very sad dog, and for no reason that I can discover, except a personal quarrel with a bear kept by me at Cambridge to sit for a fellowship, and whom the jealousy of his Trinity contemporaries prevented from success, has been abusing me, and what is worse, the defenceless innocent above mentioned, in the "Satirist," for one year and some months. I am utterly unconscious of having given him any provocation; indeed, I am guiltless of having heard his name till coupled with the "Satirist." He has therefore no reason to complain, and I dare say that, like Sir Fretful Plagiary, he is rather pleased than otherwise. I have now mentioned all who have done me the honour to notice me and mine, that is, my ear band my book, except the editor of the "Satirist," who, it seems, is a gentleman, God wot! I wish he could impart a little of his gentility to his subordinate scribblers. I hear that Mr. Jerningham is about to take up the cudgels for his Mæcenas, Lord Carlisle. I hope not: he was one of the few, in the very short intercourse I had with him, treated me with kindness when a boy; and whatever he may say or do," pour on, I will endure." I have nothing further to add, save a general note of thanksgiving to readers, purchasers, and publisher; and in the words of Scott, I wish "To all and each a fair good night, And rosy dreams and slumbers light." LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM AT MALTA. As o'er the cold sepulchral stone And when by thee that name is read, Reflect on me as on the dead, And think my heart is buried here. September 14, 1809. TO FLORENCE. OH Lady! when I left the shore, The distant shore which gave me birth, Yet here, amidst this barren isle, Though far from Albin's craggy shore, But wheresoe'er I now may roam, On thee, in whom at once conspire All charms, which heedless hearts can move, And, oh! forgive the word-to love. Forgive the word, in one who ne'er With such a word can more offend; Ah! who would think that form had pass'd Lady! when I shall view the walls The Turkish tyrants now inclose; Though mightiest in the lists of fame, And though I bid thee now farewell, When I behold that wondrous scene, Since where thou art I may not dwell, "Twill soothe to be where thou hast been. September, 1809. STANZAS COMPOSED DURING A THUNDER-STORM, AND WHILE BEWILDERED CHILL and mirk is the nightly blast, Our guides are gone, our hope is lost, But show where rocks our path have cross'd, Is yon a cot I saw, though low? When lightning broke the gloom How welcome were its shade !-ah, no! Through sounds of foaming waterfalls, My way-worn countryman, who calls A shot is fired-by foe or friend? The mountain-peasants to descend, Oh! who in such a night will dare To tempt the wilderness? And who 'mid thunder-peals can hear Our signal of distress? And who that heard our shouts would rise To try the dubious road? Nor rather deem from nightly cries That outlaws were abroad. |