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If inspiration should her aid refuse,

To him who takes a Pixy for a Muse *,

Yet none in lofty numbers can surpass

The bard who soars to elegize an ass. :
How well the subject suits his noble mind!
" A fellow feeling makes us wond'rous kind."

Oh! wonder-working Lewis ! Monk, or Bard, Who fain wouldst make Parnassus a church-yard ! 260 Lo! wreaths of yew, not laurel, bind thy brow,

Thy Muse a Sprite, Apollo's sexton thou !
Whether on ancient tombs thou tak'st thy stand,
By gibb’ring spectres hailed, thy kindred band;

Or tracest chaste descriptions on thy page,

To please the females of our modest age,

* COLERIDGE's Poems, page 11. Songs of the Pixies, i, e. Devonshire Fairies, page 42, we have, “ Lines to a Young Lady," and page 52, “ Lines to a Young Ass."

All hail, M. P.!* from whose infernal brain
Thin sheeted phantoms glide, a grisly train;
At whose command, “grim women” throng in crouds,
And kings of fire, of water, and of clouds, 270
With “small grey men,”_" wild yagers," and what-

not,
To crown with honour, thee, and WALTER Scott:

Again all hail! If tales like thine may please,

St. Luke alone can vanquish the disease;
Even Satan's self with thee might dread to dwell,
And in thy skull discern a deeper hell. -

Who in soft guise, surrounded by a choir

Of virgins melting, not to Vesta's fire,

* “For every one knows little Matt's an M. P.”— See a Poem to Mr. Lewis, in THE STATESMAN, supposed to be written by Mr. JEKYLL.

With sparkling eyes, and cheek by passion flush'd, Strikes his wild Lyre, whilst listening dames are

hush'd :

280

'Tis Little! young Catullus of his day,
As sweet, but as immoral in his lay!
Griev'd to condemn, the Muse must still be just,
Nor spare melodious advocates of lust.
Pure is the flame which o'er her altar burns ;
From grosser incense with disgust she turns:
Yet, kind to youth, this expiation o'er,
She bids thee, “mend thy line and sin no more.

For thee, translator of the tinsel song,

To whom such glittering ornaments belong,

290

Hibernian STRANGFORD! with thine eyes of blue*,

And boasted locks of red, or auburn hue,

* The reader who may wish for an explanation of this, may refer to “ STRANGFORD'S CAMOENS,” page 127, note to page 56, or to the last page of the Edinburgh Review of STRANGFORD'S Camoens.

Whose plaintive strain each love-sick Miss admires,
And o'er harmonious fustian half expires,
Learn, if thou can’st, to yield thine author's sense,
Nor vend thy sonnets on a false pretence.
Think'st thou to gain thy verse a higher place
By dressing Camoens in a suit of lace ?
Mend, STRANGFORD! mend thy morals and thy taste;
Be warm, but pure, be amorous, but be chaste : 300

Cease to deceive; thy pilfer'd harp restore,

Nor teach the Lusian Bard to copy Moore.

In many marble-cover'd volumes view HAYLEY, in vain attempting something new:

Whether he spin his comedies in rhyme,

Or scrawl, as Wood and BARCLAY walk, 'gainst time,

It is also to be remarked, that the things given to the public, as Poems of Camoens, are no more to be found in the original Portuguese, than in the Song of Solomon.

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His stile in youth or age is still the same;
For ever feeble and for ever tame.
Triumphant first see “ Temper's Triumphs" shine!”
At least I'm sure they triumph'd over mine. 310
Of “ Music's Triumphs" all who read may swear
That luckless Music never triumph'd there*,

Moravians rise! bestow some meet reward

On dull Devotion-lo! the Sabbath Bard,

.

Sepulchral GRAHAME, pours his notes sublime,

In mangled prose, nor e'en aspires to rhyme,
Breaks into blank the Gospel of St. Luke,

And boldly pilfers from the Pentateuch ; .

* HAYLEY" :9. most notorious verse productions, are “Triumphs of • Temper,” and “ Triumphs of Music.” He has also written much

Comedy in rhyme, Epistles, &c. &c. As he is rather an elegant writer of notes and biography, let us recommend Pope's Advice to WYCHERLEY, to Mr. H's consideration ; viz. “ to convert his poetry into prose,” which may be easily done by taking away the final syllable of each couplet.

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