* True wifdom's choice is always what is beft;
Truth this attests, be wife.... the mind at reft.'
Such carri'ges as ours you could not fee-
The horse admir'd by men of each degree.'
- We other lands our fuperfluities give,
Theirs we improve-in plenty, people live.'
In every war, prodigious th' expence,

More lofs than gain of this where the good fenfe.'

About the middle of the poem, the goddess of Peace appears to the author; and her appearance is thus defcribed:

While thus I fing, and view the woodland ftream,

Sitting I fell asleep foon in a dream.

Here Peace appears, and in her lily hand
An olive branch; fhe faid-O happy land!

My Fancy ftruck, these were my words; O Peace!
What pity that your bleffings ever cease,
May I prefume to ask your pleasure here,
And why at this time you to me appear?
The goddess mild her anfwer thus begun-
O! hear me then, thou friend of Nature's fun!'
The goddess then obferves, that,

• On cow'rdice built infirm, a fad difgrace,
Degrades a kingdom, fhame in ev'ry face.
For me the patriot lives, for me wou'd die,
Peace to procure by noble means will try.
When peace is built on honour, great renown;
Thus built, fecure the glory of the crown.
But when propos'd th' illib'ral foul demand,
Honour at ftake, the fword is ftill in hand.'

Peace next refolves to vifit Freedom's offspring beyond the At lantic :'

Perplex'd they feem, confirm'd fo much by fact,
Eafy to plan, not easy so to act.

Perhaps fome patriot working in that foil,
Vice thrives by eafe, but virtue proved by toil.
With him I'll drink the wine that's void of strife,
T'improve the time, is the beft wine of life.'
The goddess then takes her leave of the author:
At laft she says, farewell! I cannot stay,
We'll meet again, and pass another day.
Wak'd by these words, I faw the woodland ftream,
And found the whole rehears'd was but a dream.
Some things conceal'd ftill by the goddess said,
In time the fame before all may be laid;
Th' impreffion's on my fancy made fo deep,
That I remember all that pass'd in fleep.
Such was my dream, believe it if you chufe,

These faithlefs be who disbelieve the Muse.'

Before we close this article, we must remark one other ftriking beauty in Mr. Pow's compofitions: we notice it, indeed, more particularly, as it conftitates the very effence and foul of defcriptive poetry. We allude to that accurate obfervance of nature, which leads poets, in their defcriptions, to felect particular and interesting parts, and to dwell on minute and beautiful circumstances; thus viewing matters, not with the cafual glance of a common spectator, but with the penetrating and analyzing look, the acies oculi, which belongs only to the enlightened.

That this friend of Nature's fun' poffeffes the above-mentioned quality, in an high degree, will be evident from from one or twe extracts:

See in the pamper'd fteed what sprightly grace,

His ardor fee anticipates the race;

His ardor grows, ftruck with the glancing skies,
Tho' on each fide tormented by the flies;

Uprear'd he ftands, not as a fuppliant begs,

For joy he fakes his head between his legs;

Fann'd by the breeze, touch'd by the fcorching ray,
He neighs, he fcours the mead all in his play.
Swift as an arrow from the bow he goes,
Elate in fancy, what dare him oppofe,
In high career? no foot-marks left behind,
As if he had the wings of Nature's wind.
Triumphing high, he fweeps the meadow round.
And not till then the gamefome work is crown'd.*

Again,

In yonder field, on a warm harvest day,

Behold the reapers all in fair array,

Each by the lafs he loves, to footh the toil,
And on that fide where thiftles crowd the foil.-
At once they foop, all in an even row,
Warm is the conteft, ftill they warmer grow.
What converfe undiffembled, gentle, kind,
What mirth fo fmiling, free, and unconfin'd!
Refreshing apples flung from hand to hand,
Then mufic clofes all, and chears the band.'

Once more, and we have done:

He' (Nature's fun) on the fhepherd fhines in ruffet clad, He bufy knits, within his heart fo glad

To fee his flocks in health, his lambkins gay,

To fee them fkip, fome bask in folar ray,

To fee them run, of milk to fuck their fill,

Find out their dams by inftinct, wond'rous skill.
Yet ftill they bleat, fo harmless they complain,
As if fufpect of butcher to be flain,'

pp. 278.

Art. 34. Reflection, a Poem, in Four Cantos. 4to. 7s. 6d. fewed. Robinsons, &c. 1790. Critics are not without their embarraments. We confefs ourfelves to labour under confiderable difficulties in offering an opinion

of

of this heterogeneous work. After carefully perufing the poetry and the profe of which it confifts, (and there is, at leaft, as much profe as poetry,) we did not find it eafy to frame our decifion on its merits. Some parts, it must be confeffed, are enveloped in obfcurity: but whether this arifes from the fublimity of the author's Mufe, the profundity of his metaphyfical reflection, or his peculiar manner of expreffing himself, (for when the first part of this poem formerly paffed our critical ordeal, we obferved the author was a Mannerift,) we will not undertake to determine. On this delicate point, we shall leave the reader to the exercife of his own judgment; only remarking, that as this gentleman's object is Truth, and as he goes to the very bottom of the well for her, he may be fuppofed to be fometimes out of fight. If we cannot compliment him on the moft happy flow and purity of verfification, we nevertheless thank him for having, in feveral parts of his work, contributed to our entertainment; a circumftance for which Reviewers, on whom much oppreffive dullness is obtraded, are always ready to make their acknowlegments.

As this gentleman deals much in egotifm, fome may think that it would not have been amifs had he affixed his name: but he has done what amounts to the fame thing: he has fufficiently given us to understand, that he is the ingenious author of MAXIMS, &c. a work of confiderable reputation. See Rev. vol. xix. p. 488.

*The first part of this poem was published under the title of A Soliloquy in a thatched Building, &c. See Rev. vol. lxxviii. p. 528. Art. 35. Female Characters in Married Life: an Epigrammatic Satire, humbly addreffed to the Wife without a Fault. pp. 38. 2s. 6d. Stalker.

410.

The feveral characters, which are here defcribed, are happily diftinguished in the table of contents, by a fingle, grand, and prominent feature. Thus we have the Pet-fondler,-Love's Boncompanion, the Teeming One, -and the One full of Affectations; -the Painted One,-the Crooked One,-the One tried by Misfortunes, and the One with Child.' A mafter who can thus eafily hit off a likeness, is not always folicitous to finish his pieces with accuracy: but we are pleafed with thefe Sketchy performances, and can forgive the want of neatnefs, while we admire the boldness of the effect. The pencil of Mortimer, when employed on the figures of banditti, was never more forcible than our author's pen:

The city-dame brags of her great relations,
Their wealth and trades-or rather-occupations.
Become a lady-as Sir John-requited

For city-fervice done the ftate-is knighted

A house is wanted, fervants, and a coach.

"My lady, ftop!"" Why, Sir? I don't encroach:
My blood, Sir, and my pedigree is good."

Again,

Your pedigree be damn'd; and d- your blood."

The connoiffeurefs, who rich bargains buys,
Drains hard her husband's pockets for fupplies.

A a 4

"How

"How cheap! my dear."-" Madam! I fwear you're cheated.” "You have no tafte, my dear!" You're damn'd conceited!” "This Drefden fervice-all for fifty-two

“At Chriftie's fale."-" D-mn you and Chriftie too.”

No one, after reading thefe fpecimens, (and fome that are more fevere, might have been selected,) will fuppofe this author to be a friend of the fair fex. He tells them, however, that he is their friend, and that,

Nay, more to regain their favour, he engages to retaliate on his own fex:

If the encouraged mufe purfues her plan;

Your caufe fhall fully be reveng'd on man—'

Encouragement, we fuppofe, will not be wanting: yet we hope the author will not purfue a plan, founded on fo unchriftian-like a principle, as revenge.

Art. 36. Tetrachymagogon Hypercriticum: a Piece of Poefy merry and fedate. With all proper Distance inferibed to Abraham Quarterman, Ale and Iron Draper. By Tom Plumb. 4to. PP. 29. Is. 6d. Kearney. 1789.

This is one of the bitterest Philippics that we ever read; and all directed against us Reviewers, who are here reprefented as a fet of vile beafts, indeed!

I faw, faft fix'd each by his tail,

Their hairs, grown fnakes, with rage their roots affail,
Tugging to pluck them from their parent head,
Whence the black monsters grew, and where they fed.
Their hands, once human, chang'd to fearful paws,
Each face to th' oppofite of what it was.
Burfing their filver clafps, their fandals thro',
Black, harp, and crooked all their talons grew.
How from their widening noftrils poifons flow'd,
How from their mouths green virus mixt with blood!
How ghaftful far'd their eye-balls! gnash'd their teeth,
Which pure they drew how fmoke expir'd their breath!
How their valt throats with coal-black choler fwell'd,
Their frutting veins their poifons fcarce withheld!'
What! all this abuse from an author!

tam TIMIDIS, quanta fit ira feris!

But what is the provocation? We have murdered,' it seems, the Mufe he lov'd,' and by whom Mr. Plumb hoped to be celebrated :

O well had I been born to've died for her!
How cheap had then been bought a life fo dear!
Theme of that lyre by hands, how curft, unftrung,
'T had been my heav'n to've been by Martha fung.
Poor foul!

Art. 37. The Filt, a Poem. 4to. pp. 21. Is. Robinsons. 1789. The treatment with which the ladies are here honoured, is juftified, we are told, by the author's particular fufferings by Mifs Laura. We are concerned for the poor gentleman:-but, really, if he were not better killed in making love, than in making verses, we are not furprized at his ill fuccefs: nor, indeed, can we entertain any flattering opinion of his abilities in either line, from the following fpecimen:

One morn, as erft, nor could I, think ye? more;
The greetings of a batchelor I bore,

Warm proteftations of eternal love,

Which adamantine Maids alone reprove,

And all those ardent pray'rs, by which we find,
Still womankind's perfuaded to be kind:

But the fuppofing beauty would be priz'd,
Still more as love was fpurn'd at and defpis'd,
Just as the bafe and grov'ling spaniel

Fawns moft on him who flogs and kicks him well,
Turns on her heel, affects a cold disdain;
'Tis true her lips did not her looks explain;
But who could doubt, when, dashing on the floor
Her fan, the bounc'd away and flam'd the door?
Me thus deferted, fudden tremors shook,
And speech, and fenfe, and motion quite forfook;
No genius whifper'd-Follow with the fan,
And fhew yourself as humble as you can;
Haste at her feet, there drop it with a figh:
She only means your fondness thus to try.
But I mop'd home-'

The elifion in the word mop'd, [moped,] gives a very unlucky double meaning.

Art. 38. The Death of Amnon. A Poem. With an Appendix: containing Paftorals, and other poetical Pieces. By Elizabeth Hands. 8vo. pp. 127. 3s. fewed. Printed at Coventry; and fold by Payne in London. 1789.

We are always thankful when authors, by addreffing the public on the nature and merits of their writings, diminish our labours; and especially fo, when, as in the prefent cafe, their opinions agree with our fentiments. Let Mrs. Hands, then, be judge in her own caufe; while we, in the words of Mifs Rhymer and the honeft old Rector, report her decree:

Says he, there are various fubjects indeed:

With fome little pleasure I read all the reft,

But the Murder of Amnon's the longest and beft.' P. 52.
The Rector reclin'd himself back in his chair,

And open'd his fnuff-box with indolent air;

This book, fays he, (faift, faift) has in the beginning,
(The ladies give audience to hear his opinion)
Some pieces, I think, that are pretty correct;
A ftyle elevated you cannot expect:

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