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Traduced by liars, and forgot by all,
The mangled victim of a drunken brawl,
To live like Clouius, and like Falkland fall. 3

Where yon proud palace, Fashion's hallow'd fane,
Spreads wide her portals for the motley train,
Behold the new Petronius l of the day,
Our arbiter of pleasure and of play!
There the hired eunuch, the Hesperian choir,
The melting lute, the soft lascivious lyre,
The song from Italy, the step from France,
The midnight orgy, and the mazy dance,
The smile of beauty, and the flush of wine,
For fops, fools, gamesters, knaves, and lords combinc:
Each to his humour - Comus all allows;
Champaign, dice, music, or your neighbour's spouse.
Talk not to us, ye starving sons of trade !
Of piteous ruin, which ourselves have made ;
In Plenty's sunshine Fortune's minions bask,
Nor think of poverty, except “en masque,”
When for the night some lately titled ass
Appears the beggar which his grandsire was.
The curtain dropp'd, the gay burletta o'er,
The audience take their turn upon the floor;
Now round the room the circling dow'gers sweep,
Now in loose waltz the thin-clad daughters leap ;
The first in lengthen'd line majestic swim,
The last display the free unfetter'd limb!
Those for Hibernia's lusty sons repair
With art the charms which nature could not spare ;
These after husbands wing their eager flight,
Nor leave much mystery for the nuptial night.

Truth ! rouse some genuine bard, and guide his hand, To drive this pestilence from out the land. E'en I least thinking of a thoughtless throng, Just skill'd to know the right and choose the wrong, Freed at that age when reason's shield is lost, To fight my course through passion's countless host, 4 Whom every path of pleasure's flow'ry way Has lured in turn, and all have led astray E'en I must raise my voice, e'en I must fecl Such scenes, such men, destroy the public weal; Although some kind, censorious friend will say, “ What art thou better, meddling fool 5, than they?". And every brother rake will smile to see That miracle, a moralist in me. No matter - when some bard in virtue strong, Gifford perchance, shall raise the chastening song, Then sleep my pen for ever! and my voire Be only heard to hail him, and rejoice; Rejoice, and yield my feeble praise, though I May feel the lash that Virtue must apply.

Oh! blest retreats of infamy and ease, Where, all forgotten but the power to please, Each maid may give a loose to genial thought, Each swain may teach new systems, or be taught : There the blithe youngster, just returu'd from Spain, Cuts the light pack, or calls the rattling main ; The jovial caster's set, and seven 's the nick, Or- done!- a thousand on the coming trick ! If, mad with loss, existence 'gins to tire, And all your hope or wish is to expire, Here's Powell's pistol ready for your life, And, kinder still, two Pagets for your wife ; ? Fit consummation of an earthly race, Begun in folly, ended in disgrace ; While none but menials o'er the bed of death, Wash thy red wounds, or watch thy wavering breath;

As for the smaller fry, who swarm in shoals From silly Hafiz up to simple Bowles, 6 Why should we call them from their dark abode, In broad St. Giles's or in Tottenham-road? Or (since some men of fashion nobly dare To scrawl in verse) from Bond-street or the Square ? If things of ton their harmless lays indite, Most wisely doom'd to shun the public sight, What harm ? In spite of every critic elf, Sir T. may read his stanzas to himself; Miles Andrews 7 still his strength in couplets try, And live in prologues, though his dramas die. Lords too are bards, such things at times befall, And 't is some praise in peers to write at all. Yet, did or taste or reason sway the times, Ah! who would take their titles with their rhymes ? 8 Roscommon! Sheffield ! with your spirits fled, No future laurels deck a noble head; No muse will cheer, with renovating smile, The paralytic puling of Carlisle. 9

the billiard-tables rattling in one room, and the dice in another ! That this is the case I myself can testify, as a late unworthy member of an institution which materially affects the morals of the higher orders, while the lower may not even move to the sound of a tabor and fiddle, without a chance of indictment for riotous behaviour. - [Conceiving the fore. going note, together with the lines in the text, to convey a reflection upon his conduct, as manager of the Argyle institu. tion, Colonel Greville demanded an explanation of Lord Byron. The matter was referred to Mr. Leckie (the author or a work on Sicilian affairs) on the part of Colonel Greville, and to Mr. Moore on the part of Lord Byron ; by whom it was amicably settled.)

| Petronius, “ Arbiter elegantiarum "to Nero," and a very pretty fellow in his day," as Mr. Congreve's “ Old Bachelor's saith of Hannibal.

? (The original reading was," a Paget for your wife."'] 3 I knew the late Lord Falkland well. On Sunday night I beheld him presiding at his own table, in all the honest pride of hospitality ; on Wednesday morning, at three o'clock, I saw stretched before me all that remained of courage, feeling, and a host of passions. He was a gallant and success. ful officer : his faults were the faults of a sailor - as such, Britons will forgive them. He died like a brave man in a better cause : for had he fallen in like manner on the deck of the frigate to which he was just appointed, his last moments would have been held up by his countrymen as an example to succeeding heroes. - [Lord Falkland was killed in a duel by Mr. Powell, in 1809. It was not by words only that Lord

Byron gave proof of sympathy on the melancholy occasion. Though his own difficulties pressed on him at the tiine, he contrived to administer relief to the widow and children of his friend.)

* (" Yes. and a precious chase they led me." - B. 1816.] SCFool enough, certainly, then, and no wiser since.". B. 1816.)

6 What would be the sentiments of the Persian Anacreon, Hafiz, could he rise from his splendid sepulchre at Sheeraz, (where he reposes with Ferdousi and Sadi, the oriental Homer and Catullus,) and behold his name assumed by one Stott of Dromore, the most impudent and execrable of literary poachers for the daily prints ?

7 (Miles Peter Andrews, many years M.P. for Bewdley, Colonel of the Prince of Wales's Volunteers, proprietor of a gunpowder manufactory at Dartford, author of numerous prologues, epilogues, and farces, and one of the heroes of the Baviad. He died in 1814.]

[In the original manuscript we find these lines :-
" In these, our times, with daily wonders big,

A letter'd peer is like a lettered pig ;
Both know their alphabet, but who, from thence,
Infers that peers or pigs have manly sense?
Still less that such should woo the graceful nine :

Parnassus was not made for lords and swine."] 9 ron being told that it was believed he alluded to Lord Carlisle's nervous disorder in this line, Lord Byron exclaimeri, -"I thank heaven I did not know it ; and would not, could

The puny schoolboy and his early lay
Men pardon, if his follies pass away ;
But who forgives the senior's ceaseless verse,
Whose hairs grow hoary as his rhymes grow worse ?
What heterogeneous honours deck the peer!
Lord, rhymester, petit-maitre, pamphleteer !!
So dull in youth, so drivelling in his age,
His scenes alone had damn'd our sinking stage ;
But managers for once cried, “ Hold, enough!"
Nor drugg'd their audience with the tragic stuff.
Yet at their judgment let his lordship laugh,
And case his volumes in congenial calf:
Yes! doff that covering, where morocco shines,
And hang a calf-skin 2 on those recreant lines. 3

But now at once your fleeting labours close,
With names of greater note in blest repose.
Far be 't from me unkindly to upbraid
The lovely Rosa's prose in masquerade,
Whose strains, the faithful echoes of her mind,
Leave wondering comprehension far behind. 5
Though Crusca's bards no more our journals fin,
Some stragglers skirmish round the columns still ;
Last of the howling host which once was Bell's,
Matilda snivels yet, and Hafiz yells;
And Merry's metaphors appear anew,
Chain'd to the signature of 0. P. Q. 6

With you, ye Druids! rich in native lead, Who daily scribble for your daily bread; With you I war not: Gifford's heavy hand Has crush'd, without remorse, your numerous band. On “all the talents" vent your venal spleen; Want is your plea, let pity be your screen. Let monodies on Fox regale your crew, And Melville's Mantle - prove a blanket too ! One common Lethe waits each hapless bard, And, peace be with you! 't is your best reward. Such damning fame as Dunciads only give Could bid your lines beyond a morning live ;

When some brisk youth, the tenant of a stall, 7 Employs a pen less pointed than his awl, Leaves his snug shop, forsakes his store of shoes, St. Crispin quits, and cobbles for the muse, Heavens ! how the vulgar stare ! how crowds applaud ! How ladies read, and literati laud ! 8 If chance some wicked wag should pass his jest, Tis sheer ill-nature - don't the world know best? Genius must guide when wits admire the rhyme, And Capel Lofft o declares 't is quite sublime. Hear, then, ye happy sons of needless trade ! Swains ! quit the plough, resign the useless spade ! Lo! Burns 10 and Bloomfield, nay, a greater far, Gifford was born beneath an adverse star,

not, if I had. I must naturally be the last person to be pointed on defects or maladies."]

1 The Earl of Carlisle has lately published an eighteen. penny pamphlet on the state of the stage, and offers his plan for building a new theatre. It is to be hoped his lordship will be permitted to bring forward any thing for the stage-except his own tragedies.

“ Doff that lion's hide,
And hang a call-skin on those recreant limbs."

Shak. King John. Lord Carlisle's works, most resplendently bound, form a conspicuous ornament to his book-shelves :

" The rest is all but leather and prunella" 3 [" Wrong also – the provocation was not sufficient to justify the acerbity.” – B. 1816.) - [Lord Byron greatly regretted the sarcasms he had published against his noble relation, under the mistaken impression that Lord Carlisle had intentionally slighted him. In a letter to Mr. Rogers, written in 1814, he asks, -" Is there any chance or possibility of making it up with Lord Carlisle, as I feel disposed to do any thing reasonable or unreasonable to effect it." And in the third canto of Childe Harold, he thus adverts to the fate of the Hon. Frederick Howard, Lord Carlisle's youngest son, one of those who fell gloriously at Waterloo :

“ Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine;

Yet one I would select from that proud throng,
Partly because they blend me with his line,
And partly that I did his Sire some wrong,
And partly that bright names will hallow song ;
And his was of the bravest, and when shower'd
The death-bolts deadliest the thinn'd files along,

Even where the thickest of war's tempest lower'd,
They reach'd no nobler breast than thine, young, gallant

Howard !" In the following extracts from two unpublished letters, written when Lord B. was at Harrow, may possibly be traced the origin of his conduct towards his guardian:-“Vov. 11. 1804. You mistake me if you think I dislike Lord Carlisle. I respect him, and inight like him did I know him better. For him my mother has an antipathy – why, I know not. afraid he could be but of little use to me; but I dare say he would assist me if he could ; so I take the will for the deed, and ani obliged to him, exactly in the same manner as if he succeeded in his efforts." "Nov. 21. 1804. To Lord Carlisle make my warmest acknowledgments.

I feel more gratitude than I can well express. I am truly obliged to him for his endeavours, and am perfectly satisfied with your explanation of his reserve, though I was hitherto afraid it might proceed from personal dislike. For the future, I shall consider him as more my friend than I have hitherto been taught to think.")

4 " Melville's Mantle," a parody on “ Elijah's Mantle,” poem

This lovely little Jessica, the daughter of the noted Jew King, seems to be a follower of the Della Crusca school, and has published two volumes of very respectable absurdities in rhyme, as times go; besides sundry novels in the style of the first edition of the Monk. - [“ She since married the Morning Post - an exceeding good match; and is now dead – which is better." - B. 1816.)

6 These are the signatures of various worthies who figure in the poetical departments of the newspapers.

? [Joseph Blackett, the shoemaker. He died at Seaham, in 1810. His poems were afterwards collected by Pratt; and, oddly enough, his principal patroness was Miss Milbank, then a perfect stranger to Lord Byron. In a letter written to Dallas, on board the Volage frigate, at sea, in Jure, 1811, he says, -" I see that yours and Prati's protégé, Blackett the cobbler, is dead, in spite of his rhymes, and is probably one of the instances where death has saved a man from damn. ation. You were the ruin of that poor fellow amongst you: had it not been for his patrons, he might now have been in very good plight, shoe. (not verse-) making ; but you hare made him immortal with a vengeance : who would think that any body would be such a blockhead as to sin against an express proverb, — Ne sutor ultra crepidam!"

"But spare him, ye Critics, his follies are past,

For the Cobbler is come, as he ought, to his last.' Which two lines, with a scratch under last, to show where the joke lies, I beg that you will prevail on Miss Milbank to have inserted on the tomb of her departed Blackett.")

* C" This was meant for poor Blackett, who was then patronized by A. J. B." (Lady Byron); " but that I did noi know, or this would not have been written, at least I think not." B. 1816.)

9 Capel Loft, Esq., the Mæcenas of shoemakers, and preface-writer-general to distressed versemen; a kind of gratis accoucheur to those who wish to be delivered of rhyme, but do not know how to bring forth. - [The poet Bloomfield owed his first celebrity to the notice of Capel Lottt and Thomas Hill, Esquires, who read his “ Farmer's Boy," in manuscript, recommended it to a publisher, and by their influence in society and literature, soon drew general attention to its merits. It is distressing to remember that, after all that had been done by the zeal of a few friends, the public sympathy did not rest permanently on the amiable Bloomfield, who died in extreme poverty in 1823. ]

10(" Read Burns to-day. What would he have been is a patrician? We should have had more polish – less force just as much verse, but no immortality -- a divorce and a duel or two, the which had he survived, as his potations must have been less spirituous, he might have lived as long as Sheridan, and outlived as much as poor Brinsley.” — Byron Journal, 1813.)

I am


Forsook the labours of a servile state,
Stemm'd the rude storm, and triumph'd over fate :
Then why no more? if Phæbus smiled on you,
Bloomfield! why not on brother Nathan too ? I
Him too the mania, not the muse, has seized ;
Not inspiration, but a mind diseased :
And now no boor can seek his last abode,
No common be enclosed without an ode.
Oh! since increased refinement deigns to smile
On Britain's sons, and bless our genial isle,
Let poesy go forth, pervade the whole,
Alike the rustic, and mechanic soul !
Ye tuneful cobblers ! still your notes prolong,
Compose at once a slipper and a song ;
So sball the fair your handywork peruse,
Your sonnets sure shall please — perhaps your shoes.
May Moorland weavers ? boast Pindaric skill,
And tailors' lays be longer than their bill !
While punctual beaux reward the grateful notes,
And pay for poems - when they pay for coats.

Restore Apollo to his vacant throne,
Assert thy country's honour and thine own.
What! must deserted Poesy still weep
Where her last hopes with pious Cowper sleep?
Unless, perchance, from his cold bier she turns,
To deck the turf that wraps her minstrel, Burns !
No! though contempt hath mark'd the spurious

The race who rhyme from folly, or for food,
Yet still some genuine sons 'tis hers to boast,
Who, least affecting, still affect the most :
Feel as they write, and write but as they feel
Bear witness Gifford 6, Sotheby 7, Macneil. 8

“Why slumbers Gifford ? "once was ask'd in vain ; 9 Why slumbers Gifford ? let us ask again. Are there no follies for his pen to purge ? 10 Are there no fools whose backs demand the scourge ? Are there no sins for satire's bard to greet ? Stalks not gigantic Vice in every street ? Shall peers or princes trcad polluticn's path, And 'scape alike the law's and muse's wrath ? Nor blaze with guilty glare through future time, Eternal beacons of consummate crime ? Arouse thee, Gifford ! be thy promise claim'd, Make bad men better, or at least ashamed.

To the famed throng now paid the tribute due, Neglected genius ! let me turn to you. Come forth, oh Campbell 3! give thy talents scope ; Who dares aspire if thou must cease to hope ? And thou, melodious Rogers + ! rise at last, Recall the pleasing memory of the past; Arise ! let blest remembrance still inspire, And strike to wonted tones thy hallow'd lyre;

Unhappy White 11 ! while life as in its spring, And thy young muse just waved her joyous wing,

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I See Nathaniel Bloomfield's ode, elegy, or whatever he or anç one else chooses to call it, on the enclosure of “ Honing. ton Green."

2 Vide « Recollections of a Weaver in the Moorlands of Staffordshire."

3 It would he superflaous lo recall to the mind of the reader the authors of “ The Pleasures of Memory" and " The Pleasures of Hope," the most beautiful didactic poems in our language, if we except Pope's " Essay on Man:” but so many poetisters have started up, that even the naines of Campbell and Rogers are becoine strange. - [Benea!h this note Lord Byron scribbled, in 1816,

“ Pretty Miss Jacqueline

Had a nose aquiline,
And would assert rude
Things of Miss Gertrude,
While Mr. Marmion
Led a great army on,
Making Kehama look

Like a fierce Mameluke."] * [“ [ hare been reading," says Lord Byron, in 1813,

Plemory again, and Hope together, and retain all my preference of the former. His elegance is really wonderful there is no such a thing as a vulgar line in his book.”]

$(" Rngers has not fulfilled the promise of his first poems, but has still very great merit." - B. 1816.)

. Gifford, author of the Baviad and Mæviad, the first satires of the day, and translator of Juvenal.- [The opinion of Mr. Gifford had always grcat weight with Lord Byron. “ Any suggestion of yours," he says in a letter written in 1813,

even were it conveyed in the less tender shape of the text of the Baviad, or a Monk Mason note in Massinger, would be obeyed." A few weeks before his death, on hearing from England of a report that he had written a satire on Mr. Gifford, he wrote instantly to Mr. Murray : -" Whoever asserts that I am the author or abettor of any thing of the kind, lies in his throat. It is not true that I ever did, will, would, could, or should write a satire against Gifford, or a hair of his head. I always considered him as my literary father, and myself as his 'prodigal' son ; and if I have allowed his • fatted call to grow to an ox before he kills it on my return, it is only because I prefer beef to veal.")

1 Sotheby, translator of Wieland's Oberon and Virgll's Georgics, and author of " Saul," an epic poem. [Mr. Sotheby afterwards essentially raised his reputation by vari. ous original poems, and a translation of the Iliad. lle died in 1834.)

& Macneil, whose pocms are deservedly popular, particu. larly" Scotland's Scaith," and the “ Waes of War," of which

ten thousand copies were sold in one month. – [Hector Macneil died in 1818.]

(Lord Byron here alludes to the masterly poem of “ New Morality (the joint production of Mr. Canning and Mr. Frere), in the Antijacobin, in which Gifford is thus apostrophisedia “ Bethink thee, Gifford, when some future age

Shall trace the promise of thy playful page ;
· The hand which brush'd a swarm of fools away,
Should rouse to grasp a more reluctant prey !
Think, then, will pleaded indolence excuse
The tame secession of thy languid muse?
Ah! where is now that promise ? why so long
Sleep the keen shaits of satire and of song?
Oh! come, with taste and virtue at thy side,
With ardent zeal infamed. and patriot pride;
With keen poetic glance direct the blow,
And empty all thy quiver on the foe-
No pause — no rest – till weltering on the ground
The poisonous hydra lies, and pierced with many a

wound.") 10 Mr. Gifford promised publicly that the Baviad and Mæviad should not be his last original works: let him remeinber, “ Mox in reluctantes dracones." (Mr. Gifford became the editor of the Quarterly Review,- which thenceforth occupied most of his time, - a few months after the first appear. ance of this satire in 1809.)

11 Henry Kirke White died at Cambridge, in October, 1806. in consequence of too much exertion in the pursuit of studies that would have matured a mind which disease and poverty could not impair, and which death itself destroyed rather than subdued. His poems abound in such beauties as must impress the reader with the liveliest regret that so short a period was allotted to talents which would have dignified even the sacred functions he was destined to assume. - [In a letter to Mr. Dallas, in 1811, Lord Byron says, -" I am sorry you don't like Harry White; with a great deal of cant, which in him was sincere (indeed it killed him, as you killed Joe Blackete), certes there is poesy and genius.' I don't say this on account of my simile and rhynies ; but surely he was beyond all the Bloomtields and Blacketts, and their collateral cobblers, whom Lofft and Pratt have or inay kidnap from their calling into the service of the trade. Setting aside bigotry, he surely ranks next to Chatterton. It is astonishing how little he was known; and at Carnbridge no one thought or heard of such a man till his death rendered all notices useless. For my part, I should have been most proud of such an acquaintance : his very prejudices were respectable."}


The spoiler swept that soaring lyre away,

And sure no common muse inspired thy pen
Which else had sounded an immortal lay.

To hail the land of gods and godlike men.
Oh! what a noble heart was here undone,
When Science' self destroy'd her favourite son!

And you, associate bards 6! who snatch'd to light
Yes, she too much indulged thy fond pursuit, Those gems too long withheld from modern sight;
She sow'd the seeds, but death has reap'd the fruit. Whose mingling taste combined to cull the wreath
'T was thine own genius gave the final blow,

Where Attic flowers Aonian odours breathe,
And help'd to plant the wound that laid thee low : And all their renovated fragrance flung,
So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, To grace the beauties of your native tongue ;
No more through rolling clouds to soar again,

Now let those minds, that nobly could transfuse View'd his own feather on the fatal dart,

The glorious spirit of the Grecian muse,
And wing'd the shaft that quiverd in his heart; Though soft the echo, scorn a borrow'd tone :
Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel,

Resign Achaia's lyre, and strike your own.
He nursed the pinion which impell’d the steel;
While the same plumage that had warm'd his nest Let these, or such as these, with just applause,
Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast.' Restore the muse's violated laws;

But not in Aimsy Darwin's pompous chime,
There be, who say, in these enlighten'd days,
That splendid lies are all the poet's praise ;

That mighty master of unmeaning rhyme,
That straind invention, ever on the wing,

Whose gilded cymbals, more adorn'd than clear, Alone impels the modern bard to sing :

The eye delighted, but fatigued the ear;

In show the simple lyre could once surpass, 'Tis true, that all who rhyme — nay, all who write, Shrink from that fatal word to genius — trite;

But now, worn down, appear in native brass;

While all his train of hovering sylphs around
Yet Truth sometimes will lend her noblest fires,
And decorate the verse herself inspires :

Evaporate in similes and sound :
This fact in Virtue's name let Crabbe 2 attest;

Him let them shun, with him let tinsel die :

False glare attracts, but more offends the eye, 7
Though nature's sternest painter, yet the best. 3
And here let Shee 4 and Genius find a place,

Yet let them not to vulgar Wordsworth stoop, Whose pen and pencil yield an equal grace ;

The meanest object of the lowly group, To guide whose hand the sister arts combine,

Whose verse, of all but childish prattle void, And trace the poet's or the painter's line;

Seems blessed harmony to Lambe and Lloyd : 9 Whose magic touch can bid the canvass glow,

Let them — but hold, my muse, nor dare to teach Or pour the easy rhyme's harmonious flow;

A strain far, far beyond thy humble reach : While honours, doubly merited, attend

The native genius with their being given The poet's rival, but the painter's fricnd.

Will point the path, and peal their notes to heaven. Blest is the man who dares approach the bower And thou, too, Scott 9 ! resign to minstrels rude Where dwelt the muses at their natal hour;

The wilder slogan of a border feud :
Whose steps have press’d, whose eye has mark'd afar, Let others spin their meagre lines for hire ;
The clime that nursed the sons of song and war, Enough for genius, if itself inspire !
The scenes which glory still must hover o'er, Let Southey sing, although his teeming muse,
Her place of birth, her own Achaian shore.

Prolific every spring, be too profuse;
But doubly blest is he whose heart expands

Let simple Wordsworth 10 chime his childish verse, With hallow'd feelings for those classic lands; And brother Coleridge lull the babe at nurse; Who rends the veil of ages long gone by,

Let spectre-mongering Lewis aim, at most, And views their remnants with a poet's eye!

To rouse the galleries, or to raise a ghost; Wright 5! 't was thy happy lot at once to view Let Moore still sigh; let Strangford steal from Moore, Those shores of glory, and to sing them too;

And swear that Camoëns sang such notes of yore; | [Mr. Southey's delightful Life of Kirke White is in every 6 The trauslators of the Anthology, Bland and Merivale, one's hands.)

have since published separate poems, which erince genius ? ["I consider Crabbe and Coleridge as the first of these that only requires opportunity to attain eminence. — (The times, in point of power and genius." — B. 1816 ]

late Rev. Robert Bland published, in conjunction with Mr. 3 [This eminent poet and excellent man died at his rectory Merivale, - Collections from the Greek Anthology." He also of Trowbridge, in February 1832, aged seventy-eight. With

wrote “ Edwy and Elgiva," the “ Four Slaves of Cythera," the exception of the late Lord Stowell, he was the last

&c. In 1814, Mr Merivale published “ Orlando in Rov. surviving celebrated man mentioned by Boswell in con

cevalles ;" and in the following year, “An Ode on the Delinection with Johnson, who revised his poem of the “ Village."

very of Europe." He is now one of the Commissioners of the llis other works are the “Library," the " Newspaper," the

new Bankruptcy Court.) “Borough," a collection of " Poems," which Charles Fox 7 The neglect of the “ Botanic Garden" is some proof of rend in manuscript on his death-bed ; " Tales," and also returuing taste. The scenery is its sole recommendation. “ Tales of the Hall." He left various poetical pieces in MS., 8 Messrs. Lamb and Llord, the most ignoble followers of and a collective edition of his works was published in 1831, Southey and Co. -[In 1798, Charles Lamb and Charles preceded by an interesting Memoir, written by his Son.] Llord published in conjunction a volume, entitled, “ Poems

* Mr. Shee, author of “Rhymes on Art," an " Elements of in Blank Verse.” Mr. Lamb was also the author of " John Art." -[Yow (1636) Sir Martin Shee, and President of the Woodville," "Tales from Shakspeare," the “Essays of Royal Academy.)

Elia," &c. He died in 1835. Mr. Lloyd has since published 5 Waller Rodwell Wright, late consul-general for the Seven

“Edward Oliver," a novel, “ Nugæ Canoræ,” and a translaIslands, is author of a very beautiful poem, just published: it

tion of Alficri's Tragedies.] is entitled “ Horæ lonicæ," anl is descriptive of the isles and 9 By the bye, I hope that in Mr. Scott's next poem, his hero the adjacent coast of Greece. - [To the third edition, which

or heroine will be less addicted to " Gramarye,' and more to came out in 1816, was added an excellent translation of the grammar, than the Lady of the Lay and her bravo, William “ Oreste" of Alfieri. Altis his return to England, Mr. Wright of Deloraine, was chosen Recorder of Bury St Elinunds. ]

10 (“Unjust.” — Byron, 1816.)

Let Hayley hobble on, Montgomery rave,

Shall boary Granta call her sable sons, And godly Grahame chant a stupid stave ;

Expert in science, more expert at puns ? Let sonneteering Bowles his strains refine,

Shall these approach the muse ? ah, no ! she flies, And wuine and whimper to the fourteenth line ; Even from the tempting ore of Seaton's prize; Let Stott, Carlisle !, Matilda, and the rest

Though printers condescend the press to soil Of Grub-street, and of Grosvenor-place the best, With rhyme by Hoares, and epic blank by Hoyle :: Scrawl on, till death release us from the strain, Not him whose page, if still upheld by whist, Or Common Sense assert her rights again.

Requires no sacred theme to bid us list. 5 But thou, with powers that mock the aid of praise, Ye ! who in Granta's honours would surpass, Shouldst leave to humbler bards ignoble lays :

Must mount her Pegasus, a full-grown ass ;
Thy country's voice, the voice of all the nine, A foal well worthy of her ancient dam,
Demand a hallow'd harp - that harp is thine.

Whose Helicon is duller than her Cam.
Say! will not Caledonia's annals yield
The glorious record of some nobler field,

There Clarke, still striving pitcously “ to please,” Than the wild foray of a plundering clan,

Forgetting doggrel leads not to degrees,
Whose proudest deeds disgrace the name of man? A would-be satirist, a hired buffoon,
Or Marmion's acts of darkness, fitter food

A monthly scribbler of some low lampoon, 6
For Sherwood's outlaw tales of Robin Hood ? Condemn'd to drudge, the meanest of the mean,
Scotland ! still proudly claim thy native bard, And furbish falsehoods for a magazine,
And be thy praise his first, his best reward !

Devotes to scandal his congenial mind ;
Yet not with thee alone his name should live, Himself a living libel on mankind. 7
But own the vast renown a world can give;
Be known, perchance, when Albion is no more, Oh ! dark asylum of a Vandal race ! 8
And tell the tale of what she was before ;

At once the boast of learning, and disgrace!
To future times her faded fame recall,

So lost to Phæbus, that nor Hodgson's 9 verse And save her glory, though his country fall.

Can make thee better, nor poor Hewson's 10 worse. 11

But where fair Isis rolls her purer wave, Yet what avails the sanguine poet's hope,

The partial muse delighted loves to lave; To conquer ages, and with time to cope ?

On her green banks a greener wreath she wove, New eras spread their wings, new nations rise, To crown the bards that haunt her classic grove; And other victors fill the applauding skies;

Where Richards wakes a genuine poet's fires, A few brief generations fleet along,

And modern Britons glory in their sires. 12 Whose sons forget the poet and his song: E’en now, what once-loved minstrels scarce may claim For me, who, thus unask'd, have dared to tell The transient mention of a dubious name!

My country, what her sons should know too well, When fame's loud trump hath blown its noblest blast, Zeal for her honour bade me here engage Though long the sound, the echo sleeps at last; The host of idiots that infest her age; And glory, like the phrenix ? 'midst her fires, No just applause her honour'd name shall lose, Exhales her odours, blazes, and expires.

As first in freedom, dearest to the muse. 1 It may be asked why I have censured the Earl of Carlisle, 5 The “ Games of Hoyle,” well known to the rotaries of my guardian and relative, to whom I dedicated a volume of whist, chess, &c., are not to be superseded by the vagaries of puerile poems a few years ago ? – The guardianship was no- his poetical namesake, whose poem comprised, as expressly minal, at least as far as I have been able to discover the rela- stated in the advertisement, all the “plagues of Egypt. tionship I cannot help, and am very sorry for it; but as his lord- 6 [" Right enough : this was well deserved, and well laid ship seemed to forget it on a very essential occasion to me, on." — B. 1816.) I shall not hurden my memory with the recollection. I do

: This person, who has lately betrayed the most rabid not think that personal differences sanction the unjust con. demnation of a brother scribbler ; but I see no reasou why

symptoms of confirmed authorship, is writer of a poem deno

minated the “ Art of Pleasing," as “lucus a non lucendo," conthey should act as a preventive, when the author, noble or ignoble, has, for a series of years, beguiled a “discerning pub.

taining little pleasantry and less poetry.

He also acts as

monthly stipendiary and collector of calumnies for the “ Sa. lic," (as the advertisements have it) with divers reams of most

tirist.”. If this untortunate young man would exchange the orthodox, imperial nonsense. Besides, I do not step aside to magazines for the mathematics, and endeavour to take a vituperate the earl: no- his works come fairly in review with decent degree in his university, it might eventually prove more those of other patrician literati. If, before I escaped from my

serviceable than his present salary. – [Mr. Hewson Clarke teens, I said any thing in favour of his lordship's paper books,

was also the author of " The Saunterer," and a “ History of it was in the way of dutiful dedication, and more from the

the Campaign in Russia."] advice of others than my own judgment, and I seize the

8“ Into Cambridgeshire the Emperor Probus transported a first opportunity of pronouncing my sincere recantation. 1 have heard that some persons conceive me to be under obli

considerable body of Vandals.” – Gibbon's Decline and Fall, gations to Lord Carlisle : if so, I shall be most particularly

vol. ii. p. 83. There is no reason to doubt the truth of this happy to learn what they are, and when conferred, that they

assertion; the breed is still in high perfection. may be duly appreciated and publicly acknowledged. What I

9 This gentleman's name requires no praise : the man who have humbly advanced as an opinion on his printed things, I

in translation displays unquestionable genius may be well exam prepared to support, if necessary, by quotations from

pected to excel in original composition, of which it is to be hoped elegies, eulogies, odes, episodes, and certain facetious and

we shall soon see a splendid specimen.

- [Besides a translation dainty tragedies bearing his name and mark:

of Juvenal, Mr Hodgson has published a Lady Jane Grey,'

" Sir Edgar," and "The Friends," a poem in four books. He " What can ennoble knaves, or fools, or cowards ? Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards."

also translated, in conjunction with Dr. Butler, Lucien Bona.

parte's unreadable epic of Charlemagne."] So says Pope. Amen!-"Much too savage, whatever the 10 Hewson Clarke, esq., as it is written. foundation might be." - B. 1816.]

11 [Originally, ? [" The devil take that phænix ! How came it there?”_

" So sunk' in dulness, and so lost in shame, B. 1816.)

That Smythe and Hodgson scarce redeem thy


12 The “Aboriginal Britons," an excellent poem by Richards. 3 [The Rev. Charles James Hoare published, in 1508, the

[The Rev. George Richards, D.D. has also sent from the "Shipwreck of St. Paul," a Seatonian prize poem.]

press "Songs of the Aboriginal Bards of Britain,” “Modern * [The Rev. Charles Iloyle, author of " Exodus," an epic in France," two volumes of Miscellaneous l'oems, and Bampton thirteen books, and several other Seatonian prize poems.] Lectures " On the Divine Origin of Prophecy."]

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