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Ause be outdooe, and he's asiche and curiod

, Tarudicas per the sparkling river;


Her eye is on him, and his eye on her, For Memory's prism loves to strew
As iflie found in him one thing to love ; O'er joys long past a sostes hue ;
As if he felt her beauty, not her chain, And Fancy sheds o'er pleasures fiown
And lived upon her melancholy smile. A lustre lovelier than their owu !
Hersong has tirred him; it has stirred herself, The transient clouds that dim Life's infaat
For op her eyelash hangs a glittering tear,

day, The heart's quick tribute to times past and In manhood's sterner sorrows melt away ; gone.

They are hat siadows to the weight of woe And such wild sportings as he can he trier, Thai life's maturer years are doom'd to Before her powírful eye, aud saits bis dance

know; Swifter or sicwer to her wandering song. Childhood's light griefs soon vanish from the He shoots along the violet floor, and lies

mind. Straight as a fallen column, and as still But all its sun-bright hours remain behind ! As its pale marble, then sweeps up his coil Surge upon surge, and lays his gorgeous head With its fixed,sleeplesseýe, i' the centre ring,

From the New Monthly Magazine, August 1818. The watcher of his living citadel. Then rolls away as loose a: the sea-wave ;

THE MOSSY SEAT. Anon be stoops like the wild swan, and shows neck as arched silvery; then the vine

NE landscape hath ; And glistens thro’the leaves as proud a green. Nor hath the gloominess forsook But now the song grows loftier, and his pomp Must all be worn to please bis lidiar queen. Still hangs around the shadowy wood,

These granite crags that frown for ever; Herises from his train, that on the ground

Whose sounds but murmur solitude !
Floats in gold circles, and his burnished head
Towers in the sunset like a rising tiame. The raven's plaint, the linpet's song,
And he bas put on colours that make dim The stock-dove's coo, in griefrepining,
The stones of the Indian mine. His length is in mingled echoes steal along;

The setting sun is brightly shining,
In mail, thathath for plates the mother pearl, And clouds above, and hills below,
And for its studs the diamond. There's no ray Are brightening with his golden glow!
Tkat strikes its arched oeck from the stooping

It is not meet, it is not fit,
Bæt rings it with a collar of rich gems,

Though Fortune all' our hopes hath Or sheets it in one emerald, or the flame

thwarted, Of rubies, or the orient sapphire's blue. Whilst on the very stone I sit, His head is crested carbuncle, that spheres Where first we met and last we parted, An eye as glittering as a summer star, That absent from my soul should be Yet tix'd in all its shootings on one form, The thought that loves and looks to thee! That thanks its duty with a faint, fond smile.

So stands and shines he, till the charm is done, Each happy hour that we have proved, 4 And that sweet sound and sweeter smile have Whilst love's delicious converse blended ; sunk

As 'neath the twilight star we roved, In silence and in shade.

TRISSINO. Unconscious where our progress tended,

Still brings my mind a sweet relief,

And bids it love the “joys of grief !”
From the Gentleman's Magazine.

What soothing recollections throng,

Presenting many a mournful token, LINES FROM ASTARTE, A NEW PoEx, That heart's remembrance to prolong,

Which then was blest---but now is broken!
By the Author of " Melancholy Hours." I cannot---Oh ! hast thou forgot

Our early loves ?---this hallowed spot?
S yon bright planet's beams are shed

I almost think I see thee stand :
Below the waves,

I almost dream I hear thee speaking ;
Another glowing heav'n seems spread ; I feel the pressure of thy hand:
A Heaven of deeper, purer dye,

Thy living glance in fondoess seeking. Ne'er met the gazing sage's eye,

Here, all apart---by all unseen, And trees and flowers of lovelier hue

Thy form upon my arm to lean! On earth's green surface never grew, Than those that bloom in shadowy pride Though beauty bless the landscape still--Within the clear unruffled tide !

Though woods surround,and waters leave it,

My heart feels not the vivid thrill No charm is lost that Nature gave,

Which long ago thy presence gave it : But softer smiles the fairy scene,

Mirth---music---frienush p have no tone

P Thus blushing through the azure wave, Like that which with thy voice hath flown!

That spreads its veil of light between, So to the Mourner's eyes grown dim with And memory only now iemains tears,

To whisper things that once delighted : Joys that are past assume a lovelier light, Still, still i sove to tread these plains--As gazing back thro' the dark mist of

years, To seek this sacred haunt benighted, The scenes of other days appear more And feel a something sadly sweet bright;

In resting on this MOSSY SEAT !

Aterbucean's caves

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From the Literary Panorama, August, 1818. IT cannot be denied that the habit assemblages, we shall act with cruelty

which living Poets cultivate, of deal- towards poetical inspiration. ing only in those impressions which therefore think Mr. Coleridge should have affected them most strongly as be allowed to introduce his owls, and individuals, contributes much to the mastiff, in his old Christabel without warmth, intensity and enthusiasm of molestation. their compositions. A Poet, in the Since the reign of Lord Byron comabstract sense of the term, is a person menced, sentiment has become the staple who seeks for imposing and interesting article. Creativeness of imagination, conceptions wherever they are to be which is quite a different thing, seems found, and who has no preference for at present to be more rare, and indeed one set of ideas more than another, ex- is very rare at all times, since we do not cept in so far as they are calculated to find a remarkable instance of it once in stir, excite, and gratify the human mind. a century. Poetical sentiment is merely This would be the character of one the strength of the moral affections who estimated the value of poetical sublimed by enthusiasm. Repeated materials philosophically. But it has instances have proved that it is comgenerally been found, that Poetry can- patible with a very limited range of not be composed by setting so coolly ideas, nay, that it is even an exclusive to work, and that, when the reasoning principle, and likes a limited range, faculties are too watchful, there is gen- because varied ideas are apt to disturb erally a dispersion of those fine feelings it—but imagination is an universal love which serve as a sort of key-note for of conceptions, images, and pictures of calling together poetical thoughts, all kinds, for their own sake, and reJudgment is quite unable to detect the joices in producing them ad infinitum, relations which bind ideas together into for the sole pleasure of viewing the Poetry. Feeling alone can do it; but pageant. Darwin is an example of a feeling is so much modified by circum- vivid imagination existing quite sepastances and associations, that we seldom rately from poetical sentiment or moral find it operating in any individual with enthusiasm. abstract propriety; and if we turn loose For strength of stimulus, the Poetry our metaphysical judgment upon its of sentiment is certainly preferable to

ATHEN EUM. Vol. 4.

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that composed of mere pictures and the novelist and the satirist, and even to images like Darwin's, or that of ob- the painter of moral energies and affecservation and reflection like Pope's. tions, where like Crabbe, he takes them But as the understanding of the reader with such compounds as occur in real is entirely passive in perusing Poetry of life, without attempting to abstract them sentiment, the means of excitement are into the sublime. soon expended. Poetry, consisting So completely does the ideal beautipartly of reflection and observation, ful appear to be exhausted, that Poets, like that of Pope's, awakens the mind for some years back, have been obliged into a state of pleasing activity, which to represent their heroes as villanous may be sustained for almost any length and immoral, retaining, of course, the of time, without any feeling of weari- staple article of strength of mind. There ness or monotony, since the interest of is no doubt a charm about the idea of it is derived from the contrasts and great mental energy; but moral amiablecomparisons of dissimilar and distant ness would still have been retained as ideas, collected from a wide field, and an ingredient in the picture, if it had not from the aggregation of a great not become trite and threadbare. The many homogeneous ideas brought to case is the same on the stage. Sir bear on one point.

Giles Overreach, Bertram, and Richard The range of human thoughts is not the Third, proclaim aloud their wickedunlimited, and a considerable part of dess to an applauding audience, and it has already been exhausted. In so are answered from the closet by Confar as Poetry consists in selecting the rad, Lara, Bertram, the Buccaneer, ideal beauties, either of human nature Childe Harold, and Meg Merilees, or of the external world, or in describ- whose respective confessions make the ing situations of imaginary felicity, we hair of ordinary Christians stand on can hardly now expect Poets to dis- end. Mapfred retorts again from the cover any unanticipated conceptions on Alps, and is like to have the Bible these subjects. Virtue and perfection thrown in his face by John Balfour of are not susceptible of many different Burley, for pretending to be worse aspects, because their real elements than bimself; while Mokanna, with his must always be the same. David silver veil, hopes to transcend the whole, Hume observes, that truth is one thing, by adding ugliness to a bad heart. while falsehood is unlimited in its varie. Since mankind must be furnished ties. The same thing may be said of with something to stir their sluggish the ideal beauties, both of mind and bosoms, it is very fair that Poets should matter. It is probable that the ancients employ whatever means are left for prowould perceive a cloying similarity in ducing the effect wanted. The public, the lineaments and proportions of their for its own sake, must sometimes overbest statues because no artist could look the oddness of the expedients used; diverge very far from a certain standard and if modern Poetry does not exhibit without forsaking his object. The so extensive a range of ideas as could contention and emulation of sculptors be wished, it is rather to be ascribed to would draw them closer and closer to the love of intense effect, than to the a centre. The conceptions of a Phidias want of invention. Observation is the are circumscribed within a certain nat- source from whence every thing like ural boundary ; but there is no boun- real opulence of conceptions must be dary to the variety of the conceptions of derived, since imagination only reproa Hogarth, because he does not aim at duces what has been observed in a drawiog perfection, but at characterising form fit for poetry: and the great fault peculiarity and imperfection, which are of modern Poets seems to be, that they infinite. In the same manner,although have exerted themselves too little to heroic Poetry may be considered as furnish their minds with materials nearly exhausted, the world will for whereupon to operate. ever continue to supply materials to

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From the Litenry Gazette, August 1818.

No. III.

recollected that he had lent them to a

friend. Upon another occasion, he kept THE BLUNDERER. dinner waiting two hours at a friend's VHERE cannot be a better man T:

house, and, upon flying into a passion than Sir Michael Marall. No one at his coachman's neglect, he was inmore obliging ; nothing is kinder than formed that he had sent his carriage to his heart; yet no one on earth commits bring home his little nephews from more unlucky mistakes in company.

school. He lost an aunt's favour by From these, he is reckoned a mere scat- outbidding her in a sale of china, which ter-brain, a marplot, a quiz, and is often he did, thinking that she had an interest avoided. From these, he has got him- in keeping up the price of the article ; self into very serious scrapes, and has and a rich cousin scratched him out of lost his

best friends. Finally,

her will for speaking against Methodism, from these unwilling errors, he, who of he having entirely forgot her religious all men in the world, wishes most to persuasion. please and to do good, scarcely ever

But of all the unfortunate days of opens his mouth without committing a

blunders that ever occurred, that was blunder,—without giving offence.

the chief on whieh I met him at dinner Sir Michael is now fifty years of age; at the Marchioness's. Being in general yet is he as thoughtless as when first I two hours too late, and resolving to Knew him, which is thirty years ago.

make amends for his usual failures, and As a proof of the confusion of his brain, never having dined at the Marquis's behe forgets daily to wind up his watch, fore, he arrived two hours before he was sets it wrong afterwards, and is never in expected. The score of servants in the time any where. In his commonest

hall stared at him on bis arrival, and concerns he is always under some mis- then looked at each otherm-as much as apprehension, some mistake ; and, in to say, " Is he mad ? what a queer gehis conversation, he is sure to say or to nius this Sir Michael must be !' but the do something out of time or out of groom of the chambers, with his accusplace. If he meet a widower, he will tomed officious grin and low bow, said, invariably inquire after his wife. If he mechanically, “ My Lord will be down meet a lady who is divorced, he will in ten minutes," and then placed his (forgetting the circumstance) beg his chair, bowed, and handed him a newsrespects to her husband. He not unfre- paper. He had time to spell every word quently asks unmarried ladies after their of it

. After which he took up a novel children ; and people at variance, after and went through it. their friend so and so.


At length a powdered servant opened do not know and pity this absence, or the folding-doors, and in walked the rather this confusion of his, consider that Marchioness. Sir Michael had never he intends to hoax them, or to insult seen her before ; but he was acquainted them.

The few who are acquainted with her sister, Lady Barbara, to whom with his infirmity, fear to ask him to the resemblance was striking. He rose their houses, lest he say or do something up, and made his best bow ; whilst the offensive to their company,

Marchioness smiled on him with her I remember one day when he made usual dignity and mildness. Cheered an appointment with me to ride togeth- by this into self-confidence, he thus beer to see a cottage on the banks of the gan : • I need not (bowing a second Thames :

we waited a considerable time) ask your Ladysbip to whom I time; at last he rung the bell, and asked have the honour of speaking, seeing so

resemblance betwixt your why the groom did not bring his horses strong a to the door ? when, all of a sudden, he daughter and yourself.' “ Daughter,

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The Hermit in London, No. 3.

(vol. 4 Sir, I have done ; you must mistake.” than Sir Michael Marall," -(the Knight • Probably- Madam-1 may ; I ask in an agony) • Pardon me, my Lady ; your ladyship's pardon.'

my honourAt this moment, her eldest sister, (The Marquis entered) “My dear Lady Barbara, entered the room. That, Baronet, how are you? Why you are that lady, Madam, is the person I come in time to-day. (Turning to the meant; I took her for your ladyship's Marchioness) This is my very oldest daughter. Lady Barbara, your most friend." Her ladysbip gave a contempobedient! delighted to see you look so tuous look, which said, Je vous en fais well: indeed the likeness'-(Marchion- mon compliment. ess)" is that of a younger to an elder The company now began to arrive sister : my sister Barbara is three years briskly; carriages chased carriages dowa. older than myself (drily); but, (with a the street; and the thunder of the street smile of contempt) there is certainly a door was like a feu de joie. The Marstrong family likeness.” “Oh! yes, quis now drew his friend aside, and beautiful ! vastly like indeed! a strong said, “ Michael, I am heartily glad to

very strong family likeness, particu- see you here. It is now three years larly about the eyes' (Lady Barbara since I met you at Newmarket. I have squints dreadfully.) Here ensued a been to Naples and to Vienna since, loud laugh of the two ladies. (Mar- and have got married. I am sorry that chioness) “ Do you think so, Sir Mi- I had not an earlier opportunity of inchael ?" (Sir Michael perceiving the troducing you to the Marchioness; but obliquity of the sister's eye) • No, my you will find her at all times happy to lady, not at all, not a bit?'

see you.”—Sir Michael. “No doubt ; (Marchioness)“ I am quite mortified I read it in ber countenance. A very to think how long you have been kept sweet woman! a most interesting perwaiting. My Lord is not yet come son! and I perceive that she is as wofrom the House ; and I am much later men wish to be who love their lords : than usual myself, having been detained ha,ha, ha! yes, pretty far gone; there's no at Philips and Robins's.” I under- fear of the title's being extinct ; no, no; stand your Ladyship ; yes, the two but all in good time. Marquis.—“Sir money lending attorneys; I know them Michael, I hope that her ladyship's well; hard dogs.' “Not at all, Sir Mi• change of shape will not be so sudden chael, I mean the auctioneers.” “Yes,yes, as you expect; else must ill health be (all confusion, the auctioneers I mean.' the cause. She is, I confess, rather

(Marchioness) “ I see that you have corpulent, but is not so in the way taken up that scurrilous novel, what which you imagine.” Here he turned think you of it ?”. • Beautiful ! full of from him and left him overwhelmed wit! how it cuts up the gouty alderman with shame—they had been married pocketing the poor's rates ! and the fat only three months. gambling Marchioness' (the latter was Now entered Colonel O'Fagan, who, herself). (Lady Barbara, wishing to after making his obeisance all round, relieve him) “ Hem ! did you look at attacked the Baronet. “ Sir Michael, those trifles in verse ? They are very you played me a prettty trick to-day; trifles, but written merely at leisure you promised to bring me here in your hours, mere bagatelles composed on the carriage, knowing as you do that one spur of the occasion. What think you of my horses is lame; and here you of them ?” “Trifles, trifles indeed, mere are before me, after keeping me waiting. bagatelles, as your ladyship justly ob- an hour and a half."-My dear Coloserves ; quite below par; childish, very nel, I ask ten thousand pardons ; but it childish indeed; a catchpenay no doubt’ is my coachman's fault; he never put Lady Barbara-“Childish, as you say ; me in mind of it as I bid him, for my very much below par ; but no catch- memory is most treacherous; 'tis enpenny, Sir; they are my composition, tirely his fault; but he is an Irishman, and were never sold, but printed for a and one must pardon his bulls and his few friends more indulgent and partial blunders sometimes ; they belong to

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