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For let them but once, as they wish-feel their way,
Obscenity, falsehood, and trash they'll display.
Style-Genius, mere nothings:-since Dryden sub-

lime

Might starve with his pathos, while fashion's dull

rhyme

Is palm'd forth, and thus public feeling debas'd;
Since publishers heed neither judgment nor taste,
Two requisites hackney'd-not worthy a thought
Of moderns ;-with far diff'rent acumen fraught.
To booksellers thus, and the press, we all owe
Of science profound the complete overthrow;
But such as lack proofs, soon as conn'd are my

pages,

Will find asses rank on a par with the sages;

So affirms wise Sir Noodle; and who dares deny him? If such recreant now lives, I as champion defy him.

C

THE WRITER TO HIS POETIC

BRETHREN.

-Mediocribus esse poetis

Non Dii, non homines, non concessere columnæ.

Horace.

With poets mediocrity is not allowable, either by gods, or men, or the pillars which support the shops of the booksellers.

My prelude thus ended, I next, by degrees,
Must enact all the toils of renown'd Hercules ;
For the theme is so copious of Scribblecumdash,
I already feel symptoms bespeaking me rash;
Since to bring in one focus all scribes-I'm less able,
Than to jabber with each tribe of workmen at Babel.
We're told a faint heart will not fair lady win;
Thus I ne'er shall conclude, if I never begin:

Then at it, my Pegasus, here's whip and rein,
Tally ho! Tally ho! dash it bold o'er the plain;
Extol in thy race ev'ry son of Apollo,

And spurn with thine hoofs sconces all that are

hollow;

Be justice the symbol that marks thy career,
For the organ of Truth is disdainful of fear:

I'faith, I've no rancour, nor mean I to show it;
In person I scarce know e'en one living Poet.

Their labours I've studied, and act from cool

reason;

Thus folly and sense share due comments in season . The flights of bold fancy shall first claim the

stricture,

For poets stand foremost on Noodle's grand picture, From high vaunted Scot that has caus'd hue and cry O!

To Rickman, self-dubb'd after great Mistress Clio.

Southey.(1)

Aut insanit homo, aut versus facit.

Either the man is mad, or writing verses.

Horace.

TIME
IME was, when a man dar'd an Epic essay,

He cautious survey'd stumbling-blocks in his way;
So first made enquiry if Phoebus had bless'd him,
And whether the Muses united caress'd him:

(h) This gentleman's voluminous productions seem to have been written with a view to the display of his universal reading, rather than of annexing to his name the title of a great and lasting poet he has been esteemed a follower of Wordsworth's

With acumen keen depth of study survey'd,
And if fancy in vestments of reason was 'ray'd;
For when sterling sense cannot genius bind fast,
All efforts prove madness-the style mere bombast.

style, without laying claim to the pathos which characterises a variety of that gentleman's productions, notwithstanding his contempt for all the heretofore acknowledged rules of poetical composition. Whensoever Mr. Southey issues from the press, we find him arrayed in a different costume, though one unvarying predeliction for the wonderful runs through the whole series of his poems. His Joan of Arc, hastily composed after the manner of Milton and other epic poets, though possessing merit, is particularly deficient on the score of patriotism, as every Gallic chief is elevated to the rank of an hero, while our fifth Henry, Talbot, &c. are scarcely raised above the common walk of life. Thalaba the Destroyer, after the model of the Arabian Tales, is characterised by some bold but extravagant flights. Madoc, though generally pleasing, on account of the mild sentiments which breathe throughout that production, is nevertheless rendered irksome to the reader, at intervals, from insipidity and tameness of style. Kehama, diversified with the rhapsodies of Thalaba, and the gentleness of the last mentioned poem, claims precedence above the rest; and whatsoever genius this writer. may possess is certainly elicited from the work in question.

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