Sheds lustre unfaded, no cloud can o'ercast,

Since Fame to the verge of old Time still must last. Thus ranks Poet Rogers, with mind chastely glowing:

Wou'd each bard, like him, was with genius o'erflowing!

Campbell.

Natura ipse valere, et mentis viribus excitari, et quasi quodam divino spiritu afflari.

Cicero.

To be powerful from nature; impelled by the energies of the mind, and to feel, as it were, the inspiration of a Divine Spirit.

HOPE's path, lo! with pleasures a Campbell next

strews,

True fancy with lustre enshrining the Muse;

His scenes rapid changing, revolve boundless scope, Each vision the phantasy nurtur'd of Hope.

As in Comus of Milton bright gems stud each line, The fire of a Genius ne'er resting supine,

So his vesture our Bard dipp'd in heaven's azure

beam,

And Hope seems no longer Delusion's gay dream :
Enchain'd by his number, dark Fate is forgot,

Our passage through life ranks of Angels the lot
The sunshine of pleasure dispels sorrow's tears, (p)
And the soul seems entranc'd by the choir of the
spheres.

Oh! welcome, fond Hope, choicest boon from above,
The balm of affliction and soother of love;

(p) When sunbeams illumine the sphere, we are gladdened by the brilliancy of their rays; and when the soul of poetry vibrates on the mind, we own the heavenly inspiration. It is therefore sufficient that the Pleasures of Hope be enrolled, to invigorate every thrill that emanates from the effusions of harmonic and vigorous poesy. Having thus dismissed a Campbell with a eulogy inadequate to his deserts, which are so conspicuous throughout all his performances, I cannot refrain from coupling with the above-mentioned bard the name of Cowper, which has no less conferred the highest honour upon the votaries of true genius in our matchless isle.

Thy precept enchanting, by Campbell design'd,
'Graves each budding joy on my sensitive mind:

Then live, sweetest soother! my soul's dearest

treasure;

The pathway of Peace, and the beacon of Pleasure.

Where there is honey, there will the bees swarm.

STAND forth, playful Burns, that on sweet native

reed

Erst pip'd roundelay which of praise claims the

meed:

Tho' tarnish'd by failings, such conduct yet prov'd

Thy mind by the Muses was fondly belov'd;

For the race of Apollo have faulty been found,
In mazes performing this life's fitful round.
Forgive, then, his deeds; since the actor we know
To none, save himself, play'd the part of a foe :