lounger: his Domestic Anecdotes of the French Nation excited a higher inte rest, and, while they amused the idler, afforded ample matter of reflection to the philosopher; his Vaurien has produced a swarm of worthless imitations: but it would be as absurd to blame Mr. D'Israeli for the trash of Miss Hamilton and Mr. G. Walker, &c. as to accuse the Nile, because of the reptiles that breed in its slime. His romances displayed fancy and feeling. Three stories are contained in the present elegant volume. The Carder and the Carrier, which is the first, is so absurd in story, that no talents could make it interesting. The girl sportively rubs her lover's teeth with what she mistakes for a leaf of sage, but it proves to be a poisonous plant, and instantly kills him. She is arrested as a murderer, and led by a crowd, with the judge, to the place where the body lies: there she tells her tale, and then Bowing her head, the plant of poisonous breath She sucked, and blest the vegetable death. Quick thro' her veins the flying poisons dart, And one cold tremor chills her beating heart. She kneels, and winds her arms round Pasquil's breast, There, as t'were life to touch, she creeps to rest; On him once more her opening eyes she raised, The light died on them as she fondly gazed; With quick short breath, catching at life, she tried To kiss his lips, and as she kissed, she died. "O did the Muse but know the learned name With the soft images of amorous woe, From ye the Muse one tender tear would claim; One shudder, at the plant without a name !" We know not whether this tale be original, or versified from some foreign author. The second is the well-known story of Cominge. The third a tale addressed to a Sybarite. Anasillis places a statue of himself made by Praxiteles in the character of Love, in Aglaia's bower, that she may learn love from adoration. The scheme succeeds How small the triumph o'er a virgin form! Anasillis in fond entrancement hears, Bends o'er the nymph, and kissed away in fears. Then thus-an innocent deceit forgive; Smile on thy picture and the form shall inve "She then, unskilled, how features a abroad," First of thy race, to me thou art a god! How oft when idle fancy idle roved For uncreated shapes-'twas thee I loved! And if I may not mate with thee, I die. Oh, be not twice a statue to my sigh! "With meek surrender, and a timorous gl The boy, each soft retiring grace enchant While to his bosom all the virgin stole, And Time with silvery feathers winged the "To thee young Sybarite! the tale we give, To modest beauty, fate decrees the power, The language of these poems is highly laboured, and occasionally obscure. It abounds too with modern barbarisms; but these will pass current, for the King's English has long been debased. ART. XXXV. Beneficence; or, Verses addressed to the Patrons of the Society for bettering the Condition of the Poor. By F. A. WARREN, B. D. 4to. pp. 35. "THE author has been desirous of giving to his verses a simple domestic manner; if they please, it will be by natural description, and unrestrained sentiment; he would wish his muse to resemble a rural beauty, who knows not, or if she know, only scorns artificial and meretricious decorations. About the success of his publications, no writer, it presumed, is altogether indifferent. Great is is the authority for the assertion, the ruunt, under any circumstances, that sucess and miscarriage will be alike empty ounds,' savours more of the pride of stosm, than the reality of truth; but he, hose expectations are low, cannot be very much disappointed; and if the author of the following poem may, on some accounts, be. arraigned and condemned in the court of criticism, he still feels confident that, in the opinion of liberal or just judges, he can scarcely deserve to be tortured on its wheel, cr exposed on its gibbet." is The subject and temper of this poem would have saved it from a rigorous. sentence, even if its size required long examination, or its faults severity. The Bedford are the best. stanzas upon the death of the Duke of &T. XXXVI. Scottish descriptive Poems; with some Illustrations of Scottish literary Antiquities. Edited by Mr. LEYDEN. 12mo. pp. 255. WE cannot flatter our readers with e hope of much entertainment from e volume before us. The first and longest poem it contains entitled Clyde; it is the production of Scottish schoolmaster named Wilson, d was published at Glasgow in the Ar 1764. In 1767, its author, of whom r. Leyden has given a life, was chosen superintend the grammar-school of eenock, on condition that he should andon"the profane and unprofitable of poem making." It is probable, Mr. Wilson himself regretted this Eibition more than his readers; for Clyde offers no indication of talents e mediocrity. The locality of its yect would preclude a much finer m from becoming popular; and perthe following passage, descriptive te falls of the Clyde, is the only one able by its animation of arresting the ration of any reader: Where ancient Corehouse hangs above the stream, far beneath the tumbling surges gleam, phed in crags, the fretting river raves, dinto foam, resound his tortured waves; giddy heads we view the dreadful deep, cattle snort and tremble at the steep, re down at once the foaming waters pour, tottering rocks repel the deafening roar: "Albania" is another poem of modesuffered to fall into oblivion, with little rate quality, which might have been injury to the public. The most curious and interesting piece in the present collection, is pedantically intitled "Day Estival," and was written by Alexander Hume in the latter end of the sixteenth of Latin, French, Scotch and English, century. His style is a singular mixture and is characteristic of the individual much more than of the age. Hume ap. pears, however, to have possessed an ex- "The time so tranquil is, and still, Nor they were painted on a wall, No more they move or stir. "So silent is the cessile air, That every cry and call, Mr. Leyden's notes are prolix and desultory; we could have excused his Gaelic extracts, and their translations likewise. Repository for Fugitive Poetry, for 1802. 8vo. PP. 450. "All trees and simples, great and small, That balmy leaf do bear; ART. XXXVII. Poetical Register, and IT is with pleasure that we see this elegant collection increasing in value: the present volume is much richer than the last in "Original Poetry," and the "Fugitive Poetry" likewise appears to us better selected; indeed there is scarcely any absolute trash in the whole work, which, when the size of the book is considered-an octavo of 450 pages....... must appear extraordinary, and highly creditable to the bards of the present day, as well as to the editor of the "Poetical Register." We must allow, however, that we do not see the utility or the honesty of borrowing so largely, and without acknow ledgment, from periodical works of great sale, and present popularity, which are not usually thrown aside by the purchasers, like old news-papers, but regularly bound up into handsome volumes. We must further confess, that we ourselves should prefer, and we believe the sentiment extends to all who have drunk deep of the spring of the Muses--to sip slightly of the Castalian dews, in the exalted form of distilled waters, instead of quaffing full goblets of the common draft liquor of the fountain. To speak without a metaphor, we To yon new-sodded grave, as your slow In yon new-sodded grave (ever dear be the Lies the stranger we lov'd, the poor exile And is this the poor exile at rest from his One pang as her eyes to thy cold relics glance, One flow'r from her garland, one tear from her heart, Shall drop on the grave of the exile of France." Most ofthe pieces of distinguished merit which adorn this collection, are signed with the names of writers already known to the public--we observed, however, both in the last volume and the present, some poems with the signature Alcæus, which are excelled by none of the others in spirit, originality, and true poetic fire, As an encouragement to bashful merit, we swell our article by copying the fol lowing Ode to the Volunteers of Britain, on the Prospect of Invasion. "O for the death of those, The warrior's corse appears, The womb of her that gave them birth, Britannia's foes away, And the blue monsters of the deep Be surfeited with prey!-No!-they have 'scap'd the waves, 'Scap'd the sea-monsters' maws; They come!-but O shall Gallic slaves Give English freemen laws? By Alfred's spirit, no! -Ring, ring the loud alarms! To arms our heroes fly; Like clashing clouds in mountain storms, The rushing armies meet; And while they pour their breath, The strong earth shudders at their feet, The day grows dim with death. -Ghosts of the mighty dead! The dead to life return; Our fathers' spirits rise! - My brethren in YOUR breasts they. They sparkle in YOUR eyes. They yield, they break,-they fly; they faint,-they fall,-they O stay!-the work is done. Spirit of Vengeance rest: Sweet Mercy Erics" forbear!" She clasps the vanquish'd to her breast; Thou wilt not pierce them there! But lovelier wreaths entwine his neck, - His children and his spouse! Exulting o'er his lot, The dangers he has braved : -Daughters of Albion! weep; Your fathers, husbands, brethren sleep, O gently close the eye, That lov'd to look on you; O seal the lip, whose earliest sigh, With knots of sweetest flowers Their winding sheets perfume; And wash their wounds with true-love showers, And dress them for the tomb : For beautiful in death, The warrior's corse appears, Embalm'd by fond affection's breath And bathed in woman's tears. Give me the death of those, Who for their country die; Their loveliest native earth The womb of her that gave them birth, That womb shall be their grave." Sheffield, Aug. 29, 1803. ALCEUS. ART. XXXVIII. The Picture; Verses written in Londen, May 28, 1803, sugend by a magnificent Landscape of Rubens, in Possession of Sir George Beaumont, By Rev. W. LISLE BOWLES, 4to. pp. 20. "For lo! where, all alarm'd The small birds, from the late-resounding perch, Fly various, hush'd their early song, and mark, The flow'ring rushes, dew-besprent; with breast, Ruddy, and emerald wing, the king-fisher Steals through the dripping sedge away: what shape Of terror, scares the woodland habitants, Cow'ring, and low, step silent after step, groupe, The speckled partridges, that in the sun, These are the best lines in this poem, and in part these lines are excellent; but what namby-pamby Vauxhall songmonger ever invented any viler trash than this "simple song:" ART. XXXIX. Fugitive Verse and Prose, MIRTH and mourning; magpye feathers-a mixture of all heterogeneous materials. We select a serious and a comic specimen. To the expiring Century, Jua. 1, 1801. Octennia hence!-The desolating groan Of wars' ensanguin'd Geld; the purpled pest: Pale famine's querulous cry, with triple mon Thy parting steps attend.Avaunt unblest! What tho' philosophy has mark'd thy road, And bright-ey'd science rear'd her radiant head, And polish'd arts their splendors havebestow'd; Meteors of bliss! how little ye bestead!' "Oh may thy new-born sister's rising rays, Compose this chaos of conflicting woes!-May plenty, health, and peace command our praise To the pure fount whence good and mercy flows! May reason visit earth, with truth conjoin'd; Philanthropy refine, and justice guide man kind!" "Leave the loud, tumultuous throng And listen, listen, listen To the milk-maid's simple song." SONG. Forget me not, tho' forced to go My love I will think of thee.' My bonny, bonny bride, She shall be the young milk-maid." "O green are the rushes that flow'r in the bura, And I grieve for my love, who may never return." We know no poet of any merit who • poems are so limited as those of Mr. Bowles-he plays as sweetly as it is possible to play upon a fiddle with one string. A note to this poem informs us of a design to illustrate the picturesque chi racter of Theocritus by paintings by Sir George Beaument. Respecting s we do the admirable talents of George, we should be sorry to see the employed on such a subject. Sici scenery can only be studied in Sicily. &c. By J. P. ROBERDEAU. 8vo. pp. 17o, The Stage Coach Company,—A Shakesp parody. Morley is a stage, Where men and women all are passengers. They have their middle and their comer stats Which no one on the road presumes toc tett Altho' close-wedg'd with seven! And firstl lap-child, Mewling and pewking o'er your shoes 2. boots; And next the down-cast school-boy, with 1. boxes, And porhets shilling fill'd-and large plun cake, Which somewhat sweetens school! And nex: the Ensign, Cramming hot-rolls, and eyeing, at each eng Molly who serves the breakfast.-Next a slumberer; Full of sour wine, with ill-look'd, unshav d beard; Rolling his noddle, sudden in naps and wak |