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9 aulas holds amidst the chiefs his place ; Nor less the other's deadly vengeance
* lis prayers
he sends, but what can prayers
avail,

But falls on feeble crowds without a names sost in the murmurs of the sighing gale? His wound unconscious Fadus scarce can feel,

Yet wakeful Rhæsus sees the threatening

steel ; The trench is past, and, favour'd by the His coward breast behind a jar he hides,

night,

And, vainly, in the weak defence confides; a bit through sleeping foes they wheel their Full in his heart the falchion search'd wary flight.

his veins,
When shall the sleep of many a foe be o'er? The reeking weapon bears alternate stains;
Alas! some slumber whu shall wake no more! Thro' wine and blood, commingling as
Chariots, and bridles, mix'd with arms,

they flow,
are seen,

The feeble spirit seeks the shades below. And flowing flasks, and scatter'd troops Now, where Messapus dwelt they bend between;

their way, Bacchus and Mars to rule the camp combine, Whose fires emit a faint and trembling ray; A mingled chaos this of war and wine.

There unconfined behold each grazing steed, “Now,” cries the first, “for deeds of blood Unwatch d, unheeded, on the herbage feed;

prepare,

Brave Nisns here arrests his comrade's arm, With me the conquest and the labour share; Too flush'd with carnage, and with conHere lies our path; lest any hand arise,

quest warm : Watch thou, while many a dreaming chief- "Hence let us haste, the dangerous path tain dies;

is past, I'll carve our passage through the heedless

Full foes enough, to-night, have breathed foe,

their last; And clear thy, road, with many a deadly Soon will the day those eastern clouds blow."

adorn, Bill His whispering accents then the youth Now let us speed, nor tempt the rising morn."

represt, F And pierced proud Rhamnes throngh his

panting breast;

What silver arms , with various arts 2T Stretch'd at his ease, th' incautious king

emboss'd, reposed,

What bowls and mantles, in confusion toss'd, 1 Debauch,and not fatigue, his eyes had closed; They leave regardless! yet, one glittering - To Turnus dear, a prophet and a prince,

prize 17 His omens more than augur's skill evince, Attracts the younger hero's wandering eyes;

But he, who thus foretold the fate of all, The gilded harness Rhamnes' coursers felt, de Could not avert his own untimely fall.

The gems which stud the monarch's golden Next Remus' armour-bearer, hapless, fell,

belt; And three unbappy slaves the carnage swell: This from the pallid corse was quickly torn, The charioteer along his conrser's sides

Once by a line of former chieftains worn. Expires, the steel his sever'd neck divides; Th’ exulting boy the studded girdle wears, And, last,his Lord is number'd with the dead, Messapus' helm his head, in triumph, bears; Bounding convulsive, flies the gasping head; Then from the tents their cautious steps From the swollen veins the blackening

they bend, torrents pour,

To seek the vale, where safer paths extend. Staind is the couch and earth with clotting

gore. Young Lamyrus and Lamus next expire,

Just at this hour a band of Latian horse And gay Serranus, fill?d with youthful fire; To Turnus' camp pursue their destined Half the long night in childish games was

course; past,

While the slow foot their tardy march delay, Lulld by the potent grape, he slept at last; The knights, impatient, spur along the way: Ah! happier far, had he the morn survey'd, Three hundred mail-clad men, by Volscens And, till Aurora's dawn, his skill display'd.

led,

To Turnus with their master's promise sped:
In slaughter'd folds, the keepers lost in Now, they approach the trench, and view
sleep,

the walls,
His hungry fangs a Lion thus may steep; When, on the left, a light reflection falls;
Mid the sad flock,at dead of night, he prowls, The plunder'd helmet through the waning
With murder glutted, and in carnage rolls;

night
Insatiate still, through teeming herds he Sheds forth a silver radiance,glancing bright;

roams,
Volscens, with question loud , the pair

alarms In seas of gore the lordly tyrant foams.

3

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That strain'd invention, ever on the wing, | Whose gilded cymbals, more adorn'd than Alonc impels the modern bard to sing:

clear, "T'is true that all who rhyme, nay, all who The eye delighted, but fatigued the ear.

write,

In show the simple lyre could once surpas Shrink from that fatal word to Genius, But now, worn down, appear in native bras;

trite;

While all his strain of hovering sylplan Yet truth sometimes will lend her noblest

around,
fires,

Evaporate in similies and sonnd :
And decorate the verse herself inspires : Ilim let them shun, with him let tinsel die:
This fact in Virtue's name let CRABBE attest- False glare attracts,but more offends the eye
Though nature's sternest painter,yet the best.

Yet let them not to vulgar WORDSWORTH
And here let Shes and Genius find a place,

stoop, Whose pen and pencil yield an equal grace; The meancst object of the lowly group, Toguide 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 Lamb and LLOSE Whose magic touch can bid the canvass Let them -- but hold, my muse, nor dare to glow,

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 feeling givet The poet's rival, but the painter's friend. Will point the path , and peal their notes

to heaven.

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lands ;

of yore;

Blest is the man who dares approach the bower

And thou, too, Scort! resign to minstrels Where dwelt the Muses at their natal hour;

rude Whose steps have press’d, whosc eye has the wilder Slogan of a Border-fend:

mark'd afar Let others spin their meagre lines for hireThe clime that nursed the sons of song and Enough for genias if itself inspire !

war,

Let Southey sing, although his teeming The scenes which glory still must hover o'er,

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 chime his childish With hallow'd feelings for those classic

verse,

And brotherCOLERIDGE lull the babe at nurse; Who rends the veil of ages long gone by, Let spectre-mongering Lewis aim, at most, And views their remoants with a poet's eye! To rouse the galleries, or to raise a ghost; Wright ! 'twas thy happy lot at once to view Let Moors be lew'd; let STRANGFORD steal Those shores of glory, and to sing them too;

from MOORE, And sure no common muse inspired thy pen And swear that CAMOENS sang such notes To hail the land of gods and godlike men.

Let HAYLEY hobble on, MONTGOMERY rare,

And godly GRAHAM chaunt a stupid stave; And you, associate Bards! who snatch'd Let sonnetteering Bowles his strains refine,

to light

And whine and whimper to the fourteenth Those gems too long withheld from modern

sight;

Let Stott, CARLISLE, MATILDA, and the rest Whose mingling taste combined to call Of Grub-street, and of Grosvenor-Place the the wreath

best, Where Attic flowers Aonian odours breathe, Scrawl on, 'till death release us from the And all their renovated fragrance flung,

strain, To grace the beauties of your native tongue; Or common-sense assert her rights again; Now let those minds that nobly could But thou, with powers that mock the aid transfuse

of praise, The glorious spirit of the Grecian muse, Shouldst leave to humbler bards ignoble Though soft the echo, scorn a borrow'd tone:

lays: Resign Achaia's lyre, and strike your own. Thy conntry's voice,the voice of all the Nine,

Demand a hallow'd harp- that harp is thine.

Say! will not Caledonia's annals yield Let these, or such as these, with just The glorious record of some nobler field,

applause,

Than the vile foray of a plundering clan, Restore the Muse's violated laws:

Whose proudest deeds disgrace the name But not in flimsy Darwin's pompous chime,

of man? That mighty master of unmeaning rhyme; Or Marmion's acts of darkness, fitter food

line ;

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For outlaw'd SHERWOOD's tales of Robin | To crown the bards that haunt her classic Hood ?

grove, Scotland ! still proudly claiın thy native Where RICHARDS wakes a genuine poet's Bard,

fires, And be thy praise his first, his best reward! And modern Britons justly praise their sires. Yet not with thee alone his name should live, But own the vast renown a world can give; Be known, perchance, when Albion is no For me, who thus unask'd have dared more,

to tell And tell the tale of what she was before; My country what her sons should know To future times her faded fame recal,

too well, And save her glory, though his country fall. Zeal for her honour bade me here engage

The host of idiots that infest her age.

No just applauso her honour'd name shall Yet what avails the sanguine poet's hope

lose, To conquer ages, and with time to cope ? As first in freedom, dearest to the Muse. New eras spread their wings, new nations Oh, would thy bards but emulate thy fame,

rise,

And rise inore worthy, Albion, of thy name ! And other victors fill the applauding skies: What Athens was in science, Rome in power, A few brief generations feet along, What Tyre appeard in her meridian hour, Whose sons forget the poet and his song: /'Tis thine at once, fair Albion, to have been, E’en now what once-loved minstrels scarce Earth's chief dictatress, Ocean’s mighty may claim

queen: The transient mention of a dubious name! But Rome decay'd, and Athens strew'd the When Fame's loud trump hath blown it's

plain, noblest blast, And Tyre's proud piers lie shatter'd in the Though long the sound, the echo sleeps at

inain: last,

Like these thy strength may sink in ruin And Glory, like the Phenix midst her fires,

hurl'd, Exhales her odours, blazes, and expires. And Britain fall, the bulwark of the world.

But let me cease, and dread Cassandra's fate,

With warning ever scoff?d at, till too late; Shall honry Granta call her sable sons, To themes less lofty still my lay confine, Expert in science, more expert at pans? And urge thy bards to gain a name like thine. Shall these approach the Muse ? ah, no !

she flies, And even spurns the great Seatonian prize, Then, hapless Britain ! be thy rulers blest, Though printers condescend the press to soil The senate's oracles, the people's jest! With rhyme by tloare, and epic blank by Still hear thy motley orators dispense

HOYLE:

The flowers of rhetoric, though not of sense, Nothim whose page, if still upheld by whist, While CANNING's colleagues hate him for Requires no sacred theme to bid us list.

his wit,
Ye who in Granta's honours would surpass, And old dame PortLAND fills the place of
Must mount her Pegasus, a fullgrown ass

Рітт. .
A foal well worthy of her ancient dam,
Whose Helicon is duller than her Cam.
There Clarke, still striving piteously “to Yet once again adieu ! cre this the sail

please,"

That wafts me hence is shivering in the gale: Forgetting doggrel leads not to degrees, And Afric's coast and Calpe's adverse height, A would-be satirist a hired buffoon, And Stamboul's minarets must greet my A monthly scribbler of some low lampoon,

sight: Condemn'd to drudge, the meanest of the Thence shall I stray through beanty's mean,

native clime, And furbish falsehoods for a magazine, Where Kaff is clad in rocks, and crown'd Devotes to scandal his congenial mind

with snows sublime. Hiinself a living libel on mankind. But should I back return, no letter'd rage Oh, dark asylum of a Vandal race! Shall drag my common-place-book on the Atonce the boast of learning, and disgrace:

stage: So sunk in dulness and su lost in shame, Let vain Valentia rival luckless CARR, That Smytus and Hodgson scarce redeem And equal him whose work he sought to mar;

thy fame!

Let ABERDEEN and ELGIN still pursue
But where fair Isis rolls her purcr wave, The shade of fame through regions of Virtu;

The partial muse delighted loves to lave; Waste useless thousands on their Phidian
On her green banks a greener wreath is

freaks,
wove,

Misshapen monuments and maim'd antiques ;

1

And make their grand saloons a general | And though I hope not hence unscathed to go, mart

Who conquers me shall find a stubborn foe. For all the mutilated blocks of art : The time hath been, when no harsh sound Of Dardan tours let dilettanti tell,

would fall I leave topography to classic GELL; From lips that now may seem imbued with And quite content, no more shall interpose

gall, To stun mankind with poesy or prose.

Nor fools nor follies tempt me to despise
The meanest thing that crawlid beneath

my eyes: Thus far I've held my undisturb’d career, But now, so callous grown, so changed Prepared for rancour, steel'd 'gainst selfish

since youth, fear :

I've learned to think and sternly speak the This thing of rhyme I ne'er disdain'd to

truth; Own

Learn'd to deride the critic's starch decree, Though not obtrusive, yet not quite un- And break him on the wheel he meant for me known:

To spurn the rod a scribbler bids me kiss, My voice was heard again, though not so Nor care if courts and crowds appland or

hisg : My page, though nameless, never disavow'd; Nay, more, though all my rival rhymesters And now at once I tear the veil away:

frown, Cheer on the pack! the quarry stands at bay, I too can hunt a poetaster down; Unscared by all the din of MELBOURNB-house, And, arm'd in proof, the gauntlet cast at once By LAMB's resentment, or by HOLLAND'S To Scotch marauder, and to Southern dance. spouse,

Thus much I've dared to do; how far my lay By JKPFRBY’s harmless pistol, HALLAM's rage, Hath wrongd these righteous times, let EDINA's brawny sons and brimstone page. Our men in buckram shall have blows This let the world, which knows not hov enough,

to spare, And feel they too are "penetrable stuff:" Yet rarely blames unjustly, now declare.

loud ;

others say ;

THE CURSE OF MINERVA.

Pallas te hac volnere, Pallas
Immolat, et pænam scelerato ex sanguine somit.

be run,

Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race | Mark his gay course and own the hues of

heaven ; Along Morea's hills the setting sun : Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep, Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, Behind his Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep. But one unclouded blaze of living light! O'er the hush'd deep the yellow beam he

throws,

On such an eve, his palest beam he cast, Gilds the green wave, that trembles as it When, Athens ! here thy wisest look'd bis glows:

last: On old Ægina's rock, and Idra's isle, How watch'd thy better sons his farewell ray, The god of ness sheds his parting smile; That closed their murder'd sage's latest day! O'er his own regions lingering loves to shine, Not yet-not yet-Sol pauses on the hillThough there his altars are no more divine. The precious hour of parting lingers still: Descending fast the mountain-shadows kiss But sad his light to agonizing eyes, Thy, glorious gulph, unconquer'd Salamis! And dark the mountain's once delightful Their azurearches through the long expanse,

dyes; More deeply purpled, meet his mellowing Gloom o'er the lovely land he seem'd to pour,

glance,

The land where Phæbus never frown'd And tenderest tints, along their summits

before; driven,

But ere he sunk below Cithæron's head,

1

less by.

The cup of woe was quaffd-the spirit fled; | Not such as erst, by her divine command, The soul of him that scorn'd to fear or fly-Her form appear'd from Phidias' plastic Who lived and died as none can live or die!

hand; Gone were the terrors of her awful brow,

Her idle Ægis bore no Gorgon now; But, lo! from high Hymettus to the plain, Her helm was deep indented, and her lance The queen of night asserts her silent reign; Seem'd weak and shaftless, e’en to mortal No murky vapour, herald of the storm,

glance; Hides her fair face, nor girds her glowing The olive-branch, which still she deign'd form:

to clasp, With cornice glimmering as the moonbeams Shrunk from her touch and wither'd in her play,

grasp: There the white column greets her grateful And, ah! though still the brightest of the sky,

ray,

Celestial tears bedimm'd her large blue eye; And bright around, with quivering beams Round the rent casque her owlet circled beset,

slow, Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret: And mourn'd his mistress with a shriek The groves of olive scatter'd dark and wide

of woe. Where meek Cephisus sheds his scanty tide, “Mortal! ('twas thus she spake) that blush The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque,

of shame The gleaming turret of the gay Kiosk, Proclaims thee Briton-once a noblenameAnd, dun and sombre mid the holy calm, First of the mighty, foremost of the free, Near Theseus' fane, yon solitary palm, Now honour'd less by all-and least by me: All tinged with varied hues, arrest the eye- Chief of thy foes shall Pallas still be found:And dull were his that pass'd them heed-Seekst thou the cause? 0 mortal, look

around! Lo! here, despite of war and wasting fire,

I saw successive tyrannies expire; Again the Ægean, heard no more afar, 'Scaped from the ravage of the Turk and Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war;

Goth,
Again his waves in milder tints unfold Thy country sends a spoiler worse than both!
Their long array of sapphire and of gold, Survey this vacant violated fane;
Mix'd with the shades of many a distant isle, Recount the relics torn that yet remain;
That frovn- where gentler ocean seems to These Cecrops placed - this Pericles adorn'd-

smile.
That Hadrian rear'd when drooping science

mourn'd:

What more I owe let gratitude attestAs thus within the walls of Pallas' fane Know, Alaric and Elgin did the rest. I mark'd the beauties of the land and main, That all may learn from whence the planAlone and friendless, on the magic shore

derer came, Whose arts and arms but live in poet's lore, Th'insulted wall sustains his hated name. Oft as the matchless dome I turn’d to scan, For Elgin's fame thus grateful Pallas pleads: Sacred to gods, but not secure from man, Below, his name-above, behold his deeds! The past return'd, the present seem'd to Be ever hail'd with equal honour here

cease,

The Gothic monarch and the Pictish peer. AndGlory knew no clime beyond her Greece. Arms gave the first his right, the last had Hours rollid along, and Dian's orb on high

none, Had gain'd the centre of her softest sky, Bat basely stole what less barbarians won! And yet unwearied still my footsteps trod So when the lion quits his fell repast, O'er the vain shrine of many a vanish'd god; Next prowls the wolf- the filthy jackal last : But chiefly, Pallas! thine, when Hecate's Flesh, limbs, and blood, the former make glare,

their own; 38

Check'd by thy columns, fell more sadly fair The last base brute securely gnaws the bone. O'er the chili marble, where the startling Yet still the gods are just, and crimes are tread

crostThrills the lone heart like echoes from See here what Elgin won, and what he lost!

the dead.

Another name with his pollutes my shrine,
Long had I mused, and measured every tracc Behold where Dian's beams disdain to shine!
The wreck of Greece recorded of her race, Some retribution still might Pallas claim,
When, lo! a giant-form before me strode, When Venus half avenged Minerva's shame.”
And Pallas hail'd me in her own abode.
Yes, 'twas Minerva's self, but, ah! how

changed

She ceased awhile, and thus I dared reply, Since o'er the Dardan field in arms shc To soothe the vengeance kindling in her ranged

eye:

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