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Your friseur's irons and his tortring.comb,
The last soft novel, (fire consume the tome,
Destructive ever to the op’ning mind,
Leaving no traits of moral truth behind.)
If for a moment you can sit at peace,
Here turn your ear, and learn a tale from Greece &
Of female valour and address I sing,
And virtue honor'd by a conq'ring king.

When Greece for glorious Liberty was fam'd,
And Queen of Arts around the world was nam'd;
When cloud-dispelling Science grac'd her schools,
And barb’rous realms grew civil from her rules,
Then Thebans practis'd all their sages told,
And virtue recommended more than gold.
The sacred flame was not to man confin’d,
It spread its influence o'er the female mind;
O'er all her actions virtue held controul,
Improv'd her beauty, and enrich'd her soul.
This learn'd Plutarchus' honour'd page supplies,
And who'd not listen to the Sage so wise ?

What time the son of Phillip and of Fame
Made India own the Macedonian name,
And Mithra's realms receir'd him as their Lord,
And fate or fortune waited at his word. -
To Cadmus city with his matchless pow'rs
The conqu’ror came, and sat before her tow'rsz
Around Heptapylos his armies spread,
While Thebæ's sons, as yet unus'di to dready
Defy the laurel'd darlings of renown,
And most courageously defend their town.
Full long they baffle the insulting foe,
Repulse their legions, and with ardour glow:
But ah! in vain, superior numbers rise,
O’er-top their walls, and rent the vaulted skies,
Her hundred gates fly open to the foe,
And terrors spread beneath the warrior's bow.
A dreadful phalanx flies thro? ev'ry street,
Where death and plunder wait on all they meet;
To helpless age they longer life deny,
Nor heed the parents, nor the infants cry;
By force perform what virtue must abhor,
And ten-fold make the mis’ries of the war,

Twas where for plunder an equestrian band,
Led on by desolation's murderous hand,
All sanguine came, their captain forc'd a dome,
And of their treasures rifled ev'ry room.

At length exploring a recess with care,
He found the mistress of the mansion there,
The beautious owner of the princely place,
Whose lord fell fighting for the 'Theban race.
What swift transitions flame the mind unjust!
The slave of av'rice now's the slave of lust.
He caught the fair one tortur'd by her fears,
Nor heeds her sighs, nor yet her piteous tears ;
By brutal impulse hurry'd to excess,
He sought what virtue blushes to express.
But soon some pow'r (for virtuc finds a friend
When léast expected ready to defend)
Inspir'd the captive with persuasive charms,
And thus she argued, trembling in his arms :
“What means my hero by this eager strife ;
“ I'm thine by conquest, e’en to yield my life!

Full willing then I bend me to thy will, “ And urge but gentleness to hear me still. 66 Before we wanton in the Cyprian shade, “ Possess my treasures, and your fortune's made. 6 From yonder court that opens to the view, “Be quick to order that despoiling crew, 6. For there's a well in which my jewels lie, 66 The richest sure beneath the circling sky; “ With many a goblet by my parent's givin, 66 Fit for libations to the chiefs of Heav'n; 66 An hundred caskets too, surpass'd by none, 6. Are buried there, enrich'd with precious stone ; “ With many a purse of pure Thebæan coin, “ Impress’d with portraits of great Cadmus' line ; 66 Take these, my lord, all these without delay, " Lest some less worthy bear my wcalth away: “ And when this mass my conq'ror's made his own, “Revel in pleasures you shall claim alone, “My willing maids will shew you to the place, 66 While I attend to do my hero grace.” He hears, he pauses; ar’rice now prevails, And lust mounts lightly in the mental scales. Lead swift, he cry'd, my troops shall disappear: He gives the signal, and no troops are near, Towards the place the pliant females bend, Remove the stones, and urge him to descend. The yielding cord glides swiftly with his weight : He fails, and finds his error but too late. The voice of anger issues from the cave, “Be brief, my maids, and now my virtue save.

7

This said, they cast the stones upon his head,
Nor quit the brutal ravisher till dead,
But heap on heap the angry virgins sent,
And gave at once both death and monument.

To be continued.

EXTRACTS from the POSTHUMOUS

WORKS of WILLIAM COWPER,

recently published. "I would, that, exiled to the Pontic shore, Rome's hapless bard had suffer'd nothing more. He then had equall'd even Homer's lays, And Virgil ! thou hadst won but second praise. For here I woo the Muse, with no controul, And here my books--my life-absorb me whole, Here too I visit, or to smile, or weep, The winding theatre's majestic sweep; The grave or gay coloquial scene recruits My spirits, worn in learning's long pursuits ; Whether some senior shrewd, or spendthrift heir, Sailor, or soldier, now unarm'd, be there, Or some coif'd brooder o'er a ten-years' cause Thunder the Norman gibb'rish of the laws, &c.' In the epistle to his tutor, Thomas Young, at Hamburgh, there occurs a beautiful sketch of a christian pastor's fami. ly life: and the following lines, from the same piece, contain sentiments such as Cowper delighted to express.

But thou take courage! strive against despair !
Quake not with dread, nor nourish anxious care !
Grim war, indeed on ev'ry side appears,
And thou art menac'd by a thousand spears ;
Yet none shall drink thy blood, or shall offend
Ev’n the defenceless bosom of my friend.
For thee the ægis of thy God shall hide,
Jehovah's self

shall combat by thy side.
The same, who vanquish'd under Sion's tow'rs,
At silent midnight, all Assyria's pow’rs,

The same, who overthrew in ages past
Damascus' sons that lay'd Samaria waste !

“Thou, therefore, (as the most afflicted may,)
Still hope, and triumph, o'er thy evil day!
Look forth, expecting happier times to come,

And to enjoy, once more my native home! The first verses in the volume, on finding the heel of a Shoe at Bath, are in the manner of the Splendid Shilling, and display at the age of seventeen that exuberant humour which attended our author in after-life. The Epistle to Lloyd is full of liveliness, and that to Lady Austen unites innocent gaiety with just and dignified reflection. The dialogue between the Pipe and the Snuff-box is a counterpart to the ' Report of an Adjudged Case, not to be found in any of the Books: the Colubriad is of the same stamp. The following tribute of praise to the memory of Ashley Cowper, Esq. has great merit.

"Farewell! endued with all that could engage
All bearts to love thee, both in youth and age !
In prime of life, for sprightliness enrollid
Among the gay, yet virtuous as the old ;
In life's last stage-0 blessings rarely found.-.
Pleasant as youth with all its blossoms crown'd:
Through ev'ry period of this changeful state
Uuchang'd thyself.--wise, good, affectionate !

Marble may flatter ;, and lest this should seem
O'ercharged with praises on so dear a theme,
Although thy worth be more than half supprest,

Love shall be satisfied, and veil the rest. The fragment on the Four Ages might have been the introduction to a second Task :' that on the Yardley Oak is, perhaps, the most characteristic specimen of Cowper ; with his usual alloy of homeliness, and want of selection, it exhibits a copiousness of thought and expression, worthy of Dryden or Cowley. We close our extracts with the following beautiful sonnet-.

(To Mrs. UNWIN.
Mary! I want a lyre with other strings,
Such aid from heav'n as some have feignd they drew,

An eloqucnce scarce giv'n to mortals, new,
And undebas'd by praise of meaner things,
That ere through age or woe I shed my wings,

I may record thy worth with honour due,

In verse as musical as thou art true,
And that immortalizes whom it sings.
But thou bast little need. There is a book

By seraphs writ with beanis of heav'nly light,
On which the eyes of God not rarely look,

A chronicle of actions just and bright:
There all my deeds, my faithful Mary, shine,
And since thou own’st that praise, I spare thee mine.'

REMARKS on LORD BYRON'S POEMS.

Distinguished by title and descent from an illustrious line of ancestry, Lord Byron shewed, even in his earliest

years, that nature had added to those advantages the richest gifts of genius and fancy. His own tale is partly told in two lines of Lara :

Left by his sire, two young such loss to know, Lord of himself, that heritage of woe.'. It was in 1812, when Lord Byron returned to England, that Childe Harold's Pilgrimage made its first appearance, producing an effect upon the public, at least equal to any work which has appeared within this or the last century. Reading is indeed so general among all ranks and classes, that the impulse received by the public mind on such occasions is instantaneous through all but the very lowest classes of society, instead of being slowly communicated from one set of readers to another, as was the case in the days of our fathers. "The Pilgrimage,' acting on such an extensive medium, was calculated to rouse and arrest the attention in a peculiar degree. The fictitious personage, whose sentiments, however, no one could help identifying with those of the author himself, presented himself with an avowed disdain of all the attributes which most men would be gladly supposed to possess. Childe Harold is represented as one satiated by indulgence in pleasure, and seeking in change of place and clime a relief from the tedium of a life

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