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But, that once past, the laurel proves misplaced,
Here, while the honor of the Latian Bard
615 And mourn th' unfinish'd dress his Genius plann'd;
* Dr. Drummond published, some few years since, a translation of the 1st Book of Lucretius, executed with considerable spirit and
accuracy. Many objections have been raised to an English version of Lucretius upon the ground of the impropriety of the 4th Book. Had the same reason been always considered valid, we never should have had a translation of soine of Ovid's Metamorphoses, Juvenal's Satires, or Virgil's Eclogues. If this objection were really urged with the intention of preserving the morals of the people from contamination, and not by many, who have never seen even the title page, in the vain expectation of being
Yet still they hope, in some succeeding day,
considered learned, I should be the last that would attempt to set it aside; but it has always appeared to me, independent of this, that the translation of the works of this celebrated man, at once a Philosopher and a Poet, was a consummation devoutly to be wished for” in English Literature.
Dr. Drummond has lately written a Poem, entitled “ The Giants' Causeway," very far superior to the generality of those of the present day. The description of the sea-shore, to which I more particularly allude, is, as bas been before observed, applicable either to that particular one, or any other, and, like most sea-shores, consists of waves, billows, sands, rocks, &c. &c.
Cull from the Roman every blooming flower,
Hark! thro' the air what mournful strains resound,
* The late Mrs. Henry Tighe, Authoress of Psyche and other poems, published since her decease by her friends, fell a victim in 1810 to a malady, that, while it evinced the strength of her
Chaste as the Lay that chastest Reason forms,
mind, could neither destroy the loveliness of her person nor the brilliancy of her talents.
Like Ossian's Morna, “ she has fallen in darkness as the star in the desert, when the traveller is alone and mourns the transient beam;” but she has left a portion of her brightness bebind her that never can decay.
As a model for purity of style, harmony of verse, and fertility of Imagination chastened by the hand of Reason, I should wish every female writer, who desires to excel, maturely to examine Psyche.
With the words of one of her friends, to whom the literary world is under great obligation for publishing her Poems, I will conclude: “ Had these served only as the feeting record of her destiny, and as a monument of private regret, her friends would not have thought themselves justified in displaying them to the world. But when a Writer intimately acquainted with classical literature, and guided by a taste for real excellence, has delivered in polished language such sentiments as can tend only to encou.
Lamented Tighe! thy Psyche's magic strain
How pure the flame from Glory's orb that plays, When Virtue mingles with the Poet's praise! Then souls, like Tighe's, with milder lustre shine, And Taste and Feeling gild their calm decline.
rage and improve the best sensations of the human heart, then it becomes a sort of duty in surviving friends no longer to withhold from the public such precious relics!"