Page images

Or cheer the “drunken lark,” that upward flies,

Warbling its matins in coerulean skies.


Festivals have I seen that were not names.
This is young Buonaparte's natal day;
And his is henceforth an established sway,

Consul for life.

Toussaint! the most unhappy man of men!
Whether the rural milkmaid by her cow
Sing in thy hearing, or thou liest now
Alone in some dark dungeon's earless den,
O miserable chieftain'

• . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Yet die not!

—Great God, I’d rather be
A pagan suckled in a creed outworn,
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,

Have glimpses that would make one less forlorn!

The Descriptive.

The river glideth at its own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep,

And all that mighty heart (the river's) is lying still:
They bolted on me thus, and lo!

And, in the twinkling of an eye. . . . . .

Then Wilson, gentle Wilson, soft should tread

Each blooming bower, and flower-bespangled mead;

NOTES. More Twinklings.

O gentle sleep! do they belong to thee,

These twinklings of oblivion 2

The Sky-Lark.

And, though little troubled with sloth,
Drunken Lark 1 thou would'st be loth

To be such a traveller as I?

Happy liver f
With a soul as strong as a mountain river.
The Nightingale.
O nightingale! thou surely art
A creature of a fiery heart, &c. &c.
The green Linnet.

A brother of the leaves he seems,
When in a moment forth he teems

His little song in gushes. . . . . .

Where, as the humming bird before him flew, 745
Sipping with “tiny” bill the morning dew,
The Bard should start with wonder and delight,
And hail the “blessed vision of the light!”

With these had vanished then a motley Band,
That now around the Muses' temple stand, 750
Casting their offerings on the sacred shrine,
As grateful tribute to the “tuneful Nine.”
Had these but gone, as would they had, from hence

To plague in other regions Common Sense,

A Daisy.
A little Cyclop with one eye
Staring to threaten and defy.
He finds a glow worm, and
—“great joy had I?"
Puts it beneath a tree where it shines, and then

I led my Lucy to the spot: “Look here,”

Ojoy it was for her, and joy for ine!

Then had my task been spared; nor I decreed 755 To censure witlings, and give fools their meed. Fated myself to join the exiled throng,

An humble scribbler 'mid the “sons of song.”

while Folly's children haunt Apollo's fame,
Startling the Muses from their lov'd domain, 760
The worst, rank scum of a degraded age,
Pour all their scrawling fury on the Stage.
No painter's aid our sterner fathers sought,
To brighten nonsense, or to strengthen thought;
Rough from the life their mimic scenes they drew,
Enough for them if but to Nature true.

Their gaudier sons the path of Taste forego,
And greet, for Sense, the dazzled eye with Show.

E'en Actors now to Elephants" submit,

And splendid Pageants fill the place of Wit. 770


* Si foret in terris, rideret Democritus, seu

Diversum confusa genus panthera camelo,

So pass they on;—repeated ev’ry night,
Shakspeare, e'en Shakspeare, ceases to delight:
His Tempest” mangled to amuse the Town,

Makes simp'ring Folly smile, and Wisdom frown:


Sive elephas albus vulgi converteret ora:
Spectaret populum ludis attentius ipsis,
Ut sibi pracbentem mimo spectacula plura:


FABELLAM SURDO. HoR. Epist. lib. ii. 1.

And so it is,

The Town, the Town, good Pit, has Asses' ears! Baviad. * Alluding to an alteration from the Tempest of Shakspeare, by Dryden, wholly unworthy of that great man, and, as the Compilers of the Biographia Dramatica remark, “a fruit entirely unequal to the noble stock on which it is engrafted.” Yet the Proprietors of Covent Garden Theatre thought proper to revive

this with all the aid of scenery, machinery, &c. &c.

Haec fierent, sitesticuli vena ulla paterni

Wiveret in nobis, PEIts. Sat.1.

« PreviousContinue »