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As we can extract the following pleasing allegory, with little violence to the story, we shall insert it as a specimen.
• How many happy hours have we passed in this bowerhours never to be recalled — with what winged speed yè few.! -and now every leaf spoke to my heart. The disposition of the boughs, which hung neglected, or only caught up here and there by the tendrils of a vine which had made its way through the lattice-had something so mournful, so pathetically touching in their appearance, that I could not withstand the sensations they raised in me.--I was overpowered by the weight of my afflictions-why is it that forrow takes such ftrong hold upon me? Is calamity to be my guide through life? I am not naturally of a melancholy turn ; there was a time when chearfulness danced before me-Hope was on my right-hand and Contentment on my left. gave myself up to their protection-we ruihed giddily after our conductress.-Through what flowery paths she led us ! whatever we saw was worthy of our attention, every trifle amused us. At the altar of Religion we bowed our heads, our hearts hailed her as our superior patronefs--we offered gratefully our vows at her fhrine. She received our sacrifices, and smiled, on us with that benignity which can exalt the human heart to such a pitch of fublimity. My friend, we met with Love; he feduced Chearfulness from us, and he supplied her place ;--at first we scarcely perceived the change; but we had not wandered long, when the boy grew captious. -Hope trembled and turned pale. She saw, and warned me of my danger: Love ftruck at her, and the fled. Contentment vanished. I would have followed, but with artful, with flowery bands he detained me. How soft, how gentle, he was then to me ;- but soon, what a tyrant did he become ! What would I not have given to have broken my fetters !-yet now-that Despair has driven him from
heart-am I more at ease? I am convinced we know not what is best for us, and our part is only to submit with resignation to the events which the Most High shall judge we are capable of supporting.'
POETRY. The Disbanded Subaltern : an Epifle from the Camp at Lenbam.
Second Edition, is. 6d. Flexney.
in volume lvi. page 148. It is now enlarged and improved.
Rational Amusements, being a Collection of Original Miscellanies,
8vo. Is. 6d. Earle. This is one of those milk and water productions of which little can be said, either good or bad: we meet with nothing strikingly defective, much less particularly beautiful. Being consequently very ill calculated to afford food for criti.
fhall dismiss it without farther notice. The Paphiad; or, Kensington-Gardens. 4to. Is. Ód. Harlowe.
The principal design of this poem is to praise the duchess of Devonshire, to whom it is dedicated. The author firft introduces us to the aerial attendants of Venus, who are summoned to appear before their mistress at the Paphian court. The following description of the bower, the goddess, and those attendants will, we apprehend, please the reader, potwithstanding the construction of the verbs in some of the concluding lines is not strictly grammatical.,
• In the sweet shade of Paphos' fragrant wood,
High on a throne, of beaten roses made,
* Beneath a fhade her iv'ry chariot ftood;
. The little archer by his mother sat':
Untipe their arrows, and their bows unstrung.' Venus informs her court, that since the time when Pari ber stowed on her the golden apple, her votaries had considered het in a very improper light, as the tutelary divinity of luft, nor ef virtuous love; that, to vindicate her character, and convince
them of the contrary, she was determined to depute a LIVING belle as her vicegerent below.
• She shall preside o’er every mortal scene,
Each, to be fair, muit then be virtuous too.' To execute this defign the proposes an expedition to Ken. fington-gardens. She and her suite accordingly take their in. visible stand under a large tree, and Venus describes the chasacter of the British beauties as they pass in review before them. Some are cenfured, but the generality highly, and the duchess, fuperabundantly praised. Venus declares, that her charms, had the made her appearance on mount Ida, would have exceeded those of all the three contending goddesses united ; and that her virtues would have reclaimed Paris, and • saved the fate of Troy.' The prize is accordingly bestowed on her, and the celestial powers summoned to attend the new-made deity,' of whom we are just afterwards told that
immortality is not her own.' The conclusion, indeed, of this poem is not equal to its beginning, which, though not always correct, is elegant and pleafingly fanciful. When the Graces and Loves assemble round the duchess, the image, instead of being beautiful, is truly ludicrous.
• None want a place for each a beauty found;
eye, for Paphian acts are all a mystery.) The following vindication of the duchess against the 'coothless prudes,' who are supposed to have arraigned her conduct, stands in the same predicament,
• Know then, ye fputtering, spiteful, cattish race,
Know-Liberty lhe lov'd---not Carlo Chan.' The introduction of the burlesque title Carlo Chan, turns to jest the defence that seems to have been very serioully in. tended.
145 Picturesque Poetry: Consisting of Poems, Odes, and Elegies, on
various Subježrs. By the rev. 7. Teasdale. 8vo. 25. 6d. Robinson.
These poems are chiefly descriptive. The images, though seldom new, are delineated in a pleasing manner; and the reflections, though sometimes trite, are in general just, and well applied. A performance entitled DAY, confisting of three parts, MORNING, Noon, and EVENING, pleases us as well as any in the collection, of which the concluding section
may serve as a specimen. There is, however, one impropriety in it; the describing Aowers as expanding, and erecting themfelves at the approach of night, when the reverse is a wellknown fact.
• Now, when ev'ning's sober ray
. As the sun, that smiles invest,
Now again the eddying breeze
• Low its cadence, smooth its tides,
Now the flow'rs, that sweets exhale,
· All the bloffom'd furze is gay, Where the wanton kidlings play; Vol. LX. Aug. 1785.
And in yonder peopled mead,
* Let us join the mirthful throng,
Take their Itations, at her call.'
• Johnfon no more ! each bard attunes his lays,
As some for pudding, others write for fame.' Wc allow this passage to be a little hyperbolical, but have found to our sorrow too much truth in it. The panegyrists of Dr. Johnson have been exceedingly numerous ;-peace to his manes! we trust their doleful elegies will never wound his ears, nor that of pofterity. Whether pudding or fame was held in view, of the generality we speak, the objects have surely been equally unattainable. The present author informs us that,
· All bards GREAT Johnson's wreath (the laurel) claim, and they accordingly repair to Parnaffus to assert their respective rights. Surely, considered merely as a poet, Johnson's merit is not of fo fuper-eminent a nature as to entitle him to this high compliment.
• First Pratt began, in accents meek and mild,
Soft as the whispers of a pukeing child!' As pukeing gives no idea of meekness or mildness, we would substitute puling for it, which, fignifying to whimper in a gentle manner, is more analogous to some of Mr. Pratt's writ. ings. PUKEING conveys an indelicate idea, ungénial to his style and sentiment.
· Next Whitehead came, his worth - a pinch of snuff,
But, for a laureat, he was well enough.' This is too severe on a very decent author; for to write birthday odes with success, is evidently no eafy talk. We no less disapprove of the following character.
• And Mason now, whose numbers nice by art,