When I got to the door I was fqueez'd, and cried " dear me
"I wonder they made the entrance so narrow!"
At laft I got in, and found every one near me
Was bufily talking of Mr. Pizarro !
Lo, the hero appears (what a ftrut and a stride!):
He might eafily pafs for Marthal Suwarrow!
And Elvira fo tall, neither virgin nor bride-
The loving companion of gallant Pizarro !
But Elvira, alas, turn'd fo dull and fo profy,
That I long'd for a hornpipe by little Del Caro; Had I been 'mong the gods, I had furely cried-" Nofy," "Come play up a jig; and a fig for Pizarró!"
On his wife and his child his affection to pay,
Alonzo stood gazing, as straight as an arrow:
Of him I have only this little to fay
His boots were much neater than those of Pizarro !
Then the priestess and virgins, in robes white and flowing
Walk'd folemnly on-like a fow and her farrow,
And politely inform'd the whole houfe they were going
To entreat heav'n's curses on noble Pizarro!
Then at it they went. How they made us all ftare!-
One growl'd like a bear, and one chirp'd like a sparrow
I liften'd; but all I could learn, I declare,
Was, that vengeance would certainly fall on Pizarro!
Rolla made a fine fpeech, with fuch logic and grammar
As muft fure roufe the envy of Counsellor Garrow-
It would fell for five pounds, were it brought to the hammer;
For it rais'd all Peru against valiant Pizarro!
Four acts are tol lol-but the fifth's my delight,
Where hift'ry's trac'd with the pen of a Varro; And Elvira in black and Alonzo in white
Put an end to the piece, by killing Pizarro!
I have finish'd my fong. If it had but a tune
(Nancy Dawfon won't do, nor the sweet Braes of Yarrow,)
I vow I would fing it from morning to noon
So much am I charm'd with the play of Pizarro!
ODE to the GERMAN DRAMA; by the late Mr. Seward.
DAUGHTER of
AUGHTER of night, chaotic queen!
Whofe fubtle plot, and tedious fcene
The monarch fpurn, the robber raise
Bound in thy necromantic fpell,
The audience tafte the joys of hell;
And Britain's fons indignant groan
With pangs unfelt before, at crimes before unknown.
When first, to make the nations stare,
Folly her painted mask difplay'd,
Schiller fublimely mad was there,
And Kotz'bue lent his mighty aid-
Gigantic pair! their lofty foul,
Difdaining Reafon's weak controul,
On changeful Britain fped the blow,
Who, thoughtless of her own, embrac'd fictitious woc.
Aw'd by the fcowl tremendous, fly
Fair Comedy's theatric brood;
Light fatire, wit, and harmlefs joy,
And leave us, dungeons, chains, and blood;
Swift they difperfe, and with them go
Mild Otway, fentimental Rowe,
Congreve averts the indignant eye,
And Shakspeare mourns to view th' exotic prodigy.
Ruffians in regal mantle dight,
Maidens immers'd in thought profound, Spectres that haunt the fhades of night, And fpread a waste of ruin round: Thefe form thy never-varying theme, While buried in thy Stygian ftream, Religion mourns her wafted fires,
And Hymen's facred torch low hiffes and expires.
O mildly o'er the British stage,
Great Anarch, fpread thy fable wings;
Not fired with all the frantic rage,
With which thou hurl'ft thy darts at kings,
(As thou in native garb art feen)
With fcatter'd treffes, haggard mien,
Sepulchral chains, and hideous cry,
By defpot arts immur'd in ghaftly poverty.
In fpecious form, dread queen, appear,
Let falfehood fill the dreary waste,
Thy democratic rant be here,
To fire the brain, corrupt the taste.
The fair, by vicious love misled,
Teach me to cherish, and to wed,
To low born arrogance to bend,
Establish'd order fpurn, and call each outcast friend.
Extract from the PLEASURES of HOPE, a Poem; by Thomas Campbell.
EPARTED fpirits of the mighty dead!
Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled!
Friends of the world! restore your fwords to man,
Fight in his facred caufe, and lead the van!
Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone,
And make her arm puiffant as your own:-
Oh! once again to Freedom's caufe return
The patriot Tell-the Bruce of Bannockburn!
Yes! thy proud lords, unpitied land! fhall fee
That man hath yet a foul-and dare be free!
A little while, along thy faddening plains,
The ftarlefs night of defolation reigns;
Truth fhall restore the light by nature giv'n,
And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of heav'n!
Prone to the duft oppreffion thall be hurl'd,
Her name, her nature, wither'd from the world!
Ye that the rifing morn invidious mark,
And hate the light-because your deeds are dark;
Ye that expanding truth invidious view,
And think, or with the fong of Hope untrue;
Perhaps your little hands prefume to span
The march of genius, and the pow'rs of man;
Perhaps ye watch, at Pride's unhallow'd shrine,
Her victims, newly flain, and thus divine :-
"Here fhall thy triumph, Genius,. ceafe, and here
Truth, Science, Virtue, close your short career."
Tyrants! in vain ye trace the wizard ring;
In vain ye limit mind's unwearied fpring:
What! can ye lull the winged winds afleep,
Arreft the rolling world, or chain the deep?
No:-the wild wave contemns your scepter'd hand-
It roll'd not back when Canute gave command!
Man! can thy doom no brighter foil allow?
Still must thou live a blot on Nature's brow?
Shall War's polluted banner ne'er be furl'd?
Shall crimes and tyrants ceafe but with the world?
What are thy triumphs, facred Truth, belied?
Why then hath Plato liv'd-or Sydney died?
Ye fond adorers of departed fame,
Who warm at Scipio's worth, or Tully's name!
Ye that, in fancied vifion, can admire
The fword of Brutus, and the Theban lyre!
Wrapt in hiftoric ardour, who adore
Each claffic haunt and well-remember'd fhore,
Where Valour tun'd, amid her chofen throng,
The Thracian trumpet and the Spartan fong;
Or, wand'ring thence, behold the later charms
Of England's glory, and Helvetia's arms!
See Roman fire in Hampden's bofom fwell,
And fate and freedom in the fhaft of Tell!
Say, ye fond zealots to the worth of yore,
Hath Valour left the world-to live no more?
No more fhall Brutus bid a tyrant die,
And fternly fmile with vengeance in his eye?
Hampden no more, when fuffering Freedom calls,
Encounter fate, and triumph as he falls?
Nor Tell difclofe, through peril and alarm,
The might that flumbers in a peafant's arm?
Yes! in that generous caufe, for ever ftrong,
The patriot's virtue and the poet's fong
Still, as the tide of ages rolls away,
Shall charm the world, unconfcious of decay!
Yes! there are hearts, prophetic hope may truft,
That flumber yet in uncreated duft,
Ordain'd to fire th' adoring fons of earth
With every charm of wisdom and of worth;
Ordain'd to light, with intellectual day,
The mazy wheels of nature as they play,
Or, warm with Fancy's energy, to glow,
And rival all but Shakspeare's name below!
The HOPES of Love; from the fame Poem.
HO that would ask a heart to dulness wed,
The wavelefs calm, the flumber of the dead?
No; the wild blifs of nature needs alloy,
And fear and forrow fan the fire of joy!
And fay, without our hopes, without our fears,
Without the home that plighted love endears,
Without the fmile from partial beauty won,
Oh! what were man?a world without a fun!
Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour,
There dwelt no joy in Eden's rofy bow'r !
In vain the viewlefs feraph ling'ring there,
At ftarry midnight, charm'd the filent air;
In vain the wild-bird carol'd on the steep,
To hail the fun, flow-wheeling from the deep;
In vain, to foothe the folitary fhade,
Aerial notes in mingling measure play'd;
The fummer wind that thook the spangled tree,
The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee-
Still flowly pafs'd the melancholy day,
And still the stranger wift not where to ftray-
The world was fad!-the garden was a wild!-
And man, the hermit, figh'd-till woman fmil'd!
True! the fad power to generous hearts may bring
Delirious anguifh on his fiery wing!
Barr'd from delight by Fate's untimely hand,
By wealthlefs lot, or pitilefs command:
Or doom'd to gaze on beauties that adorn
The mile of triumph, or the frown of fcorn;
While memory watches o'er the fad review
Of joys that faded like the morning dew;
Peace may depart-and life and nature feem
A barren path-a wildnefs, and a dream!
VOL, XLI.
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