But, can the noble mind for ever brood,
The willing victim of a weary mood,
On heartless cares that fquander life away,
And cloud young genius bright'ning into day!-
Shame to the coward thought that e'er betray'd
The noon of manhood to a myrtle fhade !—
If hope's creative fpirit cannot raise
One trophy facred to thy future days,

Scorn the dull crowd that haunt the gloomy fhrine
Of hopeless love, to murmur and repine!
But, fhould a figh of milder mood exprefs
Thy heart-warm wishes true to happiness,
Should heav'n's fair harbinger delight to pour
Her blissful vifions on thy penfive hour,
No tear to blot thy memory's pictur'd page,
No fears but fuch as fancy can affuage;
Though thy wild heart fome hapless hour may mils
The peaceful tenor of unvaried bliss,
(For love purfues an ever devious race,
True to the winding lineaments of grace);
Yet ftill may hope her talifman employ
To fnatch from heaven anticipated joy,
And all her kindred energies impart

That burn the brighteft in the purest heart!

Apostrophe to the Poets of the Age. From the ANTIJACOBIN Newspaper.

UT fay,-indignant does the mule retire,

No pious hand to feed the facred flame,
No raptur'd foul a poet's charge to claim?
Bethink thee, Gifford, when fome future age
Shall trace the promise of thy playful page;
***The hand which brufh'd a fwarm of fools
Should roufe to grafp a more reluctant prey!'
Think then, will pleaded indolence excufe
The tame feceffion of thy languid mufe?

away

Ah! where is now that promife? why fo long
Sleep the keen fhafts of fatire and of fong?
Oh! come, with taste and virtue at thy fide,
With ardent zeal inflam'd, and patriot pride;
With keen poetic glance direct the blow,
And empty all thy quiver on the foc :-

See the motto prefixed to The Baviad," a poem, by W. Gifford, efq.

No paufe-no reft-'till weltering on the ground
The poisonous hydra lies, and pierc'd with many a wound.
Thou too!-the nameless Bard, whofe honeft zeal
For law, for morals, for the public weal,

Pours down impetuous on thy country's foes
The ftream of verfe, and many languaged profe;
Thou too!-though oft thy ill-advis'd diflike
The guiltless head with random cenfure strike,
Though quaint allufions, vague and undefin'd,
Play faintly round the ear, but mock the mind;
Through the mix'd mafs yet truth and learning fhine,
And manly vigour ftamps the nervous line;
And patriot warmth the generous rage inspires,
And wakes and points the defultory fires!

Yet more remain unknown:-for who can tell
What bathful genius, in fome rural cell,
As year to year, and day fuccceds to day,
In joylefs leifure waftes his life away?
In him the flame of early fancy fhone;
His genuine worth his old companions own;
In childhood and in youth their chief confefs'd,
His mafter's pride, his pattern to the reft, †
Now, far aloof retiring from the ftrife
Of bufy talents, and of active life,

As, from the loop-holes of retreat, he views
Our stage, verfe, pamphlets, politics, and news
He loaths the world, or with reflection fad
Concludes it irrecoverably mad;

Of tafte, of learning, morals, all bereft,
No hope, no profpect, to redeem it left.

Awake! for fhame! or e'er thy nobler fenfe
Sink in th' oblivious pool of indolence!
Muft wit be found alone on Falfehood's fide,
Unknown to Truth, to Virtue unallied?
Arife! nor fcorn thy country's just alarms;
Wield in her caufe thy long-neglected arms :
Of lofty fatire pour th' indignant strain,
Leagued with her friends, and ardent to maintain,
'Gainft Learning's, Virtue's, Truth's, Religion's foes,
A kingdom's fafety, and the world's repofe.

If vice appal thee, if thou view with awe
Infults that brave, and crimes that 'fcape the law;
Yet may the fpecious baftard brood, which claim
A fpurious homage under Virtue's name,

* Author of "Purfuits of Literature."

Some particular perfon is evidently here alluded to.

Hh 2

Sprung,

Sprung from that parent of ten thoufand crimes,
The new philofophy of modern times;

Yet, thefe may roufe thee!-with unfparing hand
Oh, lafh the vile impoftures from the land!

Firft, ftern philanthropy :-not the, who dries
The orphan's tears, and wipes the widow's eyes;
Not fhe, who, fainted charity her guide,

Of British bounty pours the annual tide:-
But French philanthropy ;-whofe boundless mind
Glows with the general love of all mankind;—
Philanthropy, beneath whofe baneful fway
Each patriot paffion finks, and dies away.

Taught in her fchool t' imbibe the mawkish ftrain,
Condorcet, filter'd through the dregs of Paine,
Each pert adept difowns a Briton's part,

And plucks the name of England from his heart.
What, fhall a name, a word, a found controul
Th' afpiring thought, and cramp th' expanfive foul?
Shall one half-peopled ifland's rocky round

A love, that glows for all creation, bound?
And focial charities contract the plan
Fram'd for thy freedom, univerfal man?
-No-through th' extended globe his feelings run,
As broad and general as th' unbounded fun!
No narrow bigot he;-his reafon'd view

Thy interefts, England, ranks with thine, Peru!
France, at our doors, he fees no danger nigh,
But heaves for Turkey's woes th' impartial figh;
A fteady patriot of the world alone,
The friend of every country-but his own.

Next comes a gentler virtue-Ah! beware
Left the harsh verle her fhrinking softness scare.
Vifit her not too roughly; the warm figh
Breaths on her lips; the tear-drop gems her eye,
Sweet fenfibility, who dwells enthrin'd
In the fine foldings of the feeling mind;
With delicate Mimofa's fenfe endu'd,
Who fhrinks instinctive from a hand too rude;
Or, like the Anagallis, prefcient flow'r,
Shuts her foft petals at th' approaching fhow'r.

Sweet child of fickly Fancy!ber of yore
From her lov'd France Rouffeau to exile bore }
And, while 'midft lakes and mountains wild he ran,
Full of himself, and fhunn'd the haunts of man,
Taught her, o'er each lone vale and Alpine fteep,
To lifp the flory of his wrongs, and weep;

Taught

Taught her to cherish ftill in either eye,
Of tender tears a plentiful supply,

And pour them in the brooks that babbled by ;-
Taught by nice fcale to meet her feelings strong,
Falfe by degrees, and exquifitely wrong;
-For the crufh'd' beetle, first-the widow'd dove,
And all the warbled forrows of the grove;
Next for poor fuffering guilt :--and, last of all,
For parents, friends, a king and country's fall.
Mark her fair votaries, prodigal of grief,
With curelefs pangs, and woes that mock relief,
Droop in foft forrow o'er a faded flow'r ;
O'er a dead jack-afs pour the pearly fhow'r:
But hear, unmov'd, of Loire's enfanguin'd flood,
Choak’d up with flain;-of Lyons drench'd in blood;
Of crimes that blot the age, the world with fhame,
Foul crimes, but ficklied o'er with Freedom's name;
Altars and thrones fubverted, focial life

-

Trampled to earth, the hufband from the wife,
Parent from child, with ruthlefs fury torn,
Of talents, honour, virtue, wit, forlorn,
In friendless exile,-of the wife and good
Staining the daily fcaffold with their blood-
Of favage cruelties, that feare the mind,

The rage
of madnefs with hell's lufts combin'd--
Of hearts torn reeking from the mangled breast,
They hear and hope, that all is for the beft.

SIMPLICITY, or the CURATE; from Peter Pindar's Nil Admirari, or a Smile at a Bishop.

[OW difficult, alas! to please mankind!

How

One or the other every moment mutters:
This wants an eastern, that a western wind;
A third, petition for a fouthern, utters.
Some pray for rain, and fome for froft and fnow:
How can heav'n fuit all palates ?—I don't know.

Good Lamb, the curate, much approv❜d,
Indeed by all his flock belov'd,

Was one dry fummer begg'd to pray for rain:
The parfon moft devoutly pray'd

The pow'rs of pray'r were foon display'd;
Immediately a torrent drench'd the plain,

It chanc'd that the churchwarden, Robin Jay,
Had of his meadow not yet fav'd the hay:
Thus was his hay to health quite past restoring.
It happen'd too that Robin was from home;
But when he heard the ftory, in a foam

He fought the parfon, like a lion roaring.

"Zounds! parfon Lamb, why, what have ye been doing? "A pretty ftorm indeed ye have been brewing! "What! pray for rain before I fav'd my hay. "Oh! you're a cruel and ungrateful man! "I that for ever help you all I can;

"Afk you to dine with me and Mrs. Jay, "Whenever we have fomething on the fpit, "Or in the pot a nice and dainty bit.

"Send you a goofe, a pair of chicken,
"Whole bones you are fo fond of picking;
"And often too a cag of brandy!
"You that were welcome to a treat,
"To fmoke and chat, and drink and eat;
"Making my houfe fo very handy!

"You, parfon, ferve one fuch a fcurvy trick!
"Zounds! you must have the bowels of old nick.
"What! bring the flood of Noah from the skies,
With my fine field of hay before your eyes!

"A numfcull that I wern't of this aware!

"Curfe me, but I had ftopp'd your pretty pray'r!"

"Dear mafter Jay (quoth Lamb), alas! alas!
"I never thought upon your field of grafs."
"Lord! parfon, you're a fool, one might fuppofe,
"Was not the field juft underneath your nofe?
"This is a very pretty lofing job!"-

"

Sir," quoth the curate, "know that Harry Cobb, "Your brother warden joined, to have the pray'r.""Cobb Cobb! why, this for Cobb was only Sport: "What doth Cobb own that any rain can hurt ?”

"

་་

Roar'd furious Jay, as broad as he could stare.

The fellow owns, as far as I can larn,

A few old houfes only, and a barn;

"1 As that's the cafe, zounds! what are fhow'rs to him?

་་ Not Noah's flood could make his trumpery fwim.

"Befides