A

CORYDON.

DIEU to my Corydon dear,
Alas! that he now is no more;

His name I fhall ever revere,

His lofs I fhall ever deplore.

There once was a time I complain'd,
That men were as falfe as the wind;
But when my young heart he had gain'd,
His conftancy alter'd my mind.

I found him as true as the dove,

Nor riches could e'er gain his heart; He lov'd me for nought but my love, Then guefs how it grieves me to part. The joy that I felt in yon bow'r, Arofe from our mutual love; 'Twas fuch-to describe I've no pow'r, 'Twas fuch-I can ne'er but approve.

How often my fancy has drawn,

When wedlock had made us but one;
Night's mirth, or the bus'nefs of morn,
Work ended, or labour begun.

But fancy no longer can please,
No longer can give me delight;
Nor again can it give my heart ease,
Nor put these my forrows to flight.

No longer the hill or the vale,
To me any pleasure can give ;
But penfive, I'll feek out the vale,
Where Corydon used to live.

'Tis there I will wander and roam,
'Till nature fhall break at this heart;
And send me to that happy home,
Where never again we fhall part.

RUSTICUS,

PAIR OF PORTRAITS.

THE FINE PLEASANT FELLOW.

EE, the school-hour is o'er, and the fports are begun,
See at cricket they halloo, they laugh-how they
run !

A thousand frange projects refound far and near,
Regardless of prudence, regardless of fear;

Till, forgetting each master's or parent's behest,
Gay, idle, and thoughtlefs, his heart light in his
breaft,

Without thought of to-morrow, of forrow, or ftrife,
The fine pleasant fellow dashes first into life.

Now reynard's turn'd out, and he joins in the chase, Next, he's charm'd with the sport and the bets at a race;

He games, drinks, and dances the long hours away,
Impatient with pleasure to fill the whole day;
And a!ike fond of joys of the table or field,

He fcorns to give out, and was ne'er known to yield,
Till all his companions obferve with a smile,
That the fine pleasant fellow is living in ftyle.

Grown older, done up, and unable to pay,
Diseas'd, vex'd, and fretful-yet ftill fond of play,
With thofe he defpifes, he's ftill feen to game,
Still hoping to win, and still carelefs of fame,
Each tradefman unpaid, who his follies fupply'd,
He stoops to all arts, and each meannefs of pride!
Till duns, debts, and attornies, each moment affail,
And the fine pleasant fellow's confin'd in a jail!
There, diftrefs'd and forfaken by foe and by friend,
Bow'd down, by degrees he bends on to his end,
Return'd to a fenfe of his fully too late,
From morning to evening he curfes his fate,
And too proud to repent and too late to recede,
With a defperate hand does a defperate deed!
Whilft a terrified crowd the fad relicks furvey,
Of the fine pleasant fellow the martyr of play!

THE DULL PLODDING FELLOW.

EE the school's broken up, and the pastime's begun,
Full of mirth and good humour, of laughter, and

SE

fun;

No thought of the future disturbs the gay breast,
But the scene is all frolic, all freedom and jeft,
The parties all made, and the books thrown afide,
Few think there are pleasures by prudence deny'd,
Few think it, fave one, and who is he? d'ye ask?
'Tis the dull plodding fellow, that's hard at his task.
Now enter'd on life, with few pence in his purse,
He determines his little he ne'er will make worse,
But content to be poor, labour hard to be wife;
Yet as riches from learning are oft known to rife,
Should that be the cafe-it is part of his plan
To be known-by the name of a staunch honest man;
'Tis the title he'll bear to his life's lateft end,
For the dull plodding fellow's still true to his friend.
Grown wealthy, and pleas'd with his fortunate lot,
The hope of his youth, tho' delay'd, not forgot;
The bleffing he toil'd for, he asks and obtains,
The hand of his fair one rewards all his pains,
And children around him all ftrive to improve,
From the precepts of wisdom, deliver'd by love;
Whilft each added year adds a joy to his life,
Belov'd by his friends, and his children, and wife.
Till advanc'd to old age, and now finking in death,
Not grieving but griev'd for, he yields his last breath;
Servants, children, and wife, bless the voice that expires,
And e'en after his death ftill refpect his defires;
Whilft the needy, in crowds, at the church-yard attend,
To drop the laft tear o'er their much valu'd friend;
And each neighbour still fighs, as he paffes his door,
For the dull plodding fellow was lov'd by the poor!

Literary Review.

The View of Hindoftan.

Two Volumes. Quarto.

Hughs. 21. 12s. 6d.

HIS was the last work of the indefatigable Mr'

paid

debt

towards

the close of the year 1798. In our Number for January 1799, we presented our readers with his portrait, together with very particular detail of his life and

labours. It was there mentioned that he had formed an extenfive work under this expreffive title, "Outlines of the Globe!" The work had been finished, and remained in manufcript on the fhelves of his library. The ingenious author published these two volumes by way of fpecimen; they afford wonderful proofs of his perfevering industry. The first paragraph of the preface is both ftriking and explanatory; it fhall be tran. fcribed.

"These two volumes," fays Mr. Pennant, "are compofed from the fourteenth and fifteenth of my OUTLINES OF THE GLOBE. I had many folicitations from private friends, and a few withes from perfons unknown, delivered in the public prints, to commit to the prefs a part in the form in which the pofthumous volumes might hereafter make their appearance. I might have pleaded the imprudence of the attempt, at my time of life, of beginning fo arduous an undertaking in my feventy-first year. I happily, till very lately, had fcarcely any admonition of the advanced feafon. I VOL. IX. plunged

R.

plunged into the fea of troubles, and, with my papers in one hand made my way through the waves with the other, and brought them fecure to land. This, alas! is fenile boafting. I muft fubmit to the judgment of the public, and learn from thence how far I am to be cenfured for fo grievous an offence against the maxim of Aristotle, who fixes the decline of human abilities at the forty-ninth year. I ought to fhudder, when I confider the wear and tear of twenty-two-years; and I feel shocked at the remark of the elegant Delaney, who obferves, "that it is generally agreed among wife men, that few great attempts at lealt in the learned way, have ever been wifely undertaken and happily executed after that period !" I cannot defend the wifdom, yet from the good fortune of my life, I will attempt the execution."

Thus modeftly and engagingly does the venerable au . thor speak of this child of his old age. We however perceive no marks of decline about the work, which is full of information and entertainment. In the latter part of the preface, Mr. Pennant acknowledges his

igations in a handsome manner to Major Rennell, Sir William Jones, and the Reverend Thomas Maurice, for the affiftance which their publications afforded him in the completion of this his favourite work.

Mr. Pennant's intention in the Outlines of the Globe, was to travel every part of this habitable earth in imagination, furnishing himfelf with materials from travellers and navigators, who had vifited those parts of the world. In this manner did De Foe write a journal of the plague, which raged in this metropolis during the laft century; and after this mode alfo, was that ingenious man thought to have made his Tour through England.

Mr. Pennant, therefore, thus perfonifying the tra veller, has, in thefe volumes, furnished a very entertaining and inftructive account of the East Indies ; thofe diftant regions of the globe which have contributed

to