he has still boldly kept on his career of glory, unmoved by the brutum fulmen of this parliament-man's oratory, or the perilous pop-gun of this press-gang man's ridicule. However, great as may be his philosophy, he is not exempted from all the emotions of inferior beings; and he sometimes feels the "venom of the shaft," when he would not shrink from "the vigour of the bow." In a moment when a tender melancholy was mingled with the conscious pride with which he looked upon his great progeny of architectural creations, he produced the following sportive imitation of Gray's celebrated Ode to Eton College:"

* See Catalogue of Academy, 1820.

The name of the Superior of the College, in perpetuo.
The designation of the College by its founder.

See, where in Palace-yard below
The lawyer-troops look big;-
The powder'd ministers of woe
Sneering in gown and wig.-

This mocks my PASSAGE, that my DOME,
And all cry out for WANT OF ROOM,--
The very juries rage;

And beardless students, cramm'd and jamm'd,
Swear that my COURTS may each be damn'd
For a most hideous cage.

To each his sufferings-all great men,
'Neath Envy still must groan;
ELMES for the beauties of his pen,
I, for my works of stone ;—
Yet let us boldly laugh at Fame;
We'll still buy puffs, though somewhat tame,

The HOUSE Some day MUST rise,

The BOARD OF WORKS yet pays its fees-
No more-where ignorance is ease,
"Tis Folly to be wise."

We will add nothing to the force of this production, but a votive prayer :

Lo! thy great empire Cadmus is restored ;—

Rules fly before thy all-creating word ;

Mighty Restorer, stretch thy teeming hand,
And make a vast Boeotia of the Land *.

O.M-R.H.

We have parodied the conclusion of the Dunciad, having vainly attempted to translate four lines of some (to us) unknown language, with which Van

der Von Bluggen terminates an eulogy upon his discoveries :

Citypa Vhlaa ih ir chi Mrpb om A ta Bah,

Mncire oyonl tnyhvs. woa ti tahas bihml

iae Esalbecy: le a Jes Nseahn

-sn Jh CAF hbww MMVKDWWO!

464

WHAT YOU WILL.

No. IV.

FRAGMENT.

I.

Beside my nightly fire
I sit and muse alone :
Alone-for he is gone,

With whom awhile I held

Such converse light and cold
As uncongenial minds

And unresponding hearts could entertain.
The dew of sleep was heavy on his brow,
He went-perchance to dream

Of her, his love, his hope,

His solitary joy,

The light of his still heart:

Of her, to whom alone,

As by a spell laid open,

His deep-fraught soul discloses

The stores of love and beauty, that lie hid
Within its shy recess.

He is gone and all is still,

Save tread of passing foot,

Or the light flickering of the dying fire,
Or that strange sound, which in the hour of rest
Falls on the musing ear.

II.

O Silence! image of eternity!
Thou minister divine,

Sent to this lower sphere

To teach our grovelling souls

The awful joy of thought!

Thou that art strength and freedom, loosing us
From the benumbing clog of petty care,
And error, that enchains the work-day soul
In fetters strong as death:

O potent Silence! thou that wrappest us
As with a mystic curtain, shutting out
The obtrusive shews of sense,

And opening to our sight the world within:
O Silence! let me sink

In thy divine embrace;