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Film o'er the fight of fpeculative eyes,
Nor let us feel the curfe, to be too wife!

Again, ye Mufes, let your fongs retound,
And the vain fophift's frigid cant confound;
Again to rapture wake the lofty strains,
That once re-echoed o'er swift Meles' plains;
Or, with lefs bright and animating glow,
Cheer'd wintry Ascra 'midft her wilds of fnow;
Or rofe fedate, with calm and steady pride,
Where Mincius' ftreams in wandering eddies glide;
And taught the ruthless fons of war and fpoil,
To honour agriculture's useful toil.

Truth now is all the Mufes have to boast,
Since Fancy mourns her airy visions loft;
And Fiction, ftripp'd of every playful grace,
To frigid fophiftry refigns its place;-
To frigid fophiftry, which breaks the fpells,
Beneath whofe fhade the magic power dwells;
And all its elevated flights confines,
Low in the trammels of its critic lines;
Or cramps its vigour, and its fervour cools,
In the dull torpor of unmeaning rules;
Till quite benumb'd, it now can only move,
In fcenes of private life, and hapless love;

Where tales on tales, through endless volumes flow,
Stuff'd with the unmeaning cant of love and woe:
O'er which fond fentimental damfels weep,
Till, drown'd in forrows, they fall faft afleep.
But the bright vifions, which in days of yore,
Plumed Fancy's wings, and taught the mind to foar,
Are funk for ever from the prying fight,
Since touch'd by fophiftry's cold blafting light.
No Genii now through feas of ether glide,
To wing the breezes, or the tempefts guide;
No thundering god the mountain's fummit fhrouds,
In rolling eddies of fulphureous clouds:
No playful Dryads cheer the lonely woods,
Or fportive Naiads float in crystal floods :
The world proceeds by cold mechanic laws,
And fools and fophifts know alike their caufe.
E'en the rude fables of our rugged climes,
The dark materials of old Runic rhymes,
Though nicely fpun by cabalistic wit,
Each winding maze of modern creeds to fit,
Have now their fierce terrific charms refign'd,
Nor dare affail the unletter'd peasant's mind.
No more he fees the pale and wandering sprite
Glide through the filent horrors of the night;
Nor hears the hoarfe ill-boding goblin roar
Along the wintry torrents troubled thore.

No demon now the enchanter's voice obeys,
To guard the foreft, or the storm to raise;
To bid falfe hopes foul deeds of blood excite,
Or panic fears turn conquering chiefs to flight.
No guardian angels now from heaven defcend,
The Almighty's fhield o'er virtue to extend;
To heal the wounded, and protect the brave;
And valour, prefs'd by mightier foes, to fave.
No fairies now, or dapper elves are seen,
By Fancy's eye, light-tripping o'er the green:
No more on vehicles of thought they ride,
The waking phantoms of the brain to guide;
Or, wafted on the moon's myfterious beams,
Lead the light progeny of fleeting dreams.
Thus, of ideal images bereft,

The Mufe's humbler task is only left,
Dry fact and folid argument to ftrew
With flowers refresh'd in Heliconian dew;
And the light flow of narrative to trace
With juft expreffion, and with eafy grace.

DESCRIPTION of the PALACE of AMBITION, and of the FIENDS who frequent it.

[From JOAN of ARC, an EPIC POEM, by ROBERT SOUTHEY.]

ND firft a landscape rofe

More wild and waste and defolate, than where

The white bear drifting on a field of ice

Howls to her funder'd cubs with piteous rage
And favage agony. Mid the drear scene
A craggy mafs uprear'd its mifty brow,
Untouch'd by breath of fpring, unwont to know
Red fummer's influence, or the chearful face
Of autumn; yet its fragments many and huge
Astounded ocean with the dreadful dance
Of whirlpools numberless, abforbing oft
The blameless fifher at his perilous toil.
Upon the topmoft height the maiden faw
A meteor-lighted dome: to every blast
Shook the wide fabric, tottering as to fall,
For ever tottering, round the tempests yell'd
Tremendous, mufic hoarse! yet to the ear
Of him who there had rule, the Dynast stern,
Not undelightful. His perturbed flight
Anxious and gloomy, fpeeding hitherwards,
She faw the dark-wing'd fhape: with all its towers
The palace nods: fuch was Ambition's voice!
Obedient first, fierce fervant of fierce lord,

Cowl'd

Cowl'd Superftition comes, her loofen'd robes
Float on the breeze and half exposed to view
The rufted dagger. By her fide crept on
Mitred Hypocrify, with meekeft mien

And step demure, and crofs, which to his heart
He preft, and feem'd with heaven-ward eye to pour
The pious prayer; yet never prayer he pour'd
Save when with fecret glance he view'd the crowd
Admiring near. Revenge unwilling quits
The mangled corfe; and prodigal of death
Next Slaughter ftrode; his falchion yet unfheath'd
Reeks from the wound, loofe flow his long black locks,
The wide roll of his eye is terrible,

And each limb quivers. Cruelty comes next,
With favage fmile grafping a widowed dove.
And Fury next beating her own fwoln breast
Rufh'd at the call: and Envy hideous form
Gnawing her flesh, and tearing from her head
The viper turn'd to bite: and Horror wild
With creeping flefh. Defpair his fullen arms
Folded; aye muttering dark and half-form'd words
Of dreadful import. Aged Avarice next
Hugg'd to his heart his bags, and caft around
(Unwilling tho' to lofe the golden fight,)
The fearful look. And fitful Jealousy
Anxious for mifery came: and feverish Luft
Hot from the convent. Palfied Fear fled on,
And ever as he fled his ghaftly eye
Reverts. Then ftalk'd along the giant form
Of proud Oppreffion, on his crowned brow
Sate Defolation, and his pitylefs frown
Difpeopled countries: him behind a train
Loathly and horrible, of nameless fiends
Outnumbering locufts. Laft, as fill'd with fear
Sufpicion ever-watchful clos'd the train:
Pale meagre spectre, ribb'd with iron plates,
Sleepless, and fearful of the friendly meal,
Worn out with anxious vigilance of life.

These at the palace meet, there, porter fit,
Remorse for ever his fad vigils kept,

His heart the viper's feaft: worn down his face,

If face it were when scarce the fhrivell'd skin

Wrap'd o'er the bone, proclaim'd the gnawing pang:

Inly he groan'd, or starting wildly, fhriek'd,

Ave as the fabric tottering from its bafe

Threaten'd deftruction, tho' oft announc'd with-held, Tho' ftill with-held, expected.

These the maid

Mark'd as they fteer'd their dufky flight along;

And lo! fhe was amidst them.

Paved with the bones

The floor breath'd peftilence: the emblazon'd walls
With enfigns and with blood-ftain'd arms were hung,
The trophies of Ambition.
On his throne

That form portentous rear'd his giant bulk,
More huge than he, who with his hundred arms
Scatter'd confufion o'er the host of gods
Briareus: or the monster brethren twain,
Whofe ftature fwelling every hour gave hopes
Of equalling highest Heaven: nor larger he
Illufive, 'gainft whofe head the thunderer Thor
Sped fruftrate his full force. A fable helm

Shades his brown face, where glow'd thro' each dark tint
The fire of anger; in his hand he grafp'd
The defolating fpear; his broad black brow
In thought contracted spake his brooding soul,
Sullenly filent.

STORY OF THELAMONT and ALMERIA.

[From the SEA, a POEм, by JOHN BIDLAKE, B. A.]

N

OW thrice three bright revolving suns had view'd
Fond Thelamont to his Almeria join'd;

With rapture melting into fix'd esteem;
Equal delight, and foul-exchanging blifs,
So beam'd, fo fmil'd, fo parted ev'ry year!
Bright fhone a fummer's morn, when Thelamont
Upon a placid fea fet fail; intent

With baited hook to tempt the finny tribe.
Cruel delight! From native beds to drag
The wounded fools, and fpoil their filv'ry scales
And fpotted pride, writh'd on the tort'rous hook,
In fufferance dumb. O be meek mercy heard!
Thrice bleft be he, who ever kindness shews
To the poor brutal race: confign'd by him,
Who fhelters all, to reafon's manly rule
And mild humanity's more tender care.
Thrice bleft be he! foft pity copious show'r
Thy gracious dews upon his head; refresh
His tender heart, and glad his darksome days.
He to Almeria firft his purpofe fpoke.
She meek and timid fair, by nature fearful,
But more through love, with look ineffable,
And gift'ning eyes, with foft affection bright,
Thus fpake, "Why try the dangerous wave to-day?
"Oft have I fear'd fome dire mishap, when thou
Upon the faithless main haft folace fought,
3

"Where

Where unknown horror lurks, and hidden fnares. "This day is facred to the rites of love;

This anniverfal of the happy year

Since firft our hands we join'd; and mutual pledg'd
Our faith. This happy day with me confume;
"With me, I pray, and with our little race."
And then the turn'd delighted looks to where
Their rofy infants, dew-drops of gay health,
Spring buds of purple youth, fported around.
To this, of anfw'ring feelings raptur'd full,
Though all the father, all the husband rofe
At once; and tides o'erflowing of rich joy
Almoft his bofom burit, he anfwer made.
"Sweet fharer of my days! partner of my blifs!
"Fear not. I leave thee for a little space;

And long before brown night its fhades extends,
"Shall to thy arms return. Short abfence makes
"True love more fweet." O blindness to the future!
That kindly veils fharp pain's perspective ills:
Hides what no caution can avoid, or keeps
From greater ills of choice! Silent, deprefs'd
Almeria fat; placid, though not content;

And forc'd a fmile that would confent have spoken,
And wip'd in hafte, a stealthful tear unfeen,
That fear had drop'd upon her downcaft eye;
And check'd a figh that apprehenfion breath'd,
Soft as the fummer evening zephyr curls
The crimfon bofom of the fleepy lake.

Now from the port the impatient veffel fteers,
And to the wanton gales the fwelling fails
Their bofoms gave; and gliding swift before

The fresh'ning breeze, that brushing kifs'd the wave,
The painted veffel danc'd, light, trim, and gay.
With equal fpeed the fhores receding flew,
Till far into the azure main they gain'd.
Deceitful morn! why doft thou smile so fair?
Shall nature be fo falfe? Fresh'ning the breeze
Swells to a gale: the flifting gale a storm;
That adverfe foon forbad all hop'd return,
And access to the wifhed-for land denied.
Alas! poor Thelamont! thy drifting bark
Flies faft before the furious winds, that mad
And cruel wing thee from thy fading home;
The lov'd, the happy fpot, where wait thy own.
Thy dear delights, thy rofy fmiling babes;
The fofteft, fweeteft, partner of thy care.
Nor evening greets thee now wit promis'd joy;
Nor infant fports; nor her kind arms that wrap
Thee in the lap of love; the flowery bow'r,
That fhields from every blatt, from every pain.

Far,

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