a trial, but as a reward for their virtues! Vol. taire was certainly justified in pronouncing this episode a piece of gratuitous indecency. In the same allegorical spirit no doubt, Bacchus, who opposes the Portuguese discoverers in the councils of Heaven, disguises himself as a Popish priest and celebrates the rites of the catholic religion. The imagination is somewhat puzzled to discover why Bacchus should be an enemy to the natives of a country, the soil of which is so productive of his beverage; and a friend to the Mahometans who forbid the use of it: although there is something amusing in the idea of the jolly god officiating as a Romish clergyman. Mickle's story of Syr Martyn is the most

pleasing of his original pieces. The object of the narrative is to exhibit the degrading effects of concubinage, in the history of an amiable man, who is reduced to despondency and sottishness, under the dominion of a beldam and a slattern. The defect of the moral is, that the same evils might have happened to Syr Martyn in a state of matrimony. The simplicity of the tale is also, unhappily, overlaid by a weight of allegory and of obsolete phraseology, which it has not importance to sustain. Such a style, applied to the history of a man and his housekeeper is like building a diminutive dwelling in all the pomp of Gothic architecture*.

"FLEET past the months ere yet the giddy boy One thought bestowd on what would surely be ; But well his aunt perceivd his dangerous toy, And sore she feard her auncient familie Should now be staind with blood of base degree: For sooth to tell, her liefest hearts delight Was still to count her princely pedigree, Through barons bold all up to Cadwall hight, Thence up to Trojan Brute ysprong of Venus bright.

"But, zealous to forefend her gentle race

From baselie matching with plebeian bloud, [grace, Whole nights she schemd to shonne thilke foull disAnd Kathrins bale in wondrous wrath she vowd: Yet could she not with cunning portaunce shroud, So as might best succede her good intent, But clept her lemman and vild slut aloud; That soon she should her gracelesse thewes repent, And stand in long white sheet before the parson shent."

So spake the wizard, and his hand he wavd, And prompt the scenerie rose, where listless lay The knight in shady bowre, by streamlet lavd, While Philomela soothd the parting day: Here Kathrin him approachd with features gay, And all her store of blandishments and wiles; The knight was touchd-but she with soft delay And gentle teares yblends her languid smiles, And of base falsitie th' enamourd boy reviles.

Amazd the boy beheld her ready teares,

And, faultring oft, exclaims with wondring stare, "What mean these sighs? dispell thine ydle feares; And, confident in me, thy griefes declare." "And need," quoth she, "need I my heart to bare, And tellen what untold well knowne mote be? Lost is my friends goodwill, my mothers careBy you deserted-ah! unhappy me! Left to your aunts fell spight, and wreakfull crueltie."

"My aunt!" quoth he, "forsooth shall she command?

No; sooner shall yond hill forsake his place," He laughing said, and would have caught her hand; Her hand she shifted to her blubberd face, With prudish modestie, and sobd, "Alas! Grant me your bond, or else on yonder tree These silken garters, pledge of thy embrace, Ah, welladay! shall hang thy babe and me, And everie night our ghostes shall bring all Hell to thee."

Ythrilld with horror gapd the wareless wight, As when, aloft on well-stored cherrie-tree, The thievish elfe beholds with pale affright The gardner near, and weets not where to flee : "And will my bond forefend thilke miserie ? That shalt thou have; and for thy peace beside, What mote I more? housekeeper shalt thou be."An awfull oath forthwith his promise tied, And Kathrin was as blythe as ever blythesome bride.

His aunt fell sick for very dole to see Her kindest counsels scornd, and sore did pine To think what well she knew would shortly be, Cadwallins blood debasd in Kathrins line; For very dole she died. O sad propine, Syr knight, for all that care which she did take! How many a night, for coughs and colds of thine, Has she sat up, rare cordial broths to make, And cockerd thee so kind with many a daintie cake!

[* Many of Mickle's poems are in Evans' Old Ballads. Perhaps," says Mr. Southey, "it would not yet be too late to discover other pieces of this very able writer which exist in the periodical publications of the day. The Old Bachelor, a poem of striking merit, which was reprinted in the Annual Anthology from the Town and Country Magazine, seems to bear the mark of his hands." -Quar. Rev. vol. xi. p. 501.

Mickle was the author of that very beautiful song. "There's nae luck about the house," and, on his ballad of " Cumnor Hall." Scott founded his romance of "Kenilworth."-See SCOTT's Misc. Pr. Works, vol. xvii. p. 123-128.]

Soft as the gossamer in summer shades Extends its twinkling line from spray to spray, Gently as sleep the weary lids invades, So soft, so gently pleasure mines her way: But whither will the smiling fiend betray, Ah, let the knights approaching days declare! Though everie bloome and flowre of buxom May Bestrew her path, to deserts cold and bare The mazy path betrays the giddy wight unware.

"Ah!" says the wizard, "what may now availe
His manlie sense that fairest blossoms bore,
His temper gentle as the whispering gale,
His native goodnesse, and his vertuous lore!
Now through his veins, all uninflamd before,
Th' enchanted cup of dissipation hight

Has shedd, with subtil stealth, through everie pore, Its giddy poison, brewd with magicke might, Each budd of gentle worth and better thought to blight.

"So the Canadian, traind in drery wastes
To chase the foming bore and fallow deer,
At first the traders beverage shylie tastes;
But soon with headlong rage, unfelt whyleare,
Inflamd he lusts for the delirious cheer:
So bursts the boy disdainful of restrent,
Headlong attonce into the wylde career
Of jollitie, with all his mind unbent,

And dull and yrksome hangs the day in sports unspent.

"Now fly the wassal seasons wingd with glee, Each day affords a floode of roring joy;

The springs green months ycharmd with cocking flee,

The jolly horce-race summers grand employ, His harvest sports the foxe and hare destroy; But the substantial comforts of the bowl Are thine, O Winter! thine to fire the boy With Englands cause, and swell his mightie soul, Till dizzy with his peres about the flore he rowl.

"Now round his dores ynaild on cloggs of wood Hang many a badgers snout and foxes tail, The which had he through many a hedge persewd, Through marsh, through meer, dyke, ditch, and [pale;

delve and dale;

To hear his hair-breadth scapes would make you
Which well the groome hight Patrick can relate,
Whileas on holidays he quaffs his ale;
And not one circumstance will he forgett,
So keen the braggard chorle is on his hunting sett.

"Now on the turf the knight with sparkling eyes
Beholds the springing racers sweep the ground;
Now lightlie by the post the foremost flies,
And thondring on, the rattling hoofs rebound;
The coursers groan, the cracking whips resound:
And gliding with the gale they rush along
Right to the stand. The knight stares wildly round,
And, rising on his sell, his jocund tongue
Is heard above the noise of all the noisie throng.

"While thus the knight persewd the shaddow joy,
As youthful spirits thoughtlesse led the way,
Her gilden baits, ah, gilded to decoy!
Kathrin did eve and morn before him lay,
Watchfull to please, and ever kindlie gay;
Till, like a thing bewitchd, the carelesse wight
Resigns himself to her capricious sway:
Then soon, perdie,was never charme-bound spright
In necromancers thrall in halfe such pitteous plight.

"Her end accomplishd, and her hopes at stay,
What need her now, she recks, one smyle bestow;
Each care to please were trouble thrown away,
And thriftlesse waste, with many maxims moe,
As, What were she the better did she so!
She conns, and freely sues her native bent;
Yet still can she to guard his thralldom know,
Though grimd with snuff in tawdrie gown she went,
Though peevish were her spleen and rude her
jolliment.

"As when the linnett hails the balmie morne,
And roving through the trees his mattin sings,
Lively with joy, till on a lucklesse thorne
He lights, where to his feet the birdlime clings;
Then all in vain he flapps his gaudie wings;
The more he flutters still the more foredone:
So fares it with the knight: each morning brings
His deeper thrall; ne can he brawling shun,
For Kathrin was his thorne and birdlime both
in one.

"Or, when atop the hoary western hill The ruddie sunne appears to rest his chin, When not a breeze disturbs the murmuring rill And mildlie warm the falling dewes begin, The gamesome trout then shows her silverie skin, As wantonly beneath the wave she glides, Watching the buzzing flies, that never blin, [sides, Then, dropt with pearle and golde, displays her While she with frequent leape the ruffled streame divides.

"On the greene banck a truant schoolboy stands; Well has the urchin markt her merry play, An ashen rod obeys his guilefull hands, And leads the mimick fly across her way; Askaunce, with wistly look and coy delay, The hungrie trout the glitteraund treachor eyes, Semblaunt of life, with speckled wings so gay; Then, slylie nibbling, prudish from it flies, Till with a bouncing start she bites the truthless prize.

“Ah, then the younker gives the fatefull twitch; Struck with amaze she feels the hook ypight Deepe in her gills, and, plonging where the beeel Shaddows the poole, she runs in dred affright; In vain the deepest rock, her late delight, In vain the sedgy nook for help she tries; The laughing elfe now curbs, now aids her flight, The more entangled still the more she flies, And soon amid the grass the panting captive lies

"Where now, ah pity! where that sprightly play, That wanton bounding, and exulting joy, That lately welcomd the retourning ray, When by the rivlett bancks, with blushes coy, April walkd forth-ah! never more to toy In purling streame, she pants, she gasps, and dies! Aye me! how like the fortune of the boy, His days of revel and his nights of noise [prize. Have left him now, involvd, his lemmans hapless

"See now the changes that attend her sway; The parke where rural elegance had placd Her sweet retreat, where cunning art did play Her happiest freaks, that nature undefaed Receivd new charms; ah, see, how foul disgracd Now lies thilke parke so sweetlie wylde afore! Each grove and bowery walke be now laid waste; The bowling-greene has lost its shaven flore, And snowd with washing suds now yawns beside the dore.

"All round the borders where the pansie blue, Crocus, and polyanthus speckld fine, And daffodils in fayre confusion grew Emong the rose-bush roots and eglantine; These now their place to cabbages resign, And tawdrie pease supply the lilly's stead; Rough artichokes now bristle where the vine Its purple clusters round the windows spread, And laisie coucumbers on dung recline the head.

"The fragrant orchard, once the summers pride,
Where oft, by moonshine, on the daisied greene,
In jovial daunce, or tripping side by side,
Pomona and her buxom nymphs were seene;
Or, where the clear canal stretchd out atweene,
Deffly their locks with blossomes would they brede
Or, resting by the primrose hillocks sheene,
Beneath the apple boughs and walnut shade,
They sung their loves the while the fruitage gaily
spread :

"The fragrant orchard at her dire command
In all the pride of blossome strewd the plain;
The hillocks gently rising through the land
Must now no trace of natures steps retain ;
The clear canal, the mirrour of the swain,
And bluish lake no more adorn the greene,
Two durty watering ponds alone remain ;
And where the moss-floord filbert bowres had
beene,

Is now a turnip-field and cow-yarde nothing cleane.

"An auncient crone, yclepd by housewives Thrift, All this devisd for trim oeconomie ; But certes ever from her birth bereft Of elegance, ill fitts her title high : Coarse were her looks, yet smoothe her courtesie, Hoyden her shapes, but grave was her attyre, And ever fixt on trifles was her eye; And still she plodden round the kitchen fyre, To save the smallest crombe her pleasure and desyre.

'Bow-bent with eld, her steps were soft and slow,
Fast at her side a bounch of keys yhong,
Dull care sat brooding on her jealous brow,
Sagacious proverbs dropping from her tongue :
Yet sparing though she beene her guests emong,
Ought by herself that she mote gormondise,
The foul curmudgeon would have that ere long,
And hardly could her witt her gust suffice;
Albee in varied stream, still was it covetise.

"Dear was the kindlie love which Kathrin bore
This crooked ronion, for in soothly guise
She was her genius and her counsellor :
Now cleanly milking-pails in careful wise
Bedeck each room, and much can she despise [ill:
The knights complaints, and thriftlesse judgment
Eke versd in sales, right wondrous cheap she buys,
Parlour and bedroom too her bargains fill ;
Though uselesse, cheap they beene, and cheap she
purchasd still.

"His tenants whilom been of thriftie kind,
Did like to sing and worken all the day,
At seedtime never were they left behind,
And at the harvest feast still first did play;
And ever at the terme their rents did pay,
For well they knew to guide their rural geer:
All in a row, yclad in homespun gray,

They marchd to church each Sunday of the year, Their imps yode on afore, the carles brought up

the rear.

"Ah, happy days! but now no longer found:
No more with social hospitable glee
The village hearths at Christmas tide resound,
No more the Whitsun gamboll may you see,
Nor morrice daunce, nor May daye jollitie,
When the blythe maydens foot the deawy green;
But now, in place, heart-sinking penurie
And hopelesse care on every face is seen,
As these the drery times of curfeu bell had been.

"For everie while, with thief-like lounging pace, And dark of look, a tawdrie villain came, Muttering some words with serious-meaning face, And on the church dore he would fix their name: Then, nolens volens, they must heed the same, And quight those fieldes their yeomen grandsires plowd

Eer since black Edwards days, when, crownd

with fame,

From Cressie field the knights old grandsire prowd Led home his yeomandrie, and each his glebe allowd.

"But now the orphan sees his harvest fielde Beneath the gripe of laws stern rapine fall, The friendlesse widow, from her hearth expelld, Withdraws to some poor hutt with earthen wall: And these, perdie, were Kathrins projects all ; For, sooth to tell, grievd was the knight full sore Such sinful deeds to see: yet such his thrall, Though he had pledgd his troth, yet nathemore It mote he keep, except she willd the same before.

"Ne may grim Saracene, nor Tartar man,
Such ruthless bondage on his slave impose,
As Kathrin on the knight full deffly can:
Ne may the knight escape, or cure his woes:
As he who dreams he climbs some mountains brows,
With painful struggling up the steep height strains,
Anxious he pants and toils, but strength foregoes
His feeble limbs, and not a step he gains;
So toils the powerlesse knight beneath his servile
chains.

"His lawyer now assumes the guardians place;
Learnd was thilk clerk in deeds, and passing slie;
Slow was his speeche, and solemn was his face
As that grave bird which Athens rankt so high;
Pleased Dullness basking in his glossie eye,
The smyle would oft steal through his native phlegm;
And well he guards syr Martyns propertie,
Till not one peasant dares invade the game;
But certes, seven yeares rent was soon his own just

claim.

"Now mortgage follows mortgage; cold delay
Still yawns on everie long-depending case.
The knights gay bloome the while slid fast away;
Kathrin the while brought bantling imps apace;
While everie day renews his vile disgrace,
And straitens still the more his galling thrall:
See now what scenes his household hours debase,
And rise successive in his cheerlesse hall."

"See, while his friend entreats and urges still,
See, how with sidelong glaunce and haviour shy |
He steals the look to read his lemmans will,
Watchful the dawn of an assent to spy.
Look as he will, yet will she not comply.
His friend with scorn beholds his awkward pain;
From him even pity turns her tear-dewd eye.
And hardlie can the bursting laugh restrain,
While manlie honour frowns on his unmanly stain.

And, bleard with teares, each for revenge applies:
Him chiefe in spleene the father means chastise,
But from his kindlie hand she saves him still;
Yet for no fault, anon, in furious wise
Yon yellow elfe she little spares to kill ;

call.

"See," quoth the wizard," how with foltering mien,
And discomposd, yon stranger he receives;
Lo, how with sulkie look, and moapt with spleen,
His frowning mistresse to his friend behaves;
In vain he nods, in vain his hand he waves,
Ne will she heed, ne will she sign obay;
Nor corner dark his awkward blushes saves,
Ne may the hearty laugh, ne features gay:
The hearty laugh, perdie, does but his pain
betray.

"A worthy wight his friend was ever known,
Some generous cause did still his lips inspire;
He begs the knight by friendships long agone
To shelter from his lawyers cruel ire

An auncient hinde, around whose cheerlesse fire Sat grief, and pale disease. The poor mans wrong Affects the knight: his inmost harts desire Gleams through his eyes; yet all confusd, and stung With inward pain, he looks, and silence guards his tongue.

born will.

"Pale as the ghoste that by the gleaming moon
Withdraws the curtain of the murderers bed,
So pale and cold at heart, as halfe aswoon
The knight stares round; yet good nor bad he sed.
Alas! though trembling anguish inward bled,
His best resolve soon as a meteor dies:

His present peace and ease mote chance have fled, He deems; and, yielding, looks most wondrous wise, As from himself he hopd his grief and shame disguise.

"Woe to the wight whose hated home no more The hallowd temple of content may be ! While now his days abroad with groomes he wore, His mistresse with her liefest companie, A rude unletterd herd! with dearest glee, Enjoys each whisper of her neighbours shame; And still anon the flask of ratifie Improves their tales, till certes not a name Escapes their blasting tongue, or goody, wench, or

dame."

NATHANIEL COTTON was a physician, who paid particular attention to the subject of mental disorders; and kept a receptacle for insane patients

at St. Albans. Cowper was for some time under his care.

DEAR Chloe, while the busy crowd,
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,
In folly's maze advance ;
Though singularity and pride
Be call'd our choice, we'll step aside,

Nor join the giddy dance.

From the gay world we'll oft retire
To our own family and fire,

Where love our hours employs ;
No noisy neighbour enters here,
No intermeddling stranger near,

To spoil our heartfelt joys.
If solid happiness we prize,
Within our breast this jewel lies,

And they are fools who roam;
The world hath nothing to bestow,
From our own selves our bliss must flow,
And that dear hut our home.

Of rest was Noah's dove bereft,
When with impatient wing she left

That safe retreat, the ark;
Giving her vain excursions o'er,
The disappointed bird once more
Explored the sacred bark.

Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers,
We, who improve his golden hours,

By sweet experience know,
That marriage, rightly understood,
Gives to the tender and the good

A paradise below.

Our babes shall richest comforts bring;
If tutor'd right they'll prove a spring

Whence pleasures ever rise;

We'll form their minds with studious care,
To all that's manly, good, and fair,

And train them for the skies.

While they our wisest hours engage,
They'll joy our youth, support our age,
And crown our hoary hairs;
They'll grow in virtue every day,
And they our fondest loves repay,
And recompense our cares.

[*" Cotton's well-known stanzas entitled The Fireside, still hold and are likely to retain a place in popular selections."-SOUTHEY, Life of Cowper, vol. i. p. 148.

No borrow'd joys! they're all our own,
While to the world we live unknown,

Or by the world forgot :
Monarchs! we envy not your state,
We look with pity on the great,
And bless our humble lot.

Our portion is not large, indeed,
But then how little do we need,

For nature's calls are few!
In this the art of living lies,
To want no more than may suffice,
And make that little do.

We'll therefore relish with content,
Whate'er kind Providence has sent,
Nor aim beyond our power;
For, if our stock be very small,
"Tis prudence to enjoy it all,

Nor lose the present hour.

To be resign'd when ills betide,
Patient when favours are denied,

And pleased with favours given;
Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part,
This is that incense of the heart,

Whose fragrance smells to heaven. We'll ask no long protracted treat, Since winter-life is seldom sweet;

But when our feast is o'er, Grateful from table we'll arise, Nor grudge our sons, with envious eyes, The relics of our store.

Thus hand in hand through life we'll go ; Its checker'd paths of joy and woe

With cautious steps we'll tread ; Quit its vain scenes without a tear, Without a trouble, or a fer,

Aud mingle with the dead.

While conscience like a faithful friend,
Shall through the gloomy vale attend,
And cheer our dying breath;
Shail, when all other comforts cease,
Like a kind angel whisper peace,

And smooth the bed of death.

A poem like this, which depends altogether upon its truthfulness, should have nothing to do with Chloe or with Hymen.]