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Yet, since 't is promised at the rector's death,
He'll risk no living for a little breath.
Then spouts and foamns, and cries at every line,
('The Lord forgive him!) “ Bravo! grand ! divine!'
Hoarse with those praises (which, by flatt'ry fed,
Dependence barters for her bitter bread),
Ile strides and stamps along with creaking boot,
Till the floor echoes his emphatic foot ;
Then sits again, then rolls his pious eye,
As when the dying vicar will not die !
Nor feels, forsooth, emotion at his heart ;
But all dissemblers overact their part.

There lives one druid, who prepares in time,
'Gainst future feuds his poor revenge of rhyme;
Racks his dull memory, and his duller muse,
To publish faults which friendship should excuse.
If friendship's nothing, self-regard might teach
More polish'd usage of his parts of speech.
But what is shame, or what is aught to him ?
He vents his spleen, or gratifies his whim.
Some fancied slight has roused his lurking hate,
Some folly cross'd, some jest, or some debate;
Up to his den Sir Scribbler nies, and soon
The gather'd gall is voided in lampoon.
Perhaps at some pert speech you've dared to frown,
Perhaps your poem may have pleased the town:
If so, alas ! 't is nature in the man
May Heaven forgive you, for he never can!
Then be it so; and may his withering bays
Bloom fresh in satire, though they fade in praise !
While his lost songs no more shall steep and stink,
The dullest, fattest weeds on Lethe's brink,
But springing upwards from the sluggish mould,
Be (what they never were before) be --- sold !
Should some rich bard (but such a monster now,
In modern physics, we can scarce allow),
Should some pretending scribbler of the court,
Some rhyming peer - there's plenty of the sort 2 -
All but one poor dependent priest withdrawn
(Ah! too regardless of his chaplain's yawn !)
Condemn the unlucky curate to recite
Their last dramatic work by candle-light,
How would the preacher turn each rueful leaf,
Dull as his sermons, but not half so brief !

Ye, who aspire to “ build the lofty rhyme," 3
Believe not all who laud your false “ sublime;"
But if some friend shall hear your work, and say,
“ Expunge that stanza, lop that line away,"
And, after fruitless efforts, you return
Without amendment, and he answers, “ Burn!"
That instant throw your paper in the fire,
Ask not his thoughts, or follow his desire ;
But (if true bard!) you scorn to condescend,
And will not alter what you can't defend,
If you will breed this bastard of your brains ',-
We 'll have no words - I've only lost my pains.

Yet, if you only prize your favourite thought,
As critics kindly do, and authors ought;
If your cool friend annoy you now and then,
And cross whole pages with his plaguy pen ;
No matter, throw your ornaments aside,
Better let him than all the world deride.

Si carmina condes, Nunquam te fallant animi sub vulpe latentes. Quintilio si quid recitares, Corrige, sodes, Hoc (aiebat) et hoc: melius te posse negares, Bis terque expertum frustra, delere jubebat, Et male tornatos incudi reddere versus.

Si defendere delictum quam vertere malles,
Nullum ultra verbum, aut operam insumebat inanem,
Quin sine rivali teque et tua solus amares.

Vir bonus et prudens versus reprehendet inertes:
Culpabit duros; incomptis allinet atrum
Transverso calamo signum , ambitiosa recidet

prize poet. The patrons of this poor lad are certainly an- the contents of his 'foolscap crown octavos.'"- John Joshua swerable for his end; and it ought to be an indictable offence. Proby, first Earl of Carysfort, was joint postmaster-genBut this is the least they have done ; for, by a retinement of eral in 1805, envoy to Berlin in 1804, and ambassador to barbarity, they have made the (late) man posthumously ri- Petersburg in 1807. Besides his poems, he published two diculous, by printing what he would have had sense enough pamphlets, to show the necessity of universal suffrage and never to print himself. Certcs these rakers of " Remains short parliaments. He died in 1828.) come under the statute against“ resurrection men." What

2 Here will Mr. Gifford allow me to introduce once more to does it signify whether a poor dear dead dunce is to be stuck up

his notice the sole survivor, the “ultimus Romanorum," the in Surgeons' or in Stationers' Hall ? Is it so bad to unearth his bones as his blunders ? Is it not better to gibbet his body Lady of Punishment! here he is, as lively as in the days of

last of the Cruscanti! -" Edwin" the " profound," by our on a heath, than his soul in an octavo ? " We know what we

“ well said Baviad the Correct." are, but we know not what we may be ; " and it is to be hoped

I thought Fitzgerald had

been the tail of poesy; but, alas! he is only the penulwe never shall know, if a man who has passed through life

timate. with a sort of éclat, is to find himself a mountebank on the other side of Styx, and made, like poor Joe Blackett, the A FAMILIAR EPISTLE TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNING laughing-stock of purgatory. The plea of publication is to

CHRONICLE. provide for the child : now, might not some of this “ Sutor

" WHAT reams of paper, floods of ink," ultra Crepidam's " friends and seducers have done a decent

Do some men spoil, who never think ! action without inveigling Pratt into biography ? And then

And so perhaps you 'll say of me, his inscription split into so many modicuins! -" To the

In which your readers may ágree. Duchess of Somuch, the Right llon. So-and-So, and Mrs.

Still I write on, and tell you why; and Miss Somebody, these volumes are, &c. &c.” - why,

Nothing's so bad, you can't deny, this is doling out the " soft milk of dedication" in gills,

But may instruct or entertain there is but a quart, and he divides it among a dozen. Why,

Without the risk of giving pain, &c. &c. Pratt, hadst thou not a puff left ? Dost thou think six families of distinction can share this in quiet? There is a child,

ON SOME MODERN QUACKS AND REFORMISTS a book, and a dedication : send the girl to her grace, the vo

IN tracing of the human mind lumes to the grocer, and the dedication to the devil. - (See

Through all its various courses. antè, p. 132.)

Though strange, 't is true, we often find

It knows not its resources: [In the original MS. – “ Some rhyming peer — Carlisle or Carysfort."

And men through life assume a part To which is subjoined this note :-" Of John Joshua, Earl of

For which no talents they possess, Carysfort' I know nothing at present, but from an advertise

Yet wonder that, with all their art, ment in an old newspaper of certain Poems and Tragedies by

They meet no better with success, &c. &c. his Lordship, which I saw by accident in the Morca. Being

3 [See Milton's Lycidas.] a rhymer himself, he will forgive the liberty I take with his name, seeing, as he must, how very commodious it is at the 4 "Bastard of your brains." -Minerva being the first by cluse of that couplet ; and as for what follows and goes be- Jupiter's headpiece, and a variety of equally unaccountable fore, let him place it to the account of the other Thane ; parturitions upon earth, such as Jadoc, &c. &c. &c. siace I cannot, under these circumstances, augur pro or con

Give light to passages too much in shade,
Nor let a doubt obscure one verse you 've made;
Your friend's “ a Johnson," not to leave one word,
However trifling, which may seem absurd ;
Such erring trifles lead to serious ills,
And furnish food for critics 1, or their quills.

Budgell, a rogue and rhymester, for no good, (Unless his case be much misunderstood) When teased with creditors' continual claims, “ To die like Catof," leapt into the Thames ! And therefore be it lawful through the town For any bard to poison, hang, or drown. : Who saves the intended suicide receives Small thanks from him who loathes the life be

leaves; And, sooth to say, mad poets must not lose The glory of that death they freely chose.

As the Scotch fiddle, with its touching tune, Or the sad influence of the angry moon, All men avoid bad writers' ready tongues, As yawning waiters fly? Fitzscribble's 3 lungs; Yet on he mouths - ten minutes — tedious cach As prelate's homily, or placeman's speech ; Long as the last years of a lingering lease, When riot pauses until rents increase. While such a minstrel, muttering fustian, strays O'er hedge and ditch, through unfrequented ways, If by some chance he walks into a well, And shouts for succour with stentorian yell, “ A rope ! help, Christians, as ye hope for grace!". Nor woman, man, nor child will stir a pace; For there his carcass he might freely fling, From frenzy, or the humour of the thing. Though this has happen'd to more bards than one; I'll tell you Budgell's story, — and have done.

Nor is it certain that some sorts of verse Prick not the poet's conscience as a cure ; Dosed 6 with vile drams on Sunday he was found, Or got a child on consecrated ground ! And hence is haunted with a rhyming rage — Fear'd like a bear just bursting from his cage. If free, all fiy his versifying fit, Fatal at once to simpleton or wit, But him, unhappy! whom he seizes, him He flays with recitation limb by limb; Probes to the quick where'er he makes his breach, And gorges like a lawyer -- or a leech. 7

Ornamenta ; parum claris lucem dare coget;
Arguet ambigue dictum ; mutanda notabit ;
Fiet Aristarchus: nec dicet, Cur ego amicum
Offendam in nugis ? hæ nugæ seria ducent
In mala derisum semel exceptumque sinistre.

Ut mala queni scabies aut morbus regius urguet,
Aut fanaticus error et iracunda Diana,
Vesanum tetigisse timent fugiuntque poetam,
Qui sapiunt: agitant pueri, incautique sequuntur.
llic dum sublimes versus ructatur, et errat,
Si veluti merulis intentus decidit auceps
In puteum, foveam ve ; licet, Succurrite, longum
Clamet, lo cives ! non sit qui tollere curet.
Si quis curet opem ferre, et demittere funem,
Qui scis an prudens huc se dejicerit, atque

Servari nolit ? Dicam : Siculique poetæ
Narrabo interitum. Deus immortalis haberi
Dum cupit Empedocles, ardentem frigidus ütnam
Insiluit; sit jus, liceatque perire poctis:
Invitum qui serrat, idem facit occidenti.
Nec semel hoc fecit ; nec, si retractus erit, jam
Fiet homo, et ponet famosæ mortis amorem.
Nec satis apparet cur versus factitet: utrum
Minxerit in patrios cineres, an triste bidental
Moverit incestus: certe furit, ac velut ursus,
Objectos carece valuit si frangere clathros,
Indoctum doctumque tugat recitator acerbus.
Quem vero arripuit, tenet, occiditque legendo,
Non missura cuiem, nisi plena cruoris, hirudo.

! "A crust for the critics." Bayes, in the Rehearsal."

And the "waiters" are the only fortunate people who can “fly" from them; all the rest, viz. the sad subscribers to the “ Literary Fund," being compelled, by courtesy, to sit out the recitation without a hope of exclaiming. “ Sic" (that is, by choking Fitz with bad wine, or worse poetry) “me servavit Apollo !”

3 [“ Fitzscribble," originally Fitzgerald." See antè. p. 421.)

* On his table were found these tords: “ What Cato did, and Addison approved. cannot be wrong."

But Addison did not " approre;

and if he had, it would not have mended the matter. He had_invited his daughter on the same water. party ; but Miss Budgell, by some accident, escaped this last paternal attention. Thus fell the sycophant of " Atticus," and the enemy of Pope !--[Eustace Budgell, a friend and relative of Addison's, leapt into the Thames" to escape a prosecution, on account of forging the will of Dr. Tindal; in which Eustace had provided himself with a legacy of two thousand pounds. To this Pope alludes

" Let Budgell charge los Grub-street on my quill,

And write whate'er he please -except my will."'] $(" We talked (sars Boswell) of a man's drowning himself.

JOHNSON. ' I should never think it time to inake away with myself.' I put the case of Eustace Budgell, who was accused of forging a will, and sunk himself in the Thames, before the trial of its authenticity came on. Suppose, Sir,' said I, that a man is absolutely sure that, if he lives a few dars longer, he shall be detected in a fraud, the consequence of which will be utter disgrace, and expulsion from society.'

JOHNSON. Then, Sir, let him go abroad to a distant country; let him go to some place where he is not known. Don't let him go to the devil, where he is known.'”– See Boswell, vol. iv. p. 50. ed. 1835.)

6 If dosed with," &c. be censured as low, I beg leave to refer to the original for something still lower; and if any reader will translate " Minxerit in patrios cineres," &c. into a decent couplet, I will insert said couplet in lieu of the present.

7 [In tracing the fortunes of men, it is not a little curious to obserre, how often the course of a whole life has depended on one single stop. Had Lord Byron persisted in his original purpose of giving this poem to the press, instead of Childe Harold, it is more than probable that he would hare been lost, as a great poet, to the world. Inferior as this Paraphrase is, in every respect, to his former Satire, and, in some places, eren descending below the level of under-graduate versifiers, its failure, there can be little doubt, would have been certain and signal ;-his former assailants would have resumed their advantage over him, and either, in the bitterness of his mor. tification, he would have flung Childe Harold into the tire ; or, had he summoned up surficient confidence to publish that poem, its reception, even if sufficient to retriere him in the eyes of the pubiic and his own, could nerer have, at all, resembled that explosion of success, – that instantaneous and universal acclaim of admiration, into which, coming, as it were, fresh from the land of song, he surprised the world, and in the midst of which he was borne, buoyant and selfassured, along, through a succession of new triumphs, each more splendid than the last. Happily, the better judgment of his friends averted such a risk. - DIOORE.]

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2

No murky vapour, herald of the storm,
Hides her fair face, or girds her glowing form.
With cornice glimmering as the moonbeams play,
There the white column greets her grateful ray,
And bright around, with quivering beams beset,
Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret :
The groves of olive scatter'd dark and wide,
Where meek Cephisus sheds his scanty tide,
The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque,
The gleaming turret of the gay kiosk, 5
And sad and sombre mid the holy calm,
Near Theseus' fane, yon solitary palm ;
All, tinged with varied hues, arrest the eye;
And dull were his that pass'd them hecdless by. 6

*Athens, Capuchin Convent, March 17. 1811.
Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run,
Along Morea's hills the setting sun;
Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright,
But one unclouded blaze of living light;
O'er the hush'd deep the yellow beam he throws,
Gilds the green wave that trembles as it glows;
On old Ægina's rock and Hydra's isle
The god of gladness sheds his parting smile;
O'er his own regions lingering loves to shine,
Though there his altars are no more divine.
Descending fast, the mountain-shadows kiss
Thy glorious gulf, unconquer'd Salamis !
Their azure arches through the long expanse,
More deeply purpled, meet his mellowing glance,
And tenderest tints, along their sumınits driven,
Mark his gay course, and own the hues of heaven;
Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep,
Behind his Delphian rock he sinks to sleep.

On such an eve his palest beam he cast
When, Athens ! here thy wisest look'd his last.
How watch'd thy better sons his farewell ray,
That closed their murder'd sage's 3 latest day!
Not yet - not yet — Sol pauses on the hill,
The precious hour of parting lingers still ;
But sad his light to agonising eyes,
And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes ;
Gloom o'er the lovely land he seem'd to pour,
The land where Phæbus never frown'd before ;
But ere he sunk below Cithæron's head,
The cup of woe was quaff'd- the spirit fled ;
The soul of him that scorn'd to fear or fly,
Who lived and died as none can live or die.

But, lo ! from high Hymettus to the plain
The queen of night asserts her silent reign ; *

Again the Ægean, heard no more afar, Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war; Again his waves in milder tints unfold Their long expanse of sapphire and of gold, Mix'd with the shades of many a distant isle, That frown, where gentler ocean deigns to smile.

As thus, within the walls of Pallas' fane, I mark'd the beauties of the land and main, Alone, and friendless, on the magic shore, Whose arts and arms but live in poets' lore; Oft as the matchless dome I turn'd to scan, Sacred to gods, but not secure from man, The past return'd, the present seem'd to cease, And Glory knew no clime beyond her Greece !

Hours roll'd along, and Dian's orb on high Had gain'd the centre of her softest sky; And yet unwearied still my footsteps trod O'er the vain shrine of many a vanish'd god : But chiefly, Pallas ! thine; when Hecate's glare, Check'd by thy columns, fell more sadly fair

1 (This fierce philippic on Lord Elgin, whose collection of Athenian marbles was ultimately purchased for the nation, in 1816, at the cost of thirty-five thousand pounds, was written at thens, in Jarch, 1811, and prepared for publication along with the “Hints from Horace;" but, like that satire, suppressed by Lord Byron, from inotives which the reader will easily understand. It was first given to the world in 1828. Few can wonder that Lord Byron's feelings should have been powerfully

excited by the spectacle of the despoiled Parthenon ; but it is only due to Lord Elgin to keep in mind, that, had those precious marbles remained, they must, in all likelihood, have perished for ever amidst the miserable scenes of violence which Athens has since witnessed ; and that their presence in England has already, by universal admission, been of the most essential advantage to the tine arts of our own country.

The political allusions in this poem are not such as require much explanation. It contains many lines, which, it is hoped, the author, on mature reflection, disapproved of — but is too vigorous a specimen of his iambics to be omitted in any collective edition of his works.)

? (The splendid lines with which this satire opens, down to " As thus, within the walls of Pallas' fane," first appeared at the commencement of the th'rd canto of the Corsair, the author having, at that tinie, abandoned all notion of publishing the piece of which they originally made part.)

3 Socrates drank the hemlock a short time before sunset (the hour of execution), notwithstanding the entreaties of his disciples to wait till the sun went down.

4 The twilight in Greece is much shorter than in our own country; the days in winter are longer, but in summer of less duration

5 The kiosk is a Turkish summer-house ; the palm is without the present walls of Athens, not far from the temple of Theseus, between which and the tree the wall intervenes. Cephisus' stream is indeed scanty, and Ilissus has no stream at all.

6 (During our residence of ten weeks at Athens, there was not, I believe, a day of which we did not devote a part to the contemplation of the noble monuments of Grecian genius, that have outlived the ravages of time, and the outrage of barbarous and antiquarian despoilers. The Temple of Theseus, which was within five minutes' walk of our lodgings, is the most perfect ancient edifice in the world. In this falric, the most enduring stability, and a simplicity of design peculiarly striking, are united with the highest elegance and accuracy of workmanship ; the characteristic of the Doric style, whose chaste beauty is not, in the opinion of the tirst artists, to be equalled by the graces of any of the other orders.

A gen. tleman of Athens, of great taste and skill, assured us that, after a continued contemplation of this temple, and the remains of the Parthenon, he could never again look with his accustomed satisfaction upon the lonic and Corinthian ruins of Athens, much less upon the specimens of the more modern species of architecture to be seen in Italy. - Hlobilou SE.]

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Another name with his pollutes my shrine : Behold where Dian's beams disdain to shine ! Some retribution still might Pallas claim, When Venus balf avenged Minerva's shame." 6

She ceased awhile, and thus I dared reply, To soothe the vengeance kindling in her eye : “ Daughter of Jove! in Britain's injured namne, A true-born Briton may the deed disclaim. Frown not on England; England owns him not : Athena, no! thy plunderer was a Scot. Ask'st thou the difference? From fair Phyle's towers Survey Baotia ; - Caledonia's ours. And well I know within that bastard land 7 Hath Wisdom's goddess never held command ; A barren soil, where Nature's germs, contined To stern sterility, can stint the mind ; Whose thistlc well betrays the niggard earth, Emblem of all to whom the land gives birth ; Each genial influence nurtured to resist ; A land of meanness, sophistry, and míst. Each breeze from foggy mount and marshy plain Dilutes with drivel every drizzly brain, Till, burst at length, each watery head o'crflows, Foul as their soil, and frigid as their snows. Then thousand schemes of petulance and pride Despatch her scheming children far and wide : Some east, some west, some every where but north, In quest of lawless gain, they issue forth. And thus — accursed be the day and year! She sent a Pict to play the felon here. Yet Caledonia claims some native worth, As dull Bæotia gave a Pindar birth; So may her few, the letter'd and the brave, Bound to no clime, and victors of the grave, Shake off the sordid dust of such a land, And shine like children of a happier strand; As once, of yore, in some obnoxious place, Ten names (if found) had saved a wretched race.'

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O'er the chill marble, where the startling tread
Thrills the lone heart like echoes from the dead.
Long had I mused, and treasured every trace
The wreck of Greece recorded of her race,
When, lo! a giant form before me strode,
And Pallas hail'd me in her own abode !

Yes, 't was Minerva's self; but, ah! how changed
Since o'er the Dardan field in arms she ranged !
Not such as erst, by her divine command,
Her form appcard from Phidias' plastic hand :
Gone were the terrors of her awful brow,
Her idle agis bore no Gorgon now;
Her helm wiis dinted, and the broken lance
Seem'd weak and shaftless e'en to mortal glance;
The olive branch, which still she deign'd to clasp,
Shrunk from her touch, and wither'd in her grasp;
And, ah ! though still the brightest of the sky,
Celestial tears bcdimm'd her large blue eye ;
Round the rent casque her owlet circled slow,
And mourn'd his mistress with a shriek of woe !

“ Mortal!" _'t was thus she spake " that blush

of shame
Proclaims thee Briton, once a noble name ;
First of the mighty, foremost of the free,
Now honour'd less by all, and least by me :
Chief of thy foes shall Pallas still be found.
Seek'st thou the cause of loathing? - look around.
Lo! here, despite of war and wasting fire,
I saw successive tyrannies expire.
'Scaped from the ravage of the Turk and Goth, 1
Thy country sends a spoiler worse than both. ?
Survey this vacant, violated fane;
Recount the relics torn that yet remain :
These Cecrops placed, this Pericles adorn'd, 3
That Adrian rear'd when drooping Science mourn'd.
What more I owe let gratitude attest
Know, Alaric and Elgin did the rest.
That all may learn from whence the plunder :r came,
The insulted wall sustains his hated name + :
For Elgin's fame thus grateful Pallas pleads,
Below, his name - above, behold his deeds ! 5
Be ever hail'd with equal honour here
The Gothic monarch and the Pictish peer :
Arms gave the first his right, the last had none,
But basely stole what less barbarians won.
So when the lion quits his fell repast,
Next prowls the wolf, the filthy jackal last :
Flesh, limbs, and blood the former make their own,
The last poor brute securely gnaws the bone.
Yet still the gods are just, and crimes are cross'd :
See here what Elgin won, and what he lost !

“ Mortal !” the blue-eyed maid resumed, “ once
Bear back my mandate to thy native shore. (more
Though fallen, alas ! this vengeance yet is mine,
To turn my counsels far from lands like thine.
Hear then in silence Pallas' stern behest ;
Hear and believe, for Time will tell the rest.

“ First on the head of him who did this deed
My curse shall light, - on him and all his seed :
Without one spark of intellectual tire,
Be all the sons as senseless as the sire :
If one with wit the parent brood disgrace,
Believe him bastard of a brighter race :

1 (On the plaster wall, on the west side of the chapel, these words have been very deeply cut:

QUOD NON FECERUNT GOTI,

Hoc FECERUNT Scoti. The mortar wall, yet fresh when we saw it, supplying thie place of the statue now in Lord Elgin's collection, serves as a comment on this text. 'This eulogy of the Goths alludes to an unfounded story of a Greek historian, who relates that Alaric, either territied by two phantoms, one of Minerva herself, the other of Achilles, terrible as when he strode towards the walls of Troy to his friends, or struck with a reverential respect, had spared the treasures, ornaments, and people of the venerable city. – HOBHOUSE.] 2 [In the original MS." Ab, Athens ! scarce escaped from Turk and Goth:

Heil sends a paltry Scotchman worse than both.”]

3 This is spoken of the city in general, and not of the Acropolis in particular. The temple of Jupiter Olympius, by some supposed the Pantheon, was finished by Hadrian ; sixteen columns are standing, of the most beautiful marble and architecture. * [On the original MS. is written

Aspice quos Pallas Scoto concedit honores,

Inirà stat nomen — facta supraque vide.'') $ (For Lord Byron's detailed remarks on Lord Elgin's dealing with the Parthenon, see APPENDIX, note A. to the second canto of Childe Harold.)

6 His lordship's name, and that of one who no longer bears it, are carved conspicuously on the Parthenon ; above, in a part not far distant, are the torn remnants of the basso relievos, destroyed in a vain atteinpt to remove them.

7 " Irish bastards,” according to Sir Callaghan O'Brallaghan.

THE CURSE OF MINERVA.

455

Lo! there Rebellion rears her ghastly bead,
And glares the Nemesis of native dead;
Till Indus rolls a deep purpureal flood,
And claims his long arrear of northern blood.
So may ye perish !-- Pallas, when she gave
Your free-born rights, forbade ye to enslave.

1

“ Look on your Spain !- she clasps the hand she

hates,
But boldly clasps, and thrusts you from her gates.
Bear witness, bright Barossa! thou canst tell
Whose were the sons that bravely fought and fell.
But Lusitania, kind and dear ally,
Can spare a few to fight, and sometimes fly.
Oh glorious field ! by Famine fiercely won,
The Gaul retires for once, and all is done!
But when did Pallas teach, that one retreat
Retrieved three long olympiads of defeat ?

Still with his hireling artists let him prate,
And Folly's praise repay for Wisdom's hate ;
Long of their patron's gristo let them tell,
Whose noblest, native gusto is -- to sell :
To sell, and make -- may Shame record the day!-
The state receiver of his pilfer'd prey.
Meantime, the flattering, feeble dotard, West,
Europe's worst dauber, and poor Britain's best,
With palsied hand shall turn each model o'er,
And own himself an infant of fourscore. ?
Be all the bruisers cull'd from all St. Giles'
That art and nature may compare their styles ;
While brawny brutes in stupid wonder stare,
And marvel at his lordship’s • stone shop's there.
Round the throng'd gate shall sauntering coxcombs

creep,
To lounge and lucubrate, to prate and peep ;
While many a languid maid, with longing sigh,
On giant statues casts the curious eye ;
The room with transient glance appears to skim,
Yet marks the mighty back and length of limb;
Mourns o'er the difference of now and then ;
Exclaims, · These Greeks indeed were proper men!'
Draws sly comparisons of these with those,
And envies Lais all her Attic beaux.
When shall a modern maid have swains like these !
Alas! Sir Harry is no Hercules !
And last of all, amidst the gaping crew,
Some calm spectator, as he takes his view,
In silent indignation mix'd with grief,
Admires the plunder, but abhors the thief. +
Oh, loathed in life, nor pardon'd in the dust,
May hate pursue his sacrilegious lust !
Link'd with the fool that fired the Ephesian dome,
Shall vengeance follow far beyond the tomb,
And Eratostratus and Elgin shine
In many a branding page and burning line ;
Alike reserved for aye to stand accursed,
Perchance the second blacker than the first.

“Look last at home — ye love not to look there;
On the grim smile of comfortless despair :
Your city saddens : loud though Revel howls,
Here Famine faints, and yonder Rapine prowis.
See all alike of more or less bereft ;
No misers tremble when there's nothing left.
• Blest paper credit 'n ; who shall dare to sing ?
It clogs like lead Corruption's weary wing.
Yet Pallas pluck'd each premier by the ear,
Who gods and men alike disdain'd to hear ;
But one, repentant o'er a bankrupt state,
On Pallas calls, - but calls, alas ! too late :
Then raves for ** ; to that Mentor bends,
Though he and Pallas never yet were friends.
Him senates hear, whom never yet they bicard,
Contemptuous once, and now no less absurd.
So, once of yore, each reasonable frog
Swore faith and fealty to his sovereign log.'
Thus hail'd your rulers their patrician clod,
As Egypt chose an onion for a god.

a

“ So let him stand, through ages yet unborn,
Fix'd statue on the pedestal of Scorn;
Though not for him alone revenge shall wait,
But fits thy country for her coming fate :
Hers were the deeds that taught her lawless son
To do what oft Britannia's self had done.
Look to the Baltic - blazing from afar,
Your old ally yet mourns perfidious war. 5
Not to such deeds did Pallas lend her aid,
Or break the compact which herself had made ;
Far from such councils, from the faithless field
She fled — but left behind her Gorgon shield :
A fatal gift, that turn'd your friends to stone,
And left lost Albion hated and alone.

“Now fare ye well! enjoy your little hour;
Go, grasp the shadow of your vanish'd power ;
Gloss o'er the failure of each fondest scheme;
Your strength a name, your bloated wealth

dream.
Gone is that gold, the marvel of mankind,
And pirates barter all that's left behind. 7
No more the hirelings, purchased near and far,
Crowd to the ranks of mercenary war.
The idle merchant on the useless quay
Droops o'er the bales no bark may bear away ;
Or, back returning, sees rejected stores
Rot piecemeal on his own encumber'd shores :
The starved mechanic breaks his rusting loom,
And desperate mans him 'gainst the coming doom.
Then in the senate of your sinking state
Show me the man whose counsels may have weight.

“ Look to the East, where Ganges' swarthy race Shal shake your tyrant empire to its base ;

" (In 1816, thirty-five thousand pounds were voted by Par. for selfish motives, and prevent successive generations of liament for the purchase of the Elgin marbles.)

other nations from seeing those admirable sculptures? The ? Mr. West, on seeing the “Elgin Collection" (I suppose Temple of Vinerva was spared as a beacon to the world, we shall hear of the " Abershaw" and " Jack Shephard "col.

to direct it to the knowledge of purity of taste. What can we lection), declares himself" a mere tyro" in art.

say to the disappointed traveller, who is now deprived of the

rich gratification which would have compensated his travel 3 Poor Cribb was sadly puzzled when the marbles were first and his toil? It will be little consolation to him to say, he may exhibited at Elgin llouse : he asked if it was not "a stone

find the sculpture of the Parthenon in England. - H. W. shop ?" - He was right; it is a shop.

Williaus.) 4 (That the Elgin marbles will contribute to the improve- 5 [The affair of Copenhagen.) ment of art in England, cannot be doubted. They must cer.

“ Blest paper credit ! last and best supply, tainly open the pyes of the British artists, and prove that the

That lends Corruption lighter wings to fly!” –Pope. true and only road to simplicity and beauty is the study of nature. But, bad we a right to diminish the interest of Athens 7 The Deal and Dover trathckers in specie.

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