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To these young tyrants,* by themselves misplaced, |In turns appear, to make the vulgar stare,
Combined usurpers on the throne of taste; Till the swoln bubble bursts-and all is air !
To these, when authors bend in humble awe, Nor less new schools of poetry arise,
And hail their voice as truth, their word as law Where dull pretenders grapple for the prize:
While these are censors, 'twould be sin to spare ; O'er taste awhile these pseudo-bards prevail ;
While such are critics, why should I forbear? Each country book-club bows the knee to Baal,
But yet, so near all modern worthies run,

And, hurling lawful genius from the throne,
'Tis doubtful whom to seek, or whom to shun; Erects a shrine and idol of its own;
Nor know we when to spare, or where to strike, Some leaden calf—but whom it matters not,
Our bards and censors are so much alike.

From soaring Southey down to grovelling Stott.

Then should you ask me, why I venture o'er Behold! in various throngs the scribbling crew, The path which Pope and Gifford trod before; For notice eaga

long review: If not yet sicken'd, you can still proceed : Each spurs histor egasus apace, Go on; my rhyme will tell you as you read. And rhyme and blank maintain an equal race , But hold! I exclaims a friend,-here's some neglect; Sonnets on sonnets crowd, and ode on ode: This-that-and 't other line seem incorrect. And tales of terror jostle on the road : What then? the self-same blunder Pope has got, Immeasurable measures move along; And careless Dryden-ay-but Pye has not, For simpering folly loves a varied song, Indeed !-'tis granted, faith!—but what care I? To strange mysterious dullness still the friend, Better to err with Pope, than shine with Pye. Admires the strain she cannot comprehend.

Thus Lays of Minstrelst-may they be the last!-Time was, ere yet in these degenerate days,

On half-strung harps whine mournful to the blast. Ignoble themes obtain'd mistaken praise,

While mountain spirits prate to river sprites, When sense and wit with poesy allied,

That dames may listen to the sound at nights ; No fabled graces, flourish'd side by side ;

And goblin brats, of Gilpin Horner's brood, From the same fount their inspiration drew,

Decoy young border-nobles through the wood, And, rear'd by taste, bloom'd fairer as they grew.

And skip at every step, Lord knows how high, Then, in this happy isle, a Pope's pure strain

And frighten foolish babes, the Lord knows why: Sought the rapt soul to charm, nor sought in vain;

While high-born ladies in their magic cell, A polish'd nation's praise aspired to claim,

Forbidding knights to read who cannot spell, And raised the people's, as the poet's fame.

Despatch a courier to a wizard's grave, Like him great Dryden pour’d the tide of song,

And fight with honest men to shield a knave, In stream less smooth, indeed, yet doubly strong. Then Congreve's scenes could cheer, or Otway's Next view in state, proud prancing on his roan, melt

The golden-crested haughty Marmion, For nature then an English audience felt. Now forging scrolls, now foremost in the fight, But why these names, or greater still, retrace, Not quite a felon, yet but half a knight, When all to feebler bards resign their place? The gibbet or the field prepared to grace, Yet to such times our lingering looks are cast, A mighty mixture of the great and base. When taste and reason with those times are past. Now look around, and turn each triling page, • Stott, better known in the " Morning Post" by the name of Hafiz Survey the precious works that please the age; This personage is at present the most profound explorer of the bathos. I This truth at least let satire's self allow,

remember, when the reigning family left Portugal, a special odle of Master

Stott's, beginning thus : No dearth of bards can be complain'd of now:

(Stott loquitur quoad Hibernia.) The loaded press beneath her labor groans,

" Princely offspring of Braganza,

Erin greets thee with a stanza," &c. &c. And printers' devils shake their weary bones;

Also a sonnet to Rats, well worthy of the subjeci, and a most thundering odo, While Southey's epics cram the creaking shelves, commencing as follows: And Little's lyrics shine in hot-press’d twelves.

" Oh ! for'a Lay ! loud as the surge fThus saith the preacher : || “Nought beneath the Lord have mercy on us! the " Lay of the Lust Minstrel" was nothing to

'That lashes Lapland's sounding shore." sun;

this. Is new,” yet still from change to change we run:

| Sve the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," poesim. Never was any plan to What varied wonders tempt us as they pass !

incongruous and absurd is the groundwork of this production. The entrans

of Thunder and Lightning prologuizing to Bayes's tragedy unfortunately The cow-pox, tractors, galvanism, and gas,

takes away the merit of originality from the dialogue between Messieun the Spirits of Flood and Fell in the first canto. Then we have the amiablo

William of Deloraine, " a stark moss-trooper," videlicet, a happy compoual bere represented. At the time this was written (1808) I was personally unac- of poacher, sheep-stealer, and highwayman. The propriety of his magical painted with either. 1816.-MS, note by Lord Byron.

lady's injunction not to read can only be equalled by his candid acknowledge Meurs, Jeffrey and Lambe are the alpha and oinega, the first and the last ment of his independence of the trammels of spelling, although, to rise hia o the Elinburgh Review; the others are mentioned hereafter,

own elegant phrnse, " 'twas his neck-verse at hairbee," i. e. the gallowa. • " Stulta est Clerrentia, cum we ubique

The biography of Gilpin Horner, and the marvellous pedestrian page, who Occurras perituræ parcere charte,"

travelled twice as fast as his master's horse, without the aid of seven-leagues Juvenal, Satire I. boots, are the chef de cuvres in the improvement of luste. For incident we † IMITATION

have the invisilde, but by no means sparing box on the ear, bestowed on the " Cur tamen hoc libeat potius decurrere campo

page, and the entrance of a knight and charger into the castle, under the Per quem magnus equos Aurouce flexit alumnus

very natural disguise of a wain of hay. Marmion, the hero of the latter Si vacat, et placida ratfonem admitutis edam."

romance, is exactly what William of Deloraine would have been had he

Juvenal, Satire I. been able to read and write. The poem was manufactured for Mesan 1 But hold I exclaims e friend, &c.—The following six lines were inserted Constable, Murray, and Miller, worshipful booksellers, in consideration of the fifth edition.

the receipt of a sum of money and truy, considering the inspiration, it is a $ Thus erith the preacher, &c. -The following fourteen lines were inserted very creditable production. ir Mr. Scote will write for hire, let him do bin the weond edition,

best for his paymasters, but not disgrace his genius, which is undoubtech | Eeclesiastes, chap. L

great, by a repetition of black-letter ballad imitations.

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And think'st thou, Scott! by rain conceit perchance, Oh! Southey! Southey!* cease thy varied soug!
On public taste to foist thy stale romance, A bard may chant too often and too long :
Though Murray with his Miller may combine As thou art strong in verse, in mercy spare !
To yield thy muse just half-a-crown per line? A fourth, alas ! were more than the could bear.
No! when the sons of song descend to trade, But if, in spite of all the world can say,
Their bays are sear, their former laurels fade. Thou still wilt verseward plod thy weary way;
Let such forego the poet's sacred name,

If still in Berkley ballads most uncivil,
Who rack their brains for lucre, not for fame: Thou wilt devote old women to the devil,t
Still for stern Mammon may they toil in vain, The babe unborn thy dread intent may rue:
And sadly gaze on gold they cannot gain ! “God help thee," Southey, and thy readers too.
Such be their meed, such still the just reward
Of prostituted muse and hireling bard!

Next comes the dull disciple of thy schoo., For this we spurn Apollo's son,

That mild apostate from poetic rule, And bid a long “good nig! armion."* The simple Wordsworth, framer of a lay

As soft as evening in his favorite May,
These are the themes that claim our plaudits now; Who warns his friend “to shake off toil and trouble
These are the bards to whom the muse must bow; And quit his books for fear of growing double ; " !
While. Milton, Dryden, Pope, alike forgot, Who, both by precept and example, shows
Resign their hallow'd bays to Walter Scott. That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose;

Convincing all, by demonstration plain,
The time has been, when yet the muse was young, Poetic souls delight in prose insane ;
When Homer swept the lyre, and Maro sung, And Christmas stories tortured into rhyme
An epic scarce ten centuries could claim,

Contain the essence of the true sublime.
While awe-struck nations hail'd the magic name! Thus, when he tells the tale of Betty Foy,
The work of each immortal bard appears

The idiot mother of "an idiot boy;" The single wonder of a thousand years.t

A moon-struck, silly land, who lost his way, Empires have moulder'd froin the face of earth, And, like his bard, confounded night with day; 1 Tongues have expired with those who gave them so close on each pathetic part he dwells, birth,

And each adventure so sublimely tells, Without the glory such a strain can give,

That all who view the “idiot in his glory,
As even in ruin bids the language live.

Conceive the bard the hero of the story,
Not so with us, though minor bards content,
On one great work a life of labor spent :

Shall gentle Coleridge pass unnoticed here,
With eagle pinions soaring to the skies,

To turgid ode and tumid stanza dear? Behold the ballad-monger Southey rise !

Though themes of innocence amuse him best, To him let Camoens, Milton, Tasso yield,

Yet still obscurity's a welcome guest. Whose annual strains, like armies, take the field. If Inspiration should her aid refuse First in the ranks see Joan of Arc advance, To him who takes a pixy for a muse, The scourge of England and the boast of France ! Yet none in lofty numbers can surpass Though burnt by wicked Bedford for a witch, The bard who soars to elegize an ass. Behold her statue placed in glory's niche;

So well the subject suits his noble mind, Her fetters burst, and just released from prison, He brays, the laureat of the long-ear'd kind.74

A virgin phenix from her asbes risen. | Next see tremendous Thalaba come on,

• We beg Mr. Sonthey's pardon : "Madoc dis lains the degrading title a 1 Arabia's monstrous, wild and wond'rous son;

epic." See his prface. Why is a pie degraded ? and by whom? Certainly Domdaniel's dread destroyer, who o'erthrew the late romaunts of Masters Cortle, Laureat Pye, Ogilvy, Hole, and gende More mad magicians than the world e'er knew.

Mistress Cowley, have not exalted the epic mus; but as Mr. Southey'ı

poem "disd uns the appllation," allow us to ask-has be substituted any Immortal hero! all thy foes o'ercome,

thing betur instead? or must be be content to rival Sir Richard Blackmore in For ever reign-the rival of Tom Thumb!

the quantity as well as the quality of his verne? Since startlod metrc fied before thy face,

† Scc "The Old Woman of Berkley," ballad, by Mr. Southey, wherein a

nged gentlewoman is carried away by Brelurbuli, on a “high-trotting hotee." Well wert thou doom'd the last of all thy race ! The Inst line, "God help thee," is an evident plagiariaru from the And Well might triumphant genii bear thee hence, Jacobin to Mr. Southey, on his dacıylica :

"Gol belp thee, silly one! Illustrious conquerer of common sense!

Poctry of the Anti-jacobin, p. 25. Now, last and greatest Madoc spreads his sails, $ Against this passage on Wordsworth and Culeridge, Lord Byron ka Cacique in Mexico and prince in Wales :

written " unjust."

| Lyrical Ballads, p. 1.--"The Tables Turned," Stanza I. Tells us strange tales, as other travellers do,

"Up, up, my friend, and clear your looks; More old than Mandeville's and not so true.

Why all thuis toil and trouble?
Up, up, my friendl, and quit your books,

Or surely you'll grow double." • "Good night to Marmion"-the pathetic and also prophetic exclamation Mr. W. in his preface labors hard to prove that proase and rerne un & Henry Blount, Esquire, on the death of honest Marmion.

much the same; and certainly his precepts and practice are strictly com † As the Olyasry is so closely connected with the story of the Iliad, they formable. may almost be closed as one grand historical poem. In alluding to Milton

" And thus to Betty's qnestions, he and Tasso, we consiler the " Paradise Lost," and “Gierusalemme Liberata,"

Macle answer like a traveller bold, as their standard efforts, since neither the " Jerustein Conquered" of the

The cock did crow, to whoo, to whoo, Italian, nor the “ Paradise Regained ” of the English bar, obtained a pro

And the suu did sluine so coli!,” &c. &c. portionate celebrity to their former poems. Query : Whold of Mr. Southey's

Lyrical Ballads, p. 129. will survive?

Coleridge's Poerns, p. 11, Songs of the Pixies, i.e. Devonshire Extrimo; Thalabu, Mr. Southey's second poem, is written in open defiance of pre p. 42, we have “Lines to a Young Lady; " and p. 52, "Lines to a young cedent and poetry. Mr. S. wished to produce something novel, and succeeded Ass." to a miracle. Joan of Are was murvellous enough, but Tbalaba was one of 11 He braye, the laureat of the long-ear'd knd.- Altored by Lori Byron wowe poems " which," in the words of Purson, " will be read when Homer in his last revision of the satire. In all former e. fitiots the line stood, nad Virgil are forgotten, but-not sill then.

" A fellow-feeling makes us wond'rous kind."


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And art thou not their prince, barmonious Bowles ! |

Oh! wonder-working Lewis ! monk, or bard, Whether he spin poor couplets into plays,
Who fain wouldst make Parnassus a church-yard ! Or damn the dead with purgatorial praise,
Lo! wreaths of yew, not laurel, bind thy brow, His style in youth or age is still the same,
Thy muse a sprite, Apollo's sexton thou! For ever feeble and for ever tame.
Whether on ancient tombs thou takest thy stand, Triumphant first see “Temper's Triumphs" shino'
By gibb’ring spectres hail'd thy kindred band; At least I'm sure they triumph'd over mine.
Or tracest chaste description on thy page, Of “Music's Triumphs," all who read my swear
To please the females of our modest age :

That luckless music never triumph'd there.*
All hail, M. P.! * from whose infernal brain
Thin sheeted phantoms glide, a grisly train ;

Moravians, rise! bestow some meet reward At whose command "grim women” throng in On dull devotion-lo! the Sabbath bard, crowds,

Sepulchral Grahame, pours his notes sublime And kings of fire, of water, and of clouds, In mangled prose, nor e'en aspires to rhyme; With a small gray men,” “wild yagers," and what- Breaks into blank the Gospel of St. Luke, not,

And boldly pilfers from the Pentateuch; To crown with honor thee and Walter Scott; And, undisturb'd by conscientious qualms, Again all hail! if tales like thine may please, Perverts the Prophets, and purloins the Psalms. I St. Luke alone can vanquish the disease ; Even Satan's self with thee might dread to dwell, Hail, Sympathy! thy soft idea brings And in thy skull discern a deeper hell.

A thousand visions of a thousand things, [years.

And shows, still whimpering through threescore of Who in soft guise, surrounded by a choir The maudlin prince of mournful sonneteers. Of virgins melting, not to Vesta's fire, With sparkling eyes and cheek by passion flush'd, Thou first, great oracle of tender souls ? Strikes his wild lyre, whilst listening dames are | Whether thou sing'st with equal ease, and grief, hush'd ?

The fall of empires, or a yellow leaf; 'Tis Little! young Catullus of his day,

Whether thy muse most lamentably tells As sweet, but as immoral, in his lay!

What merry sounds proceed from Oxford bells. I Grieved to condemn, the muse must still be just, Or, still in bells delighting, finds a friend Nor spare melodious advocates of lust.

In every chime that jingled from Ostend; Pure is the flame which o'er her altar burns; Ah! how much juster were thy muse's hap, From grosser incense with disgust she turns : If to thy bells thou wouldst but add a cap! Yet kind to youth, this expiation o'er,

Delightful Bowles ! still blessing and still blest, She bids thee "mend thy line,+ and sin no more." All love thy strain, but children like it best :

'Tis thine, with gentle Little's moral song, For thee, translator of the tinsel song,

To soothe the mania of the amorous throng!
To whorr such glittering ornaments belong, With thee our nursery damsels shed their tears,
Hibernian Strangford! with thine eyes of blue, Ere miss as yet completes her infant years :
And boasted locks of red or auburn hue,

But in her teens thy whining powers are vain;
Whose plaintive strain each love-sick miss admires, She quits poor Bowles for Little's purer strain.
And o'er harmonious fustiang half expires, Now to soft themes thou scornest to confine
Learn, if thou canst, to yield thine author's sense,

The lofty numbers of a harp like thine, Nor vend thy sonnets on a false pretence.

" Awake a louder and a loftier strain,"** Think'st thou to gain thy verse a higher place, Such as none heard before, or will again! By dressing Camoens|| in a suit of lace! Mend, Strangford ! mend thy morals and thy taste; Hayley's two most notorious verse productions are " Triumphs of

Temper," and “Triumphs of Music." He has also written much comedy Be warm, but pure; be amorous, but chaste:

in rhyme, epistles, &c., &c. As he is rather an elegant writer of notes and Cease to deceive; thy pilfer'd harp restore,

biography, let 1e recommend Pope's advice to Wycherley 19 Mr. H.'s conNor teach the Lusian bard to copy Moore.

sideration, viz. " to convert his poetry into prose," which may be easily done by taking away the final syllable of each couplet.

“Breaks inw blank the Gospel of St. Luke." Behold !-ye tarts! one moment spare the text, in the first edition, Hayley's last work, and worst-until his next;

“ Breaks into mawkish lines each holy book." Mr. Grahame has pouredd forth two volumes of cant, under the name of

" Sabbath Walks," and " Biblical Pictures." • " For every one kuows little Matt's an M. P."-See a poem to Mr.

§ Still whimpering through threescore of years.--Thas aered in the Lewis, in The Statesinan, supposed to be written by Mr. Jekyll.

fifth edition. The original reading war,

“ Dissolved in thine own melting tears." † In the original mapuscripe, " Mend thy life." 1 The reader, who may wish for an explanation of this, may refer to

1 Whether hou sing 'st, &c.-- This couplet, in all the editions before do * Strangtord's Camoeng," page 197, note to page 56, or to the last page of fifth, was printed, the Edinburgh Review of Strangford's Camoenis.

"Whether in sighing winds thou seek'xt reliel,

Or consolation in a yellow leaf." $ Fuadian; in the first edition, nonsense. I It is also to be remarked, that the things given to the public as poems of

T Sve Bowles's Sonnets, &c.--"Sounet to Oxford," and "Suanne on Camdens are no more to be found in the original Portugees, than in the hearing the Bells of Ostend."

* " Awake a louder," &c., &c., is the first line in Bowles's “Spirt of Songs of Solomon. - Behold l-ye tarta! one moment spare his text

Discovery;” a very spirited and pretty dwarf epic. Among other exquisito

lines we have the following: Hayley's last work, and worst-until his next;

" A kis
Whether he spins poor couplets into playa,

Stole on the list'ning silence, nover yet
Or damns the dead with purgatorial praise."

Here heard; they trembled even as if the power," &c., &c. So emended by Lord Byron in the ofth edition of this atire. The linea That is, the woods of Madeira trembled to a kiss, very much astonished, as trere originally printed :

well they might be, at such a phenomenon. " In many marble-cover'd volumes view

(Misquoted and misunderstood by me; but not intentionally. It was noj Hayley, in vain attempting something new;

the "woods," but the people in them who trembled-why, Heaven only Whether he spins his comedien in rhyme,

knows-onless they were overheard making the prodigious emack-MS. Or crawl, an Wood and Barclay walk, 'gainst time

note by Lord Byron. 1816.)

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Dull Maurice || all his granite weight of leaves :

Where all discoveries jumbled from the flood, Baotian Cottle, rich Bristowa's boast,
Since first the leaky ark reposed in mud,

Imports old stories from the Cambrian coast,
By more or less, are sung in every book,

And sends his goods to market-all alive! From Captain Noah down to Captain Cook. Lines forty thousand, cantos twenty-five! Nor this alone; but, pausing on the road,

Fresh fish from Helicon ! * who'll buy! who'll buy? The bard sighs forth a gentle cpisode ;*

The precious bargain's cheap-in faith not I. And gravely tells-attend, each beauteous miss! It Your turtle-feeder's verse must needs be flat, When first Madeira trembled to a kiss.

Though Bristol bloat him with the verdant fat; Bowles ! in thy memory let this precept dwell, If Commerce fills the purse, she clogs the brain, Stick to thy sonnets, man! at least they sell." And Amos Cottle strikes the lyre in vain. But if some new-born whim, or larger bribe, In him an author's luckless lot behold, Prompt thy crude brain, and claim thee for a scribe; Condemn'd to make the books which once he sold If chance some bard, though once by dunces fear'd, Oh, Amos Cottle -Phæbus ! what a name Now, prone in dust, can only be revered ; To fill the speaking trump of future fame! If Pope whose fame and genius from the first Oh, Amos Cottle! for a moment think Have foil'd the best of critics, needs the worst, What meagre profits spring from pen and ink! Do thou essay; each fault, each failing scan; When thus devoted to poetic dreams, The first of poets was, alas! but man.

Who will peruse thy prostituted reams? Rake from each ancient dunghill ev'ry pearl, Oh pen perverted ! paper misapplied ! Consúlt Lord Fanny, and confide in Curll; I Had Cottle I still adorn'd the counter's side, Let all the scandals of a former age

Bent o'er the desk, or, born to useful toils, Perch on thy pen, and flutter o'er thy page; Been taught to make the paper which he soils, Affect a candor which thou canst not feel,

Plough'd, delved, or plied the oar with lusty limb, iClothe envy in the garb of honest zeal ;

He had not sung of Wales, nor I of him.Ş Write, as if St. John's soul could still inspire, And do for hate what Mallet, did for hire. As Sisyphus against the infernal steep Oh! had'st thou lived in that congenial time, Rolls the huge rock whose motions ne'er may sleep To rave with Dennis, and with Ralph to rhyme ; || So up thy hill, ambrosial Richmond, heaves Throng'd with the rest around his living head, Not raised thy hoof against the lion dead;

Smooth solid monuments of mental pain! A meet reward had crown'd thy glorious gains, The petrifactions of a plodding brain, (again

And link'd thee to the Dunciad for thy pains.* That, ere they reach the top, fall lumbering back # Another epic! Who inflicts again

With broken lyre, and cheek serenely pale, More books of blank upon the sons of men ?

Lo! sad Alcæus wanders down the vale;

Though fair they rose, and might have bloom'd at • The episode above alluded to in the story of "Robert a Machin" and " Aune d'Arles," a pair of constant losers, who performed the kiss above

last, mentioned, that started the woods of Madeira,

His hopes have perish'd by the northern blast: t * Stick to thy sonnets, man at least they sell :

Nipp'd in the bud by Caledonian gales,
Or take the only path thas open lies
For modern worthies who would hope to rise :

His blossoms wither as the blast prevails !
Fix on some well-known name, and, bit by bit,

O'er his lost works let classic Sheffield weep!
Pare of the merits of his worth and wit;

May no rude hand disturb their early sleep! 1
On each alike employ the critic's knife,
And when a comment fails, profix a life;
Hlut certain failings, faults before unknown,

Yet say! why should the bard at once resign
Review forgotten lies, and add your own;

His claim to favor from the sacred nine ?
Let no discase, let no misfortune 'scape,
And print, if luckily deformed, his shape :

For ever startled by the mingled howl
Thus shall the world, quite undeceived at last,

Of northern wolves, that still in darkness prowl;
Cleave to their present wits, and quit their past;

A coward brood, which mangle as they prey,
Bands once revered no more with favor view,
Brit give the modern sonneteets their due:

** By hellish instinct, all that cross their way; Thus with the dead may living merit cupe,

Thus Bowles may triumph o'er the shade of Popo," in the first edition, the observations on Bowles ended with those lines,

• Fresh Ash from Helicon !-" Helicon" is a mountain, and vot a fish which were written by a friend of Lord Byron,' and onitted when the entire pond. It should have been Hippocrene."-MS. note by Lord Byron was published with the author's name. The following fifty-five verm's, coutaining the conclusion of the passage on Bowles, and the notices of Cuitle and

Your turtle feeder's verse, &c.- This couplet vas altered in the stil Maurice, were then printed for the first time.

eclition. It originally stood :

" Too much in turtle Bristol's sons delight, 1 Curl is one of the heroes of the Dunciad, and was a booksoller, Lori Fanny is the poetical name of Lord Ilervey, author of " Lines to the litator

Too much o'er bowls of sack prolong the nighi,"

1 Mr. Cottle, Amos, Joseph, I don't know which, but one or both, onde o llorace."

$ Lord Bolingtroke hired Mallet to traduce Pope after his doceske, because sellers of books they did not write, and now writer of books that do not selle the poet had retained soine copirs of a work by Lord Colingbroke, (the have published a pair of epics. “Alfred," (poor Alfred! Pye has been al Patriot King, which that splenulih, but malignant genius, had ordered to be him too !) “Alfred," and the " Fall of Cambria." dest1

$ He had not sung of Wales, nor 1 of him.- Aw some letter of dya I wanid the critic, and Ruph the rhymester,

fellow (Joseph Cottle) to an unfortunate poetess, whose productions, which * Silence, ye wolves! while Ralph to Cynthia howls,

the poor woman by no means thought vainly of, he attacked roughly and Making night hideous : answer him, ye owls!”

bitterly, that I could hartly resist nsuling him, even were it unjust, which Dunciad,

is not-for verily he is an 13.-MS. nole by Lord Byron, 1816. And link'd thee to the Dunciat for thy pains.-Too avage all this on

| Mr. Maurice hath manufactured the component parts of a ponderou Bawles.--MS. note by Lord Byron. 1816.

quarto upon the beauties of " Richmond Hill," and the like :- also take * See Bowles's late edition of Pope's works, for which die roecived three in a charming view of Turnham Green, Hammersmith, Brentford, Old and Daindred pounds: thus Mr. B. has experienced how much easier it is to profit

New, and the parts adjacent. by the reputation of another than to elevate his own.

| Poor Montgomery! though praised by every English Review, has bees 11 Another epic !~Opposite this passage on Joseph and Amos Cottle, Lord bitterly revile! by the Edinburgh. After all

, the bard of Shefbeld is a mas Byron has wollen, " All right."

of considerable genius : his "Wanderer of Switzerland," is worth a thousand

"Lyrical bade," and at least fifty " degraded epics." • Hobhouwe.

** See Lord Byrou's letter to Mr. Murry, June 13, 1813, volume


Aged or young, the living or the dead,

Nay last, not least, on that portentous morn, No mercy find-these harpies must be fed. The sixteenth story, where himself was born, Why do the injured unresisting yield

His patrimonial garret, fell to ground, The calm possession of their native field ? And pale Edina shudder'd at the sound: Why tamely thus before their fangs retreat, Strew'd were the streets around with milk-white Nor hunt the bloodhounds back to Arthur's Seat?*


Flow'd all the Canongate with inky streams; Health to immortal Jeffrey! once, in name, This of his candor seem'd the sable dew, England could boast a judge almost the same; That of his valor show'd the bloodless hue; In soul so like, so merciful, yet just,

And all with justice deem'd the two combined Some think that Satan has resign'd his trust, The mingled emblems of his mighty mind. And given the spirit to the world again,

But Caledonia's goddess hover'd o'er To sentence letters, as he sentenced men. The field, and saved him from the wrath of Moore; With hand less mighty, but with heart as black, From either pistol snatch'd the vengeful lead, With voice as willing to decree the rack ;

And straight restored it to her favorite's head: Bred in the courts betimes, though all that law That head, with greater than magnetic pow'r, As yet hath taught him is to find a flaw;

Caught it, as Danaë caught the golden show'r, Since well instructed in the patriot school And, though the thickening dross will scarce reine, To rail at party, though a party tool,

Augments its ore, and is itself a mine.
Who knows, if chance his patrons should restore My son," she cried, “ ne'er thirst for gore again,
Back to the sway they forfeited before,

Resign the pistol, and resume the pen;
His scribbling toils some recompense may meet, O'er politics and poesy preside,
And raise this Daniel to the judgment seat? + Boast of thy country, and Britannia's guide ?
Let Jeffries' shade indulge the pious hope, For long as Albion's heedless sons submit,
And greeting thus, present him with a rope: Or Scottish taste decides on English wit,
"Heir to my virtues! man of equal mind! So long shall last thine unmolested reign,
Skill'd to condemn as to traduce mankind, Nor any dare to take thy name in vain.
This cord receive, for thee reserved with care, Behold, a chosen band shall aid thy plan,
To wield in judgment, and at length to wear." And own thee chieftain of the critic clan.

First in the oat-fed phalanx * shall be seen
Health to great Jeffrey! Heaven preserve his life, The travellid Thane, Athenian Aberdeen.t
To flourish on the fertile shores of Fife,

Herbert shall wield Thor's hammer, I and sometimes, And guard it sacred in its future wars,

In gratitude, thou'lt praise his rugged rhymes. Since authors sometimes seek the field of Mars !

Smug Sydney ý too thy bitter page shall seek, Can none remember that eventful day, I

And classic Hallam,|| much renown'd for Greek ; That ever glorious, almost fatal fray,

Scott may perchance his name and influence lend, When Little's leadless pistol met his eye,

And paltry Pillans I shall traduce his friend; And Bow-street myrmidons stood laughing by ? 5 While gay Thalia's luckless votary, Lambe, ** Oh, day disastrous ! On her firm-set rock, Damn'd like the devil, devil-like will Dunedin's castle felt a secret shock:

Known be thy name, unbounded be thy sway! Dark roll'd the sympathetic waves of Forth, Thy Holland's banquets shall each toil repay; Low groan'd the startled whirlwinds of the north ; Tweed ruffled half his wave to form a tear,

-Oct-fed phalani.-80 altered in the fifth edition. The origina The other half pursued its calm career; ||

reading was, “ ranks illustrious." Arthur's steep summit nodded to its base,

| His lordship has been much abroad, is a member of the Athenian

Society, and reviewer of “Gell's Topography of Troy." The surly Tolbooth scarcely kept her place.

Mr. Herbert is a translator of Icelandic and other poetry. One of the The Tolbooth felt-for marble sometimes can, principal pieces is " Song on the Recovery of Thor's Hammer; " the On such occasions, feel as much as man

translation is a pleasant chant in the volgar tongue, and endeth thus :

“ Instead of money and rings, I wol, The Tolbooth felt defrauded of his charms,

The hammer's bruises were her lot, If Jeffery died, except within her arms: 1

Thus Odin's son his hammer got."

$ The Rev. Sydney Smith, the reputed author of Peter Piymley's Letten, • Arthur's seat; the hill which overhange Edinburgh.

and sundry criticisms. And raise this Daniel to the judgment-seat.-Too ferociou this is | Mr. Hallam reviewed Payne Knight's "Taste," and was exceedingly mere insanity. MS. note by Lord Byron. 1816.

severe on some Greek verses therein: it was not discovered that the lines Can none rernember, &c. --All this is bad, because personal.-MS. nota were Pindar's till the press rendered it impossible to cancel the critique, which by Lord Byron. 1816.

still stands an everlasting monument of Hallam's ingenuity. 6 la 1806, Menars. Jeffrey and Moore met at Chalk-Farm. The duel The sahi Hallan is incensed because be is falsely accused, seeing that he was prevented by the interference of the magistracy; and, on examination, never dineth at Folland House. If this be true, I am sorry-nol for having the balls of the pistols were found to have evaporated. This incident gave said so, but on his account, as I understand his lordship's feasts are preferatia Kcasion to much waggery in the daily prints.

to his compositions.-If he did not review Lord Holland's performance, I am I am informed that Mr. Moore published at the time a disavowal of the glad, because it must have been painful to read, and irksomne to praiso it. I Matements in the newspapers, as far as regarded himself; and la justice to Mr. Hallam will tell me who did review it, the real name shall find a place Stan 1 mention this circumstance. As I never heard of it before, I cannot in the text; provided, nevertheless, the said name be of two orthodox musical peate the particulara, and was only made acquainted with the fact very sylables, and will come into the verse : till then, Hallam must stand for want lately.-November 4, 1811.

of a better. 1 The Tweed here behaved with proper decorum; it would have been | Pilans is a tutor at Eaton. highly reprehensible in the English half of the river to have shown the ** The Hon. G. Lambe reviewed "Beresford'. Miseries," and is moreover Finallest symptom of apprehension.

author of a farce enacted with much applause at the Prtory, Stanmore ; and This display of sympathy on the part of the Tolbooth (the principal damned with great expedition at the late theatre, Covent Garden. It was prison in Edintrigh), which endly seems to have been most affected on this entitled, " Whistle for it." occasion, is much to be commended. It was to be apprehended, that the 1 Damn'd like the deal, devil-like wila samn.-The line stood, in all many unhappy criminals executed in the front might have rendered the editions before the fifth, Bifice zore callous. She is said to be of the softer sex, because her delicacy

As he himself was damn'd shall try to damn." or feeling on this day was truly feminine, though, like most feminine Impulses, perhaps a little selisti.


The we ended here in the first edition.

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