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So sang the parent Muse. The youth retains The treasur'd memory of her cheering strains. Long o'er his head, in ever-changeful dyes, Dreams of soft hope, and pleasing cares arise. Deluded boy! whose generous aims aspire To catch the glories of the deathless lyre, Hid 'midst the blooms, where Fancy weaves her wreath, The lurking adder twines his folds beneath. Survey the world, yet to thy vision new, And tear the veil, that shrouds it to thy view. See where meek Flattery pays to swelling Pride The unearn'd meed to starving Worth denied; Go, call Suspicion to thy throbbing breast, And wear her mail within thy folded vest. Go join the cringing gaping crowds that wait In lingering levees at Preferment's gate. The short blooms fade, that to thy cheated sense Their roseate tints and healing sweets dispense; The rays that warm'd their stems shall shine no more And all is drear where Edens blush'd before. The pleasant dreams that lull'd thy youthful hours In halls of gladness, and in summer bowers, In clouds of sorrow speed dispers'd away, And ambush'd Penury marks thee for her prey.

So, newly launch'd, while loud the rebeck sounds, On the white stream the gallant vessel bounds. The streamers fly. The white-topp'd foam below Enamour'd plays around her stately prow. The unconscious helms-man courts the favouring gale That whispers flattery to the silken sail. But cloak'd in night o'erwhelming tempests lie, Tho' gay the brightness of yon cloudless sky; The storm-winds hurl her on the sharp rock's verge, And o'«r her bright wreck roars the unsparing surge.

Son of the Muse! must thou unheeded weep
Till murmuring winds shall lull thee to thy sleep?
Shall thy sweet lyre unstrung and broken lie,
Nor wake again its sleeping melody?
Or, if some sounds its faint strings gently swell,
Thy chill neglect, thy unheard sorrows tell,
Or, swept to louder numbers, harsh and rude,
Ring with the plaint of man's ingratitude?

But ah! what sounds were those; gentle as rills That run at even-tide along the hills! As their sweet murmurings fill'd the pausing air, Far, on her dusky pinions flew Despair, From the lone couch where suffering Genius lay; And Hope diffus'd abroad her healing ray. 'Twas Pity's voice. In stealing airs it came, And whisper'd as it flow'd a Brunswick's name•. "Oh child of song," it said, "though every grace "Smiles on the gem of England's royal race; "Though Valour sits high towering on his crest, "The sweetest mercies throb within his breast. "He mark'd the grief, whose bursting currents break "In silent channels down thy famish'd cheek; "He saw the languors of thy drooping eye; "He heard thy groan, nor pass'd forgetful by. "Go, child of song, renew thy lofty course, "And strike thy wild harp with a master's force; "Wing to the realms of day a Theban flight, "And spurn the bondage of inglorious night. "And let thy sweet vows bless the gentle deed; "Warm from a heart whose wounds have ceas'd to bleed."

* Alluding to His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales's munificent patronage of the Literary Fund, announced at the last Annii ersury.




From an unpublished Poem.

By Socrates pourtray'd with matchless grace,

Philosophy display'd an angel's face.

Now with the frolic mimicry of apes,

The goddess takes a thousand forms and shapes;

Rides on a butterfly, pervades a shell,

Or floats on oxygen, or prowls the dell

Where weeds and grubs long hid from mortal ken,

Unclass'd and nameless, woo Description's pen.

Thus round Oblivion's stream * the phantoms stray,

Panting for bodies, and the light of day.

But when from Nature's wide domains she bends

Her wandering eyes askance, on moral ends,

Veil'd in a murky cloud no more are seen

The form divine and grace of Plato's queen;

Godwin, arch-priest, her mystic lore expounds,

And gaping pupils catch the wond'rous sounds.

• Virgil iEncid, lib. vi.

Far beyond Nature's bounds he boldly springs,
And man's perfectibility he sings;
Fashions a new Utopia's blest domain
Uncurst with laws, exempt from Custom's rein,
Where Reason reckless spurns at Love and Hate,
And Justice holds with Apathy her state.
Connubial ties, parental cares and fears,
And every charity that life endears,
Love, Friendship, Gratitude, the pleasing glow
Of Pity melting at a brother's woe,
The philosophic Hierophant proclaims
Phantoms of weakness, visionary names;
Of general happiness arrays a plan,
Where man imparts no social bliss to man.
State of delight! where mortals listless rove
Untouch'd by Misery, Kindness, Friendship, Love:
One general object, one alone, commands
All hearts, all thoughts, all voices, wishes, hands,
The public good! Idea, grand, refin'd,
Which blots all private feeling from the mind,
Fills pigmy man with intellectual fire,
And bids him, giant-like, to heav'n aspire.

High favour'd race, whom no religion awes,
Where Justice reigns without the prop of laws;
Where free from passion and affection, all
Move without springs of action, at the call
Of philosophic weal; where Ceres pours
From soils untill'd, unsown, her golden stores;
Where without lab'ring hands, or fav'ring skies,
Equality the wants of all supplies.

Ah 1 grieve not, Anarchists, if heav'n assign
A transient hour to visions so divine,
If Nature reassume her ravish'd right,
And Godwin's goddess vanish into night.

With Truth and Logic arm'd, lo, Green • prepares
To trace her wiles, unfold her secret snares,
Strips off the gorgeous covering which conceals
Her bloated form, her shapeless limbs reveals;The gazing eye, with horror fix'd, beholds A fiend with angel's face, and dragon's folds.

• • * *

• See Examination of the leading Principles of the new System of Morals, by Mr. Green. From this work Dr. Parr has quoted several passages in his notes to his Spital Sermon, and his testimony in favour of the author is thus expressed: " Mr. Green, whose penetration, whose taste, whose large views in philosophy, and whose great talents for composition entitle him to my respects."



When Heaven dissolves the sacred tie
That binds two faithful Souls in one,

Where can the sad Survivor fly,
The arrows of Despair to shun?

Oh, can the musing hours of Grief A pause from keen remembrance know?Or rooted Sorrow find relief

From empty forms of outward woe?

Can Fortune's smile his peace recall?Or can the sprightly song and dance,
Where Pleasure's festive Train, in all The mazy rounds of Joy advance r

Ah, no!—this world no cure bestows;

In vain is ev'ry human art;
From pure Religion, only, flows

A Balm to heal the wounded heart.


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