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Fear not to lie, 'twill seem a sharper hit ;
Shrink not from blasphemy, 'twill pass for wit;
Care not for feeling-pass your proper jest,
And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd.

When Folly, frequent harbinger of crime,
Bedecks her cap with bells of every clime;
When knaves and fools combined o'er all prevail,
And weigh their justice in a golden scale;
E'en then the boldest start from public sneers,
Afraid of shame, unknown to other fears,
More darkly sin, by satire kept in awe,
And shrink from ridicule, though not from law.

And shall we own such judgment? no-as soon
Seek roses in December-ice in June;
Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff;
Believe a woman or an epitaph,
Or any other thing that's false, before
You trust in critics, who themselves are sore;
Or yield one single thought to be misled
By Jeffrey's heart, or Lambe's Beotian head.'
To these young tyrants,* by themselves misplaced,
Combined usurpers on the throne of taste;
To these, when authors bend in humble awe,
And hail their voice as truth, their word as law-
While these are censors, 'twould be sin to spare ;
While such are critics, why should I forbear?
But yet, so near all modern worthies run,
"Tis doubtful whom to seek, or whom to shun;
Nor know we when to spare, or where to strike,
Our bards and censors are so much alike.

Such is the force of wit! but not belong
To me the arrows of satiric song ;
The royal vices of our age demand
A keener weapon, and a mightier hand.
Still there are follies, e'en for me to chase,
And yield at least amusement in the race:
Laugh when I laugh, I seek no other fame;
The cry is up, and scribblers are my game.
Speed, Pegasus !-ye strains of great and small,
Ode, epic, elegy, have at you all !
I too can scrawl, and once upon a time
I pour'd along the town a flood of rhyme,
A schoolboy freak, unworthy praise or blame;
I printed—older children do the same.
'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print ;
A book 's a book, although there's nothing in 't,
Not that a title's sounding charın can save
Or scrawl or scribbler from an equal grave:
This Lambe must own, since his patrician name
Fail'd to preserve the spurious farce from shame.
No matter, George continues still to write,”
Though now the name is veil'd from public sight.
Moved by the great example, I pursue
The self-same road, but make my own review :
Not seek great Jeffrey's, yet like him, will be
Self-constituted judge of poesy.

A man must serve his time to ev'ry trade
Save censuro-critics all are ready made.
Take hackney'd jokes from Miller, got by rote,
With just enough of learning to misquote ;
A mind well skill'd to find or forge a fault ;
A turn for punning, call it Attic salt;
To Jeffrey go, be silent and discreet,
His pay is just ten sterling pounds per sheet:

Then should you ask me, why I venture o'er
The path which Pope and Gifford trod before ;
If not yet sicken'd, you can still proceed :
Go on; my rhyme will tell you as you read.
“ But hold !" exclaims a friend, -" here's some

neglect :
This—that—and t'other line seem incorrect."
What then ? the self-same blunder Pope has got,
And careless Dryden—“Ay, but Pye has not :".
Indeed 'tis granted, faith but what care I?
Better to err with Pope, than shine with Pye.

Timo was, ere yet in these degenerate days
Ignoble themes obtain'd mistaken praise,
When sense and wit with poesy allied,
No fabled graces, flourish'd side by side ;
From the same fount their inspiration drew,
And, rear’d by taste, bloom'd fairer as they grew.
Then, in this happy isle, a Pope's pure strain
Sought the rapt soul to charm, nor sought in vain;

I This ingenuous youth is mentioned more particularly, liam Wordsworth, but laudeth Mister Coleridge and his with his production, in another place.

elegy on a young ass-is disposed to vituperaie Mr. Lewis • In the Edinburgh Review.--["He's a very good fellow;

--and greatly rebuketh Thomas Little (the late) and ide and, except his mother and sister, the best of the set, to my

Lord Sirangford--recommendeih Mr. Hayley to turn bis álmind."-B. 1616.)

tention to prose-and exhorieth the Moririans to gloriy 3 Messrs. Jeffrey and Lambe are the alpha and omega, the

Mr. Grahame-sympathizeth with the Rev. William Bowie's first and the last of the Edinburgh Review; the others are

-and deploreth the melancholy fate of James Mortgubery

--breakech out into invective against the Edinburgu Re mentioned hereafter.-[“. This was not just. Neither the heart nor the head of these gentlemen are at all what they apostrophizeth Jeffrey, and prophesieth - Epistle of Je?

viewers-calleth them hard names, harpies and the de are here represented. At the time this was written, I was personally unacquainted with either."-B. 1816.)

frey and Moore, their jeopardy and deliverance : portects

on the morn of the combat, the Tweed, Tolbooth, Frib 4 IMIT. “Stulta est Clementia, cum tot ubique

of Forth, severally shocked ; descent of a goddess to sure occurras peritura parcere chartæ." Jeffrey ; incorporation of the bullets with his sinciput and

Juv. Sat. I. occiput.- Edinburgh Reviews en masse.-Lord Aberdeel. 6 IMIT. “Cur tamen hoc libeat potius decurrere campo

Herbert, Scout, Hallam, Pillans, Lambe, Sydney Smith, Per quem magnus equos Aurunca flexit alum Brougham, &c.--The Lord Holland applauded for dinners

and iranslations. The Drama; Skeifington, Book Rej Si vacat, et placidi rationem admittitis, edam." nolds, Kenney, Cherry, &c.-Sheridun, Colman, an I Can

Juv. Sat. I. berland called upon to write.-Return to poesy-sentslers

of all sorts-lords sometimes rhyme ; much beiter no!6 [The first edition of the Satire opened with this line ;

Hafiz, Rosa Matilda, and X. Y. 2.-Rogers, Camphel, Gifand Lord Byron's original intention was to prefix the fol

ford. &c. true poets-Translators of the Greek Authodon lowing

-Crabbe-Darwin's style-Cambridge-Seatonian Prze“ ARGUMENT.

Smythe -- Hodgson-Oxford -- Richards - Pocta loquitu" The poet considereth tiines past, and their poesy-makes

Conclusion.") a sudden transition to times present-is incensed against [When Lord Byron, in the autumn of 1818, was occu | book-makers-revileth Walter Scott for cupidity and ballad- pied upon this Satire, he devoted a considerable portion of mongering, with notable remarks on Master Southey--com his time to a deep study of the writings of Pope ; and from plaineth that Master Southey haih inflicted three poems, that period may be dated his enthusiastic admiration of this epic and otherwise, on the public-inveigheth against Wil great poet )


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A polish'd nation's praise aspired to claim,

Sonnets on sonnets crowd, and odo on ode;
And raised the people's, as the poet's fame.

And tales of terror jostle on the road;
Like him great Dryden pour'd the tide of song, Immeasurable measures move along ;
In stream less smooth, indeed, yet doubly strong. For simpering folly loves a varied song,
Theu Congreve's scenes could cheer, or Oiway's melt- To strange mysterious dulness still the friend,
For nature then an English audience felt.

Admires the strain she cannot comprehend.
But why these names, or groater still, retrace,

Thus Lays of Minstrels -may they be the last When all to feebler bards resign their place?

On half-strung harps whine mournful to the blast. Yet to such times our lingering looks are cast,

While mountain spirits prate to river sprites, When taste and reason with those times are pass’d. That dames may listen to the sound at nights ; Now look around, and turn each trifling page,

And goblin brats, of Gilpin Horner's brood, Survey the precious works that please the age; Decoy young border-nobles through the wood, This truth at least let satire's self allow,

And skip at every step, Lord knows how high, No dearth of bards can be complaiu'd of now.' And frighten foolish babes, the Lord knows why; The loaded press beneath her labor groans,

While high-born ladies in their magic cell, And printers' devils shake their weary bones ;

Forbidding knights to read who cannot spell, While Southey's epics cram the creaking shelves, Dispatch a courier to a wizard's grave, And Little's lyrics shine in hot-pressid twelves. And fight with honest men to shield a knave. Thus saith the preacher: “ Naught beneath the sun k new;" yetestill from change to change we run: Next view in state, proud prancing on his What varied wonders tempt us as they pass !

roan, The cow-pox, tractors, galvanism, and gas,

The golden-crested haughty Marmion, la turns appear, to make the vulgar stare,

Now forging scrolls, now foremost in the fight, Till the swoln bubble bursts—and all is air!

Not quite a felon, yet but half a knight, Nor less new schools of Poetry arise,

The gibbet or the field prepared to grace; Where dull pretenders grapple for the prize :

A mighty mixture of the great and base. O'er taste awhile these pseudo-bards prevail ;

And think'st thou, Scott ! by vain conceit perEach country book-club bows the knee to Baal,

chance, And, hurling lawful genius from the throne,

On public taste to foist thy stale romance, Erects a shrine and idol of its own;?

Though Murray with his Miller may combine Some leaden call--but whom it matters not,

To yield thy muse just half-a-crown per line? From soaring Southey down to grovelling Stott.' No! when the sons of song descend to trade,

Their bays are sear, their former laurels fade Behold! in various throngs the scribbling crew,

Let such forego the poet's sacred name, For notice eager, pass in long review :

Who rack their brains for lucre, not for fame : Each spurs his jaded Pegasus apace,

Still for stern Mammon may they toil in vain! And rhyme and blank maintain an equal race; And sadly gaze on gold they cannot gain!

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1 {* One of my notions is, that the present is not a high magical lady's injunction not to read can only be equalled aze of English poetry. There are more poets (soi-disant) by his candid acknowledgment of his independence of the than ever there were, and proportionably less poetry. This trammels of spelling, although, to use his own elegant thesis I have maintained for some years; but, strange to phrase, “ 'twas his neck-verse at Harribee,” i, e. the gal. sar, it metteth not with favor from my brethren of the lows.-- The biography of Gilpin Horner, and the marvellons bell."-B. Diary, 1821.)

pedestrian page, who travelled twice as fast as his master's * f* With regard to poetry in general, I am convinced that horse, without the aid of seven-leagued boots, are chefs. We are all upon a wrong revolutionary poetical system, not d'auvre in the improvement of taste. For incident we have worth a damn in itself, and from which none but Rogers the invisible, but by no means sparing box on the ear beand Crabbe are free. I am the more confirmed in this by stowed on the page, and the entrance of a knight and bering !ately gone over some of our classics, particularly charger into the castle, under the very natural disguise of

Pope, whom I tried in this way:--I took Moore's poems, a wain of hay. Marmion, the hero of the latter romance, | ari tar own, and some others, and went over them side by is exactly what William of Deloraine would have been, had

side with Pope's, and I was really astonished and mortified he been able to read and write. The poem was manuat the ineffable distance, in point of sense, learning, effect, factured for Messrs. Constable, Murray, and Miller, worshipleven imagination, passion, and invention, between the ful booksellers, in consideration of the receipt of a sum of Inle Queen Anne's man, and us of the Lower Empire. money; and truly, considering the inspiration, it is a very Depend upon it, it is all Horace then, and Claudian now, creditable production. If Mr. Scott will write for hire, let Anong us, and if I had to begin again, I would mould my him do his best for his pay-masters, but not disgrace his si accordingly.”B. Mary, 1817.)

genius, which is undoubtedly great, by a repetition of blackStott, better known in the “Morning Post" by the name letter ballad imitations. of Haiz. This personage is at present the most profound s("When Lord Byron wrote his famous satire, I had my explorer of the bathos. I remember, when the reigning share of nagellation among my betters. My crime was hawly left Portugal, a special Ode of Master Stott's, be having written a poem for a thousand pounds; which was ginning thus :-( Stota loquitur quoad Hibernia.)

no otherwise true, than that I sold the copyright for that ** Princely offspring of Braganza,

sum. Now, not to mention that an author can hardly be Erin greets thee with a stanza," &c.

censured for accepting such a sum as the booksellers are Als a Sonnet to Rais, well worthy of the subject, and a willing to give him, especially as the gentlemen of the boost thundering Ode, commencing as follows:

trade made no complaints of their bargain, I thought the *Oh! for a Lay, loud as the surge

interference with my private affairs was rather beyond the That lashes Lapland's sounding shore.".

limits of literary satire. I was, however, so far from havLord have mercy on us the "Lay of the Last Minstrel" ing any thing to do with the offensive criticism in the Edinwas nothing to this.

burgh, that I remonstrated against it with the editor, be4 See the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," passim. Never was cause I thought the 'Hours of Idleness' treated with any plan so incongruous and absurd as the groundwork of undue severity. They were written, like all juvenile this production. The entrance of Thunder and Lightning, poetry, rather from the recollection of what had pleased prologuizing to Bayes' tragedy, unfortunately takes away the author in others, than what had been suggested by his the ment of originality from the dialogue between Mes own imagination ; but, nevertheless, I thought they coneurs the Spirits of Flood and Fell in the first canto. tained passages of noble promise."--Sir WALTER SCOTT.] Then we have the amiable William of Deloraine, "a stark (Lord Byron, as is well known, set out with the deDoss-trooper," videlicet, a happy compound of poacher, termination never to receive money for his writings. For sheep-stealer, and highwayman. The propriety of his the liberty to republish this satire, he refused four hundred


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Such be their meed, such still the just reward Though burnt by wicked Bedford for a witch,
Os prostituted muse and hireling bard!

Behold her statue placed in glory's niche;
For this we spurn Apollo's venal son,

Her fetters burst, and just released from prison, And bid a long “good-night to Marmion.”'

A virgin phenix from her ashes risen.

Next see tremendous Thalaba come on, These are the themes that claim our plaudits now; Arabia's monstrous, wild, and wond'rous son;" These are the bards to whom the muse must bow; Domdaniel's dread destroyer, who o'erthrew While Milton, Dryden, Pope, alike forgot,

More mad magicians than the world e'er knew. Resign their hallow'd bays to Walter Scott.

Immortal hero! all thy foes o'ercome,

Forever reign-the rival of Tom Thumb!
The time has been, when yet the muse was young, Since startled metre fled before thy face,
When Homer swept the lyre, and Maro sung, Well wert thou doom'd the last of all thy race !
An epic scarce ten centuries could claim,

Well might triumphant genii bear thee hence,
While awe-struck nations hail'd the magic name; Illustrious conqueror of common sense!
The work of each immortal bard appears

Now, last and greatest, Madoc spreads his sails,
The single wonder of a thousand years.

Cacique in Mexico, and prince in Wales; Empires have moulder'd from the face of earth, Tells us strange tales, as other travellers do, Tongues have expired with those who gave them birth, More old than Mandeville's, and not so true. Without the glory such a strain can give,

Oh, Southey! Southey . cease thy varied song! As even in ruin bids the language live.

A bard may chant too often and too long: Not so with us, though minor bards content,

As thou art strong in verse, in mercy, spare! On one great work a life of labor spent:

A fourth, alas! were more than we could bear. With eagle pinion soaring to the skies,

But if, in spite of all the world can say, Behold the ballad-monger Southey rise !

Thou still wilt verseward plod thy weary way; To him let Camoens, Milton, Tasso yield,

If still in Berkley ballads most uncivil, Whose annual strains, like armies, take the field. Thou wilt devote old women to the devil, First in the ranks see Joan of Arc advance,

The babe unborn thy dread intent may rue : The scourge of England and the boast of France ! “God help thee,” Southey, and thy readers too."

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guineas; and the money paid for the copyright of the first " Paradise Lost," and · Gierusalemme Liberata," attei and second cantos of Childe Harold, and of the Corsair, he standard efforts ; since neither the .* Jerusalem Conquere" presented to Mr. Dallas. In 1816, to a letter enclosing a of the Italian, nor the “* Paradise Regained" of the Euchish draft of 1000 guineas, offered by Mr. Murray for the Siege bard, obtained a proportionate celebrity to their furmer of Corinth and Parisina, the noble poet sent ihis answer : poems. Query: Which of Mr. Souther's will sursite! " Your offer is liberal in the extreme, and much more than

9" Thalaba," Mr. Southey's second roem, is written in the two poems can possibly be worth—but I cannot accept

open defiance of precedent and poetry. Mr. S. wished topp it, nor will not. You are most welcome to them, as addi tions to the collected volumes, without any demand or ex

duce something novel, and succeeded to a miracle. ** Joan oi pectation on my part whatever. I have enclosed your draft

Arc," was marvellous enough, but " Thalaba," was one or iorn, for fear of accidents by the way. I wish you would

those poems “ which," in the words of Porson, ** will be read not throw temptation in mine; it is not from a disdain of

when Homer and Virgil are forgotten, but-not tell thea." the universal idol-nor from a present superfluity of his +(“Of Thalaba, the wild and wondrous song."- Wodec treasures-I can assure you, that I refuse to worship him ; but what is right is right, and must not yield to circum

6 We beg Mr. Southey's pardon: “Madoc disains the

degrading title of epic." See his preface. Why is epic de stances." The poet was afterwards induced, at Mr. Murray's earnest persuasion, to accept the thousand guineas.

graded ? and by whom? Certainly the late romans of

Masters Cotte, Laureat Pye, Ogilvy, Hole, and gegile ! The subjoined statement of the sums paid by him at various times to Lord Byron for copyright may be considered a

Mistress Cowley, have not exalted the epic muse; ont as bibliopolic curiosity :

Mr. Southey's poem “disdains the appellation," allow us

to ask-has he substituted any thing better in its sterior Childe Harold, I. II.

£ 600 must he be content to rival Sir Richard Blackmore in the III.

1575 quantity as well as quality of his verse ? IV.


& See “ The Old Woman of Berkley," a balland, by Mr. Giaour

525 Bride of Abydos

Southey, wherein an aged gentlewoman is carried away by 525

Beelzebub, on a “high-trotting horse." Corsair

525 Lara


7 The last line, “God help thee,” is an evident plagiaris Siege of Corinth

525 from the Anti-jacobin to Mr. Southey, on his Dactylles.Parisina

525 (Lord Byron here alludes to Mr. Gifford's parody on Mr Lament of Tasso

315 Southey's Dactylics, which ends thus :Manfred


“Ne'er talk of ears again! look at thy spelling-book; Beppo


Dilworth and Dyche are both mad at thy quantities Don Juan, I. II.

1525 III. IV. V.

Dactylics, call'st thou 'em ?— God help thee, silly vue.'"}

1525 Doge of Venice

1050 & [Lord Byron, on being introduced to Mr. Southey m Sardanapalus, Cain, and Foscari

1100 1813, at Holland House, describes him as the best-lookin. Mazeppa

525 bard he had seen for a long time.”—“To have that poets Prisoner of Chillon

525 head and shoulders. I would," he says, “almost hare writ. Sundries

450 ten his Sapphics. He is certainly a prepossessing pion!! Hours of Idleness, English Bards and Scotch

look on, and a man of talent, and all that, and there is his Reviewers, Hints from Horace, Werner, De 3,885 eulogy." In his Journal, of the same year, he als formed Transformed, Heaven and Earth,&c.

Southey I have not seen much of. His appearance Life by Thomas Moore

4,200 epic, and he is the only existing entire man of letters.

the others have some pursuit annexed to their authorship 123,540 His manners are mild, but not those of a man of the worti,

and his talents of the first order. His prose is perfect.( 1 “Good-night to Marmion"-the pathetic and also pro

his poetry there are various opinions: there is perhaps phetic exclamation of Henry Blount, Esquire, on the death probably select. He has passages equal to any thing

too much of it for the present generation-posten! will of honest Marinion.

present, he has a party bui no public-except for his pare As the Od sey is so closely connected with the story of writings. His Life of Nelson is beautiful." Elsewhere, the Diad, they may almost be classed as one grand historical and later, Lord Byron pronounces Southey's Don Roderick, poem. In alluding to Milton and Tasso, we consider the “the first poem of our time."]


Next comes the dull disciple of thy school, That mild apostate from poetic rule, The simple Wordsworth, framer of a lay As soit as evening in his favorite May,' Who warns his friend" to shake off toil and trouble, And gait his books, for fear of growing double ;" Who, both by precept and example, shows That prose is verse and verse is merely prose ; Convincing all, by demonstration plain, Poetic souls delight in prose insane; And Christmas stories tortured into rhyme Cootain the essence of the true sublime. Thus, when he tells the tale of Betty Foy, The idiot mother of “ an idiot boy ;* A moon-struck, silly lad, who lost his way, And, like his bard, confounded night with day ;' so close on each pathetic part he dwells, And each adventure so sublimely tells, That all who view the “idiot in his glory," Conceive the bard the hero of the story.

Whether on ancient tombs thou tak’st thy stand,
By gibb'ring spectres hail'd, thy kindred baud;
Or tracest chaste descriptions on thy page,
To please the females of our modest age;
All hail, M. P.!* from whose infernal brain
Thin sheeted phantoms glide, a grisly train;
At whose command "grim women" throng in crowds,
And kings of tire, of water, and of clouds,
With “small gray men,” “ wild yagers," and what not,
To crown with honor thee and Walter Scott;
Again all hail! if tales like thine may please,
St. Luke alone can vanquish the disease :
Even Satan's self with thee might dread to dwell,
And in thy skull discern a deeper hell.

Shall gentle Coleridge pass unnoticed here, To turgid ode and tunnid stanza dear? Though themes of innocence amuse him best, Yet still obscurity 's a welcome guest. Ii Inspiration should her aid refuse To him who takes a pixy for a muse, Vet noue in lofty numbers can surpass The bard who soars to elegize an ass. So well the subject suits his noble mind, He brays, the laureat of the long-ear'd kind.

Who in sost guise, surrounded by a choir Of virgins melting, not to Vesta's fire, With sparkling eyes, and check by passion flush'd, Strikes his wild lyre, while listening dames are hush'd ? 'Tis Little! young Catullus of his day, As sweet, but as immoral, in his lay! Grieved to condemn,' the muse must still be just, Nor spare melodious advocates of lust. Pure is the flame which o'er her altar burns ; From grosser incense with disguist she turns : Yet kind to youth, this expiation o'er, She bids thee " mend thy line, and sin no more?''

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For thee, translator of the tinsel song, To whom such glittering ornaments belong, Hibernian Strangford! with thine eyes of blue," And boasted locks of red or auburu hue, Whose plaintive strain each love-sick miss adınires, And o'er harmonious fustian half expires, Learn, if thou canst, to yield thine author's sense, Nor vend thy sonnets on a false pretence.

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1[** Cajust."-B. 1816.)
* Lyrical Ballads, p. 4.-" The Tables Turned.” Stanza 1.
* Up, up, my friend, and clear your looks ;

Why all this toil and trouble?
[p. up, my friend, and quit your books,

Or surely you'll grow double." ; Mr. W, in his preface labors hard to prove, that prose and verse are much the same, and certainly bis precepts 101 practice are strictly conformable:45 And thus to Betty's questions, he

Made answer like a traveller bold.
The cock did crow, to-whoo, to-whoo,

And the sun did shine so cold,” &c. &c., p. 129. Coleridge's Poems, p. 11, Songs of the Pixies, i. e. Der. onshire fairies; p. 42, we have “ Lines to a young Lady;" and p. 52, “ Lines to a young Ass."

* (Thus altered by Lord Byron, in his last revision of the satire. In all former editions the line stood,

" A fellow-feeling makes us wond'rous kind.” * [** I'njust," B. 1816.-In a letter to Mr. Coleridge, written in 1915, Lord Byron says,–** You mention my.Satire,'lamDOO, or whatever you or others please to call it. I can only ay that it was written when I was very young and very 23TV, and has been a thorn in my side ever since: more particularly as alınost all the persons animadverted upon be

te subsequently my acquaintances, and some of them my iren; which is heaping fire upon anenemy's head,'and forgiving me too readily to permitine to forgive myself. The part poiled to you is pert, and petulant, and shallow enough; but, although I have long done everything in my power to suppress the circulation of the whole thing, I shall always regret the Fentonness or generality of many of its attempted attacks.")

(Matthew Gregory Lewis, M. P. for Indon, never disUnguished himself in Parliament, but, mainly in consequence of the clever use he made of his knowledge of the German langnaee, then a rare accomplishment, attracted much notice in the literary world, at a very early period of his life. His Tales of Terror; the drama of the Castle Spectre; and the romance called the Bravo of Venice, (which is, however, bile more than a version from the Swiss Zschocke ;) but atore all, the libidinous and impious novel of The Monk, in

vested the name of Lewis with an extraordinary degree of celebrity, during the poor period which intervened between the obscuration of Cowper, and the full display of Sir Walter Scott's talents, in the "Lay of the Last Minstrel."-a period which is sufficiently characterized by the fact, that Ilayley then passed for a poet. Next to that solemn coxcomb, Lewis was for several years the fashionable versifer of his time; but his plagiarisms, perhaps more audacious than had ever before been resorted to by a man of real talents, were by degrees unveiled, and writers of greater original genius, as well as of purer taste and morals, successively emerging, Monk Lewis, dying young, had already outlived his reputation. In society he was to the last a favorite ; and Lord Byron, who had become well acquainted with him during his experience of London life, thus notices his death, which occurred at sea in 1818:4" Lewis was a good man, a clever man, but a bore. My only revenge or consolation used to be setting him by the ears with some vivacious person who hated hores especially, -Madame de Stail or Hobhouse, for example. But I liked Lewis; he was the jewel of a man, had he been better set ;-I don't mean personally, but less tiresome, for he was tedious, as well as contradictory to every thing and everybody. Poor fellow! he died a martyr to his new riches-of a second visit to Jamaica :

“ I'd give the lands of Deloraine,

Dark Musgrave were alive again!" That is,

I would give many a sugar cane,

Mat Lewis were alive again!") 8 * For every one knows little Matt's an MP"-See a poem to Mr. Lewis, in “ The Statesman," supposed to be written by Mr. Jekyll.

9(In very early life, “ Little's Poems" were Lord Byron's favorite study. “ Heigho!" he exclaims, in 1820, in a letter to Moore, I believe all the mischief I have ever done, or sung, has been owing to that confounded book of yours.")

19 [Originally, “mend thy life, and sin no more."]

11 The reader, who may wish for an explanation of this, may refer to “Strangford's Camoins." p. 127, note to p. 56, or to the last page of the Edinburgh Review of Strangford's Cainoëns.


Think'st thou to gain thy verse a higher place,
By dressing Camoëns' in a suit of lace?
Mend, Strangford ! mend thy morals and thy taste ;
Be warm, but pure ; bo amorous, but be chaste:
Cease to deceive; thy pilfer'd harp restore,
Nor teach the Lusian bard to copy Moore.

Behold !-ye tarts! one moment spare the text-
Hayley's last work, and worst—until his next;
Whether he spin poor couplets into plays,
Or damn the dead with purgatorial praise,
His style in youth or age is still the same,
Forever feeble and forever tame.
Triumphant first see “ Temper's Triumphs” shine!
At least I'm sure they triumph'd over mine.
Of “ Music's Triumphs," all who read may swear
That luckless music never triumph'd there.?

And art thou not their prince, harmonious Bowles!
Thou first, great oracle of tender souls?
Whether thou sing'st with equal ease, and grief,
The fall of empires, or a yellow leaf;
Whether thy muse most lamentably tells
What merry sounds proceed from Oxford bells,
Or, still in bells delighting, finds a friend
In every chime that jingled from Ostend;
Ah! how much juster were thy muse's hap,
If to thy bells thou wouldst but add a cap!
Delightful Bowles ! still blessing and still bless'd,
All love thy strain, but children like it best.
'Tis thine, with gentle Little's moral song,
To soothe the mania of the amorous throng!
With thee our nursery damsels shed their tears,
Ere miss as yet completes her infant years:
But in her teens thy whining powers are vain;
She quits poor Bowles for Little's purer strain.
Now to soft themes thou scornest to confine
The lofty numbers of a harp like thine ;
“ Awake a louder and a loftier strain,"
Such as none heard before, or will again!
Where all Discoveries jumbled from the flood,
Since first the leaky ark reposed in mud,
By more or less, are sung in every book,
From Captain Noah down to Captain Cook.
Nor this alone; but, pausing on the road,
The bard sighs forth a gentle episode;
And gravely tells-attend, each beauteous miss!
When first Madeira trembled to a kiss.
Bowles ! in thy memory let this precept dwell,
Stick to thy sonnets, man!-at least they sell."

Moravians, rise! bestow some meet reward
On dull devotion-Lo! the Sabbath bard,
Sepulchral Grahame, pours his notes sublimo
In mangled prose, nor e'en aspires to rhyme ;
Breaks into blank the Gospel of St. Luke,
And boldly pilfers from the Pentateuch;
And, undisturb’d by conscientious qualms,
Perverts the Prophets, and purloins the Psalms.

Hail, Sympathy! thy soft idea brings
A thousand visions of a thousand things,
And shows, still whimpering through threescore of

The maudlin prince of mournful sonneteers.

1 It is also to be remarked, that the things given to the “Spirit of Discovery;" a very spirited and pretty dwarfpublic as poems of Camoëns are no more to be found in the epic. Among other exquisite lines we have the following:original Portuguese, than in the Song of Solomon.

“A kiss 2 Hayley's two most notorious verse productions are

Stole on the list'ning silence, never vet Triumphs of Temper," and "The Triumph of Music."

Here heard; they trembled even as ifihe power," &c. &c. He has also written much comedy in rhyme, epistles, &c. &c.

That is, the woods of Madeira trembled to a kiss : very mueb As he is rather an elegant writer of notes and biography, astonished, as well they might be, at such a phenomenon.let us recommend Pope's advice to Wycherley to Mr. H.'s [" Misquoted and misunderstood by me; but not intentionconsideration, viz. “ to convert his poetry into prose," which ally. It was not the woods, but the people in then sbo may be easily done by taking away the final syllable of each trembled-why, Heaven only knows-unless they were couplet.-(The only performance for which Hayley is now overheard making the prodigious smack."- Byron, 1816.) remembered is his Life of Cowper. His personal history · The episode above alluded to is the story of " Robert a has been sketched by Mr. Southey in the Quarterly Review, Machin" and " Anna d'Arfet," a pair of constant lovers, u bo vol. xxxi. p. 263.)

performed the kiss above mentioned, that startled the woods

of Madeira. 3 Mr. Grahame has poured forth two volumes of cant, under the name of “Sabbath Walks," and " Biblical Pic

B ["* Although,” says Lord Byron, in 1821," I regret having tures."-[This very amiable man, and pleasing poet, publish- published • English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.' the pan ed subsequently “ The Birds of Scotland," and other pieces ;

which I regret the least is that which regards Mr. Bowles, but his reputation rests on his "Sabbath." He began life as

with reference to Pope. While I was writing that publica an advocate at the Edinburgh bar; but he had little success

tion, in 1807 and 1808, Mr. Hobhouse was desirous that I there, and being of a melancholy and very devout tempera

should express our mutual opinion of Pope, and of Mr. ment, entered into holy orders, and retired to a curacy near

Bowles's edition of his works." As I had completed my ontDurham, where he died in 1811.)

line, and felt lazy, I requested that he would do so. He did

it. His fourteen lines on Bowles's Pope are in the first + [Immediately before this line, we find in the original edition of English Bards,' and are quite as severe, and manuscript, the following, which Lord Byron good-natured

much more poetical, than my own in the second. On rely consented to omit, at the request of Mr. Dallas, who was, printing the work, as I put my name to it. I omitted Mr. Hob no doubt, a friend of the scribbler they refer to :

house's lines, by which the work gained less than Mr. " In verse most stale, unprofitable, flat

Bowles.”—The following are the lines written by Mr. Hot ! Come, let us change the scene, and 'glcan' with Pratt;

house :In hinn an author's luckless lot behold,

“ Stick to thy sonnets, man:-at least they sell, Condemn'd to make the books which once he sold :

Or take the only path that open lies Degraded man! again resume thy trade

For modern worthies who would hope to rise : The votaries of the Muse are ill repaid,

Fix on some well-known name, and, bit by bit, Though daily puffs once more invite to buy

Pare off the merits of his worth and wit; A new edition of thy . Sympathy.''

On each alike employ the critic's knife,

And when a comment fails, prefix a life;
To which this note was appended :-“Mr. Pratt, once a Hint certain failings, faults before unknown,
Bath bookseller, now a London author, has written as much,

Review forgotten lies, and add your own; to as little purpose, as any of his scribbling cotemporaries. Let no disease, let no misfortune 'scape, Mr. P.'s Sympathy' is in rhyme; but his prose productions

And print, if luckily deformd, his shape : are the most voluminous." The more popular of these last Thus shall the world, quite undeceived at last, were entitled “Gleanings.")

Cleave to their present wits, and quit their past; ☺ See Bowles's “ Sonnet to Oxford,” and “Stanzas on

Bards once revered no more with favor view, hearing the Bells of Ostend."

But give their modern sonneteers their due;

Thus with the dead may living merit cope, 6 "Awake a louder," &c. is the first line in Bowles's Thus Bowles may triumph o'er the shade of Pore."]

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