« AnteriorContinuar »
gather in one excursion, was all that he sought, and all that he gave.
15. The d ilatory cautibn of Pope enabled him to condense his sentiments, to multiply his images, and to accumulate all that study might produce or chance might supply. If the flights of Dryden, therefore, are higher, Pope continues longer on the wing. If of Dryden's fire the blaze is brighter, of Pope's the heat is more regular and constant. Dryden often surpasses expectation, and Pope never falls below it. Dryden is read with frequent astonishment, and Pope with perpetual delight.
16. This parallel will, I hope, when it is well considered, be found just; and if the reader should suspect me, as I suspect myself, of some partial fondness for the memory of Dryden, let him not too hastily condemn me, for meditation and inquiry may, perhaps, show him the reasonableness of mj determination.
1. Poets, like painters, their machinery claim,-
Fits like mosaic in the lines that gird
2. From Saxon lips Anacreon's numbers glide,
And, fresh transfused, the Iliad thrills again
3. The sweet Spenserian,* gathering as it flows, Sweeps gently onward to its dying close,
Where waves on waves in long succession pour,
*The "heroic" verse is the Iambic, with five feet. The "Spense nan," so called from Spenser, who employed it, consists of heroics with an additional foot in every ninth line. The 79th lesson is an example of the Spenserian measure.
In sable plumage slowly drifts along,
4. The glittering lyric bounds elastic by,
1. Look back! a thought which borders on despair, Which human nature must, yet cannot bear.
'T is not the babbling of a busy world,
Where praise or censure are at random hurled,
Which can the meanest of my thoughts control,
Or shake one settled purpose of my soul;
Free and at large might their wild curses roam,
If all, if all, alas! were well at home.
2. No; 't is the tale which angry conscience tells, When she with more than tragic horror swells Each circumstance of guilt; when stern, but true, She brings bad actions forth into review,
And, like the dread handwriting on the wall,
Bids late remorse awake at Reason's call;
Armed at all points, bids scorpion vengeance pass,
And to the mind holds up Reflection's glass,—
The mind, which, starting, heaves the heart-felt groan,
And hates that form she knows to be her own.
Beauties of Nature. — B-EATTiE.t
1. Liberal, not lavish, is kind Nature's hand;
If bleak and barren Scotia's hills arise,
2. Then grieve not thou, to whom the indulgent Muse Vouchsafes a portion of celestial fire;
Nor blame the partial Fates, if they refuse
3. Canst thou forego the pure ethereal soul, In each fine sense so exquisitely keen,
On the dull couch of Luxury to loll,
4. O, how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which Nature to her votary yields!
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore,
The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields;
All that the genial ray of morning yields,
And all that echoes to the song of even,
All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields,
And all the dread magnificence of heaven,
O, how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven?
.Jfc ^ "}f! %r ^
5. But who the melodies of morn can tell?
In the lone valley ; echoing far and wide,
The clamorous horn along the cliffs above;
The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide;
The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love,
And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.
6. The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark; Crowned with her pail, the tripping milkmaid sings; The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and, hark!
Dowti the rough slope the ponderous wagon rings;
7. Yet such the destiny of all on earth; So flourishes and fades majestic man.
Fair is the bud his vernal morn brings forth,
8. And be it so. Let those implore their doom
Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn.
9. Shall I be left forgotten in the dust, When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive? Shall Nature's voice, to man alone unjust,
Bid him, though doomed to perish, hope to live?
Is it for this fair Virtue oft must strive
With disappointment, penury and pain I
No! Heaven's immortal spring shall yet arrive,
And man's majestic beauty bloom again,
Bright through the eternal year of Love's triumphant reign
To my Wife. — Lindley Murray.*
1. When on thy bosom I recline, Enraptured still to call thee mine,
* Lindley Murray, author of the "English Grammar," and other works, was a native of New York, though the greater portion of his life was passed in England.
To call thee mine for life,
I glory in the sacred ties,
Which modern wits and fools despise,
Of husband and of wife.
2. One mutual flame inspires our bliss;
Even years have not destroyed;
3. Have I a wish ? — 't is all for thee.
So soft our moments move,
4. If cares arise, — and cares will come,— Thy bosom is my softest home,
I '11 lull me there to rest;
5. Have I a wish ? — 't is all her own;
That, like the ivy round the tree,
To a Wife, with a Ring, on the Anniversary of her Wedding-day:— Bishop. *
1. "Thee, Mary, with this ring I wed " —
Behold another ring ! — " For what?"
2. With that first ring I married youth,