The genius of Collins was capable of every degree of excellence in lyric poetry, and perfectly qualified for that high province of the mufe. Poffeffed of a native ear for all the varieties of harmony and modulation, fufceptible of the finest feelings of tenderness and humanity, but, above all, carried away by that high enthusiasm, which gives to imagination its strongest colouring, he was, at once, capable of foothing the ear with the melody of his numbers, of influencing the paffions by the force of his Pathos, and of gratifying the fancy by the luxury of his description.

In confequence of these powers, but more particularly, in confideration of the last, he chofe fuch fubjects for his lyric effays as were most favourable for the indulgence of description and allegory; where he could exercise his powers in moral and personal painting; where he could exert his invention in conferring attributes on images or objects already known, and defcribed, by a determinate number of characteristics: where he might give an uncommon eclat to his figures, by placing them in happier attitudes, or in more advantageous lights, and introduce new forms from the moral and intellectual world into the fociety of imperfonated beings.

Such, no doubt, were the privileges, which the poet expected, and fuch were the advantages he' derived from the defcriptive and allegorical nature of his themes.

It seems to have been the whole industry of our author (and it is, at the fame time, almof all the claim to moral excellence his writings can boast) to promote the influence of the focial virtues, by painting them in the fairest and happiest lights. Melior fieri tuendo,

would be no improper motto to his poems in general, but of his lyric poems it seems to be the whole moral tendency and effect. If, therefore, it fhould appear to fome readers that he has been more induftrious to cultivate description than fentiment; it may be obferved, that his defcriptions themselves are fentimental, and answer the whole end of that species of writing, by embellishing every feature of virtue, and by conveying, through the effects of the pencil, the fineft moral leffons to the mind. (To be continued.)

POETRY

INFLUENCED BY CHRISTIAN VIRTUE.

At the close of our remarks on the Life of Cowper in our FIRST NUMBER, we promised the following passage, which Mr. HAYLEY extracted from a manufcript of an anonymous writer.

"

THE nobleft benefits and delights of poetry can be but rarely produced, because all the requifites for producing them fo very feldom meet. A vivid mind, and happy imitative power, may enable a poet to form glowing pictures of virtue, and almost produce in himself a fhort lived enthusiasm of goodness ; but although even these transient and factitious movements of mind may serve to produce grand and delightful effufions of poetry, yet when the beft of these are compared with the poetic productions of a genuine lover of virtue, a difcerning judgment will scarcely fail to mark the difference. A fimplicity of conception and expreffion-a confcious, and therefore unaffected dignity-an inftinctive adherence to fober reafon, even amid the highest flights; an uniform justness and confiftency of thought, a glowing, yet temperate ardour of feeling; a peculiar felicity, both in the choice and combination of terms, by which even the plaineft words acquire the truest character of eloquence, and which is rarely to be found, except where a subject is not only intimately known, but cordially loved; thefe I conceive are the features peculiar to the real votary of virtue, and which muft of course give to his strains a perfection of effect never to be attained by the poet of inferior moral endowments.

ΤΟΝ.

"I believe it will be readily granted, that all these qualities. were never more perfectly combined than in the poetry of MILAnd I think too, there will be little doubt, that the next to him in every one of these instances beyond all comparison, is COWPER. The genius of the latter did certainly not lead him to emulate the fongs of the Seraphim. But though he pursues a lower walk of poetry than his great Mafter, he appears no less the enraptured votary of pure unmixed goodness. Nay, perhaps he may in this one respect poffefs fome peculiar excellenvies, which may make him feem more the Bard of Chriftianity.”

THE ANTHOLOGY.

Original Poetry.

WINTER NIGHT.

HAIL Winter! fullen monarch! dark with clouds ;

Throned on bleak waftes, and fierce and cold with storms;
Welcome thy blafting cold and treasured fnow!

Thy raving, rending winds do but compose
My foul; and midft thy gloom, my heart

Smiles like the opening fpring. Thy long drear nights,
Winter, I hail. The cold receding fun
I love to follow to the cloudy weft,
And fee thy twilight deepen into gloom
Of thickest darkness. Round my cheering fire,
How I enjoy the glistening eye, and smile,
And burning cheek and prattle innocent,
Of my dear little ones; and when they fink
With heavy eyes into the arms of fleep,
Peaceful, and fmiling still, and breathing soft;
How pleasant glide the hours in converfe pure
With her whom first I loved; who long has crown'd
My joys, and foothed me with her gentle voice,
Under a load of forrows; who has felt
The power of truth divine; and from whofe lips
I catch the peace and love of Saints in Heaven.
Vain world! We envy not your joys. We hear
Your rattling chariot wheels, and weep for you;
We weep that fouls immortal can find joy
In forcing laughter, diffipating thought,
In the loose stage, the frisking dance, the pomp,
And forms and ornaments of polifh'd life,
In heartless hypocritic fhow of love,
In giddy nonfenfe, in contempt of truth,
Which elevates the foul, and fwells the heart
Vol. I. No. 2.

L

With hope of holy blifs. We mourn your waste

Of mind, of ftrength, of wealth. Think, thoughtless world,
How many fatherlefs and widows pine

In want; how many fhiver in the storm.
Over a dying flame, how many cower
In fome poor hovel, preffing to their breasts
Their little ones, to fave them from the cold.
Oh think, what aching hearts ye might relieve!
What brooding forrows ye might cheer! What tears
Of friendlefs, naked, moaning poverty

Ye might wipe off with lenient fympathy.
Oh Winter, I can bear thy howling ftorms.
Rife but a few more funs, and all thy blasts
Will foften. Yon wafte fields will smile in green;
The branches fwell with infant buds; the groves
Refound with nature's melody. But MAN,
MY KIN, lies defolate. A wintry blast

In vain the Sun

Has chilled his heart, frozen the circling blood
Of fympathy, and blighted the sweet fruits
Of love. How bleak and wafte!
Of Righteousness sheds bright and healing beams.
In vain does He, who died on Calvary,
Extend his hands, bleeding with wounds of love:
MAN ftill is cold and wintry; ftill is hard,
And melts not into mercy.-This vain world
Is colder than the northern fkies. But FAITH
Looks o'er the icy mountains, looks beyond
The wintry clouds, and fees unfading bloom
Of paradife, fees peaceful ftreams of joy,
And warm effulgence of the God of Love.
And hark! a gentle voice now calls," Arife
And come away. The winter's past and gone,
The flowers appear; the birds with transport hail
The fpring. The turtle's plaintive voice is heard ;
The fig-tree bends with figs. The fragrant vine
Prefents the tender grape. Arife and fee
Millennial happiness, the reign of peace and love."

Canticles ii. 10.

ON the brow of our lov'd rock
Sorrows we were wont to mock.
Lifting to the voice of night,→
Fancy's dawn of magic light
Quick illum'd the deepen'd glades,
Then replete with wizard fhades.
While, along the mountains wild,
Fond enchanters warmly fmil'd;
Fairy maids in rapture danc'd;
Elfin spirits dimly glanc'd
Down each wonder-gazing fteep,
Stealing duller goblins' fleep.

Often too, while evening mild
Cankering cares of day beguil'd,
Eager for her lulling chime,
We this haughty rock did climb;
When to us, with pious claim,
Sober contemplation came,
Pointing at the varied chafe
Life exhibits in her race.
There in crazing ardour ran
Fortune's grim and meagre clan.
O'er derifion's burning tides,
Bridges wreck'd, and meteor guides
Led the fame-enamour'd band
To their bleak and troubled land.
Who for power elated rav'd,
Darkly-frowning dangers brav'd ;-
They, the height becoming near,
Wither'd in the blaft of fear.

On this rock, I've known thee chufe
Virtue and her angel mufe,
As the charmers moft endear'd,
That to reafon's fight appear'd.