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think, with some alteration, copied more glitter of phrase than in the from Statius.
versions made, if I recollect right,
by Ambrose Phillips, which are in - Her young meanwhile Callow and cold, from their moss-woven
serted in the Spectator, No. 222 and
229; but much less of that passionPeep forth ; they stretch their little eager ate emotion which marks the original. throats
Most of my readers will remember Broad to the wind, and plead to the lone that which begins, spray
Blest as the immortal Gods is he, Their famish'd plaint importunately shrill. The youth who fondly sits by thee,
(English Garden, b. 3.) And hears and sees thee, all the while,
Volucrum sic turba recentum, Softly speak and sweetly smile.
It is thus rendered by Mason:
Rivals in bliss the Gods on high,
Whose ear thy pleasing converse warms, Obstet aperta parens et amantibus increpet Thy lovely smile his eye.
alis. (Theb. lib. x. 458.) But trembling awe my bosom heaves, Oppian's imitation of this is hap- When placed those heavenly charins pier.
The sight my voice of power bereaves, Ως δ'οπότ' απτήνέσσι φέρει βόσιν δ' ορ
And chains my torpid tongue. ταλίχοισι Μήτηρ, είαρινή Ζεφύρου πρωτάγγελος Through every thrilling fbre dies ,
The subtle flame; in dimness drear όρνις,
My eyes are veil'd; a murmuring noise Οι δαπαλόν τρύζοντες επιθρώσκουσι Glides tinkling through my ear; καλιά,
Death's chilly dew my limbs o'erspreads, Γηθόσυνοι περί μητρι, και εμείροντες
Shiv'ring, convuls'd, I panting lye ; έδωδής
And pale, as is the flower that fades, Χείλος αναπτύσσουσιν άπαν δ' επί δωμα I droop, I faint, I die.
λέληκεν Ανδρος ξεινοδόχοιο λίγα κλάζουσι νεοσ
The rudest language, in which there σοις. (Halieut. 1. iii. 248.) be preferable to this cold splendour.
was anything of natural feeling, would Hurd, in the letter he addressed to In the other ode, he comes into conhim on the Marks of Imitation, ob- trast with Akenside. served, that the imagery with which the Ode to Memory opens, is bor- But lo! to Sappho's melting airs rowed from Strada's Prolusions. The She smiles, and asks what fonder cares
Descends the radiant queen of love ; chorus in Elfrida, beginning
Her suppliant's plaintive measures move. Hail to thy living light,
Why is my faithful maid distrest ? Ambrosial morn! all hail thy roseate ray: Who, Sappho, wounds thy tender breast ?
Say, flies he? soon he shall pursue : is taken from the Hymnus in Au- Shuns he thy gifts ? he soon shall give : roram, by Flaminio.*
Slights he thy sorrows ? he shall grieve, His Sappho, a lyrical drama, is And soon to all thy wishes bow. one of the few attempts that have
Aken side, b. I, Ode 13. been made to bring amongst us that This, though not unexceptionable, tuneful trifle, the modern Opera of and particularly in the last verse, has the Italians. It has been transferred yet a tenderness and spirit utterly by Mr. Mathias into that language, to which alone it seemed properly to
wanting in Mason. belong. Mr. Glasse has done as much What from my power would Sappho claim? for Caractacus by giving it up to the
Who scorns thy flame ?
What wayward boy Greek. Of the two Odes, which are
Disdains to yield thee joy for joy ? all, excepting some few fragments,
Soon shall he court the bliss he flies ; that remain to us of the Lesbian
Soon beg the boon he now denies, poetess, he has introduced Trans
And, hastening back to love and thee, lations into his drama. There is Repay the wrong with extacy.
• A translation of this will be found at page 77, of the present number.
In the Pygmalion, a lyrical scene, In the thirteenth Ode, on the late he has made an effort equally vain, Duchess of Devonshire, the only lady to represent the impassioned elo- of distinguished rank to whom the quence of Jean Jaques Rousseau.
poets of modern times have loved to In his shorter poems, there is too pay their homage, and in the sixfrequent a recurrence of the same teenth, which he entitles Palinodia, machinery, and that, such as it need- he provokes a comparison with Mr. ed but little invention to create. Coleridge.
two extracts Either the poet himself, or some from each will show the difference other person, is introduced, musing between the artificial heat of the by a stream or lake, or in a forest, schools and the warmth of a real enwhen the appearance of some celes- thusiasm. tial visitant, muse, spirit, or angel, Art thou not she whom fav'ring fate suddenly awakens his attention.
In all her splendour drest,
To show in how supreme a state Soft gleams of lustre tremble through the
A mortal might be blest ? grove, And sacred airs of minstrelsy divine
Bade beauty, elegance, and health,
Patrician birth, patrician wealth, Are harp'd around, and Autt'ring pi. nions move.
Their blessings on her darling shed ; Ah, hark ! a voice, to which the vocal rill, Who freedom's fairest annals grace,
Bade Hymen, of that generous race
Give to thy love th' illustrious head.
Masona Now breaks wide warbling from yon orient cloud.—Elegy 2.
Light as a dream, your days their circlets
From all that teaches brotherhood to man But hark! methinks I hear her hallow'd Far, far removed ; from want, from hope, tongue !
from fear, In distant trills it echoes o'er the tide; Enchanting music lull'd your infant ear, Now meets mine ear with warbles wildly Obeisant praises sooth'd your infant heart: free,
Emblasonments and old ancestral crests, As swells the lark's meridian extasy. With many a bright obtrusive form of art,
Ode vi. Detain'd your eye from nature; stately After the extatic notes have been that veiling strove to deck your charms
vests, heard, all vanishes away like some
divine, figure in the clouds, which
Were your's unearn'd by toil.
Coleridge. Ode to Georgiana, The rack dislimns, and makes it indis
Duchess of Devonshire. tinct
Say did I err, chaste Liberty, As water is in water.
When, warm with youthful fire, His abstractions are often exalted I gave the vernal fruits to thee, into cherubs and seraphs. It is the
That ripen'd on my lyre ? “ cherub Beauty sits on Nature's When, round thy twin-born sister's shrine
I.taught the flowers of verse to twine rustic shrine;" « heaven-descended
And blend in one their fresh perfume ; Charity;" “ Constancy, heaven-born Forbade them, vagrant and disjoin’d, queen;" Liberty,“ heaven-descend. To give to every wanton wind ing queen.”. Take away from him Their fragrance and their bloom ? these aërial beings and their harps,
Mason. and you will rob him of his best Ye clouds, that far above me float and treasures.
pause, He holds nearly the same place Whose pathless march no mortal may among our poets, that Peters does controul ! among our painters. He too is best Ye ocean waves, that, wheresoe'er ye known by
Yield homage only to eternal laws ! The angel's floating pomp, the seraph’s Ye woods, that listen to the night-birds glowing grace;
Midway the smooth and perilous steep And he too, instead of that gravity reclin'd ; and depth of tone which might seem
Save when your own imperious branches most accordant to his subjects, treats
swinging, them with a lightness of pencil that Have made a solemn music of the wind ! is not far removed from flimsiness. Where, like a man belov'd of God,
Through glooms, which never woodman The Elegy written in a churchtrod,
yard in South Wales, is not more beHow oft, pursuing fancies holy,
low Gray's. My moonlight way o'er flow'ring weeds
Of eagerness to obtain poetical I wound,
distinction he had much more than Inspir'd beyond the guess of folly, By each rude shape and wild unconquer- learning, was exceedingly his infe
Gray; but in tact, judgment, and able sound !
rior. He was altogether a man of O, ye loud waves, and 0, ye forests high, And O, ye clouds, that far above me talent, if I may be allowed to use the soard!
word talent according to the sense it Thou rising sun ! thou blue rejoicing sky! bore in our old English; for he had a Yea, every thing that is and will be free, vehement desire of excellence, but Bear witness for me wheresoe'er ye be, wanted either the depth of mind or With what deep worship I have still the industry that was necessary for ador'd
producing anything that was very The spirit of divinest liberty.
excellent. Coleridge. France, An Ode.
I CANNOT live, and love thee not !
When far away
From thee I stray,
Or jealous maid, belie my truth,
And if, when I am near thee not,
Some busy foe
Shall bid me know
The tale l'll heed not of thy guile;
No! falsehood can assail thee not
'Twas not the excess
But thy pure soul—thy love divine
Then let our parting grieve thee not
But quell that sigh,
And from thine eye
And think!-- in one short fleeting year,
But, ah! should truth pervade thee not !
I could not brook
Thine alter'd look ;
Nipp'd timeless, I should droop, and die,
ON MAGAZINE WRITERS.
Methinks I hear, in accents low,
Poor moralist! and what art thou ? I can scarcely conceive a nobler ginations and hopes. Every one is and more inspiring sight than that of more or less impressed with a conscithe man of genius in the solitude of ousness of acquirement and ability, his closet, conscious of his powers, and is uneasy until he has obtained the and warmed by the fire of his concep- reputation of possessing them. Hence tions-pouring forth those treasures the vast number of candidates for liof imagination and intellect which terary fame, who throng about the are to enrich, exalt, and delight fu- several channels of publicity. In one ture ages. It is a spectacle of un- of these outlets by which overcharged mingled gratification, which raises brains free themselves from their bura our ideas of human powers, and sub- then-and by which brains of a conlimes them by the reflection that those trary description would gladly satisfy powers are exerted for the benefit of their wild ambition, it may not be universal man-unalloyed by any misplaced or unacceptable to make a mean and sordid interests, and unin- few remarks upon those writers who fluenced by any but the generous im- are, and those who wish to be wri. pulses of hope and love. There is ters for magazines. another picture of the occupations of The first great difficulty which genius–or what would be thought presents itself is the selection of a genius—which we are sometimes subject. “ The world is all before admitted to view, and though far less him where to choose." But in the interesting it is still inexpressibly a- midst of abundance he knows not musing. I mean that of a young and what to select; like the sapient beast unfledged author surrounded with in the fable between the two bundles all the equipage of his profession ;- of hay, he is perplexed by contending the fair sheet spread open before him, claims. He sees a mass of things, the pen freshly nibbed, the inkstand but nothing distinctly. Shall he be constructed after Mr. Coleridge's merry or sad ;-shall he fathom the newest receipt-his brain throbbing depths of the mind, or sport lightly with confused conceptions_his am- over the surface of things-shall it bition all on fire to achieve something be a sketch, or a finished work-a “ which the world will not willingly disquisition, or a rhapsody?-all valet die”—his brows aching with the rieties of topics are before him, and, pressure of imagined laurels—and as he conceives, equally obedient to his fancy, like that of the strange his will; but he knows not which to but gifted enthusiast Cellini, dazzled evoke from its repose into light and by “resplendent lights hovering over life—and devote to earthly immor
his shadow.”—Most men, I suspect, tality by enshrining it in some one of have at some period of their lives the thousand monthly temples of seen those visions of glory play before fame. “ It is here !" said Barry, their eyes, and revelled in the ho- striking his forehead, after a long mage which their toils were to exact meditation; “it is not here,” says from ages yet unborn. For my own the scribbler, using a similar gesture. part, I should be ashamed to deny This perplexity springs from an obwhat there is no shame in avowing. vious source. The writer sits down My early experience, some five and to compose—not because his brain twenty years ago, as a magazine labours in the parturition of some writer, when magazines were quite long meditated matter-not because another sort of thing, furnished many he has reflected deeply, and acquired such moods of mind and body, and much-but he is feverish with some though years, by making me “a sad- vague longing after literary notoriety. der, but a wiser man,” have long He resolves to write before he has since struck me from the list of scrib- learned to think. Having never subblers, yet I can still recognise the dued the straggling denizens of his excitement of literary glory on brain to any thing like obedience, youthful mind, and enter into its ima- they refuse to be commanded and Vol. VI.
having never made the knowledge of aloft into higher spheres, and venothers his own by long and habitual turing into regions, the terra incogmeditation-nothing is clear and fix- nita of other times. This is partly ed—bis ideas float in an atmosphere owing to the wider dispersion of letof confusion, out of which he is still ters, but chiefly, I think, to the libeearnest
rality of publishers, which has made To frame he knows not what excelling it not unworthy the very highest things,
names in English literature to conAnd win he knows not what sublime re- tribute to magazines. It is not of ward
these that I am now speaking, but of Of praise and wonder.
a very different class. But writing is not “ as easy as lying.” has undergone a change as well as The pen, it is true, is an eloquent the subject. If we are no longer instrument which may be made to bored with endless and heavy alle“ discourse most excellent music;" gories about Asem the Manhater, yet something more is requisite to the Hill of Science, and the Happy draw forth its notes, than the bare Valley, so no one who courted even will to make it vocal.
an insertion in a magazine would Some are thus, in the very outset venture to begin“ Ye who listen of their career, discouraged by the with credulity to the whispers of difficulty of choice; they give up the fancy, and pursue with eagerness the pursuit in despair, and suffer the phantoms of hope, who, &c. &c.” It glowing visions of futurity to fade might be amusing to conjecture who into the light of common day. After of the elder essayists would be popuall they may be right. There is more lar writers in the magazines of the prudence in relinquishing an enter- present day. Addison, of course, prize too vast for our capacity, than but less so, I think, than Steele. in continuing to scribble on “ in spite Johnson, notwithstanding the habiof nature and our stars.” But there tual elevation of his sentiments, and is another and a large class, which, the justice and acuteness of most of undaunted by difficulty, uninstructed his remarks upon life and manners, by experience, and unabashed by ri- would stand but a poor chance of an dicule, still bear up against every engagement if he retained the ponsort of obstacle, “ bating no jot of derous armour, and heavy jack boot heart or hope." These, with some
march of the Rambler. The bowpretensions to erudition, and some
wow manner which gave a zest to habit of reflection-assist to swell out his conversation cannot be printed the pages of reviews and magazines, with any types that I am acquainted those foundling hospitals for the bas- with. Goldsmith was more at home tard progeny of prurient imagina- in his humanities and, together with tions. They buzz for a while about his exhilarating gaiety and touching the fields of literature, loud, busy pathos, he had a fine conception of and importunate- till some chilling the ridiculous, and great tact in exblast or rude hand sweeps them posing it. He would be eagerly away for ever, leaving behind snapped at by an editor, especially if
all his articles were as clever as Beau cotal vestigio Qual fummo in aere ed in acqua la schiuma. Lame Sailor. Bonnel Thornton, and
Tibbs, the Strolling Actor, and the Every one at all conversant—and the elder Colman, might be worked who is not ? --with this class of publi- up into prime hands, and the playcations, must be aware of the im- ful, abundant, and well toned wit of mense change which has taken place Horace Walpole would have fain them “ for better for worse” with- mously “ furnished forth” the episin twenty or thirty years. They tolary corner of a popular magazine. have in some respects followed, in As for the other “ daily bread” wriothers formed, that part of the pub- ters of the last century, it may be lic taste which depends on the pub- doubted whether much could have lic manners. They have changed been got out of them. It may be their place in the system of literature. easily conceived that to manage a Emerging from the shell with which magazine is no easy task. It is not they were encrusted, they display for me to prate of war to Hannibal ; their “ gaily gilded trim soaring but it may be conceded to one who