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Fear thou the wild and horned bull:" he said, in melting ruth,
Brooding upon the destiny of that too venturous youth.
The boy too lent his ear, but seem'd as listening to the wind,
And careless wanton thoughts play'd light in his capricious mind.
When suddenly before the god with love fraternal warm'd,
An awful sign of shorten'd days its moving presage form'd."
For from a rock all sheath'd in scales one horn'd of serpent race
Uprose, and bore a youngling fawn to a near altar's base:
Here gored him with its ghastly horns, and left him stretch'd along ;
The hill-fed hind's stray spirit fled as with shrill note of song.
Herald of blood-shedding to come, the stony altar's hue,

Like wine outpour'd in sacrifice, blush'd red with sanguine dew:
And Bacchus view'd the murderous snake, and in the ravish'd hind
Beheld that reckless youth, and, moved with fluctuating mind,"
Groans from him burst as nigh to death he saw the fated youth,
Yet laughter at the thought of wine would mingle with his ruth.
And still his feet the lovely boy in all his haunts would trace,
Across the mountain, by the shore, and through the woodland chase :
To look upon him was his joy; and when beheld no more,
His eyes with drops of tenderness were ever rimning o'er :
And oft with Bacchus at the board reclining side by side,
The boy upon the pipe his strain uncouth and broken tried;
And though he marr'd the notes, the god, as though to piping sweet,
Would strike his hands, and smite the floor with breezy-bounding feet;
And place his palm upon the lips that were the source of joy,
And fondling chain the stammering tones of that unskilful boy;
And swear that never Pan had breathed a carol so renown'd,
Nor e'er Apollo warbled forth such luxury of sound.

DEATH OF AMPELUS.

1

But Ate, she who beareth death, look'd on the daring boy,
And like a youth of kindred age, with mien that breathed of joy,
Approach'd him in the mountain chase, from Bacchus far away,
And thus enticed with words of fraud that flatter'd to betray.
"Undaunted boy! we hear in vain this Bacchus call'd thy friend,
To grace of his companionship thou dost in vain pretend:
Not thou the panthers curb'st, that whirl the chariot of thy god,
But Maron holds the jewel'd reins, and shakes the ruling rod.
What gifts are thine from him who wields the spear with ivy bound?
The Fauns and Satyrs have their pipes and timbrels deep of sound;
The very priestesses on manes of mountain lions ride;

What favours can'st thou boast from him whose friendship is thy pride?
Oft seated on Apollo's car Atymnius soar'd on high,

And cut the air, a shadowy speck, careering up the sky;

And thou hast heard how Abaris a flying shaft bestrode,

And sent by Phoebus through the heavens on buoyant ether rode;

thigh:

And Ganymede could rein and turn an eagle through the sky,
Which hid the shape of him who nursed thy Bacchus in his
But when did Bacchus gripe thy flank, or bear thee up with wings on high?
The fortune of the Phrygian boy was higher far than thine,
A cup-bearer in Jove's own house he pours the ruby wine.
But now, dear youth, who longest still the harness'd team to guide,
Beware the steed's unstable course, nor yet his back bestride:
With troubled motion of his hoofs, with whirlwinds round his feet,
The steed is like a storm, and hurls the rider from his seat.

IT.

Cuneus finds out that this is a thing "beyond belief," and refers us to our natural history for the fact, that the horns of the cerastes partake of the soft nature of those of the snail. What would this cautious critic have said, if the poet had introduced griffin 3

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Thus did the phrenzy-smitten mares the prostrate Glaucus trampling

tear,

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And thus the horse of winged hoofs cast down Bellerophon from air :
But herds are mine, when shepherds pipe in leafy green retreat,
Thou shalt bestride a lovely bull with gallant lofty seat;
Thy king be sure will praise thee more, thy king of horned brow,
When on the god-resembling bull he sees thee mounted now.
Safe such a courser; fear him not; which e'en a virgin rides,
Grasping the horn instead of rein, she prances through the tides.".
Persuasion gilds the speech; in air the spectral stripling glides.
And sudden from a neighbouring cliff a bull loose-roaming burst,
With open mouth and lolling tongue he stoop'd and slaked his thirst;
Then stood, as rational, before the youth who nearer drew,
Nor toss'd his horn, but placid gazed, as he his herdsman knew.
The boy adventurous climb'd, and sate upon the curly head,
Stroking with fearless touch the horns that in a crescent spread;
The forest-pastured bull inflamed his ardour to command
And rein the mountain-ranging beast unyoked by mortal hand.
He pluck'd the stems of bulrushes deep-waving in the wind,
And woven with twigs and lighter shoots a mimic scourge entwined:
He gather'd ivy's flexile sprays, and wreathed them for a rein;
And roses cull'd and dewy leaves to deck and to restrain;
And o'er the forehead daffodils and twisted lilies hung,
And round the neck anemones of purple blossom strung.

With hollow'd hands he scoop'd the slime, where nigh the river roll'd,
And smear'd the horns that yellow'd shone with glistering grains of gold;
Then cast a furry skin athwart the bull's broad loins, and rose
Into his seat, and on the hide let fall the lightsome blows

From his mock scourge; as though in sooth he back'd a maned steed;
And lash'd his murderer on with rash and inconsiderate speed.

Then lifting to the bull-faced moon a look of daring glee

"Horn'd moon!" he cried, "thy team of bulls and thou must yield to me! I too can curb a bull, and horns surmount my satyr's brow.'

Thus to the silver-orbing moon he spoke, high-glorying now:

But the moon's eye, with jealous light, through fields of boundless air
Saw Ampelus on that sad bull transported soft and fair;
She sent a gad-fly forth that bears the herd-provoking sting;
The goading insect, round the bull still flitting on the wing,
Drove him with restless pace along, even like a vaulting steed,
O'er mountainous ridges; and the youth, deserted at his need,
Beheld him thus o'er peaked hills bound headlong far and wide,
And toil-aghast with plaintive voice thus supplicantly cried:-
"Stop, oh, my bull, to-day, and thou shalt on the morrow run;
Slay me not here on lonesome rocks, lest, when the deed is done,
Bacchus should hear; nor yet resent that I have gilt thy horn;
Nor let the friendship of the god now move thy envious scorn.
If thou wilt slay, and heedest not the love that Bacchus bears,
Nor pitiest him who holds thy rein, who weeps, and who despairs;
If nor his flower of opening years, nor Bacchus' friendship, moves,
Convey me where the satyrs haunt, and crush me in their groves,
That they at least may mourn my dust: my adjuration hear,
Oh friendly bull! and he who warn'd may drop a pitying tear.
If thou must quell thy rider thus, who bears the satyr's sign,
The rounding horns upon the brow, and aspect like to thine,
With vocal organs tell my death, ungrateful as thou art,
To Ceres; she in Bacchus' grief be sure will bear a part."
So said the rose-cheek boy, as now he hover'd o'er his grave,
O'er trackless ridges of the hills the ball high-bounding drave,
And from his back shook down the boy: the jointed neck was broke
With crushing sound; roll'd o'er and o'er beneath the pointed stroke
Of goring horns he lay, and all his body blush'd with gore:
A satyr saw him stretch'd in dust; the heavy tidings bore;

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And Bacchus hasten'd like the winds: ev'n Hercules was slow,
Who ran when nymphs drew Hylas down in envious waves below,
And the fair ravisher of streams refused to let her bridegroom go.
So Bacchus printed with his feet the soil that smoked beneath,
And look'd upon the youth, who seem'd in pulseless death to breathe ;
And in his mantle wrapp'd the dead, and velvet deer-skins threw
O'er the cold limbs; and on the feet, though lifeless, buskins drew;
And cropp'd the brief anemone to wreathe his hair with fading hue;
Placed in his hand the ivied spear; the purple robe o'erspread,
And tore a tress from unclipp'd locks to grace the martyr'd dead;
And from his mother Rhea's hand he took th' ambrosial shower
To bathe his wounds, anon to yield the fragrance of their flower,
And springing into vine-shoots breathe their own ambrosial power.
No longer paleness overspread the rosy body's hue,

As graceful at his length he lay, and breezes fitful blew,
Lifting the hair and sighing soft the wavy ringlets through.
Lovely he lay upon the soil, though all with dust defiled,

And beauty had not left the dead, for still, though dead, he smiled;
And honied utterance seem'd to hang on the mute lips of that fair child ;
And Bacchus cried with plaintive voice, whilst looking on the dead,
And his calm brow's serenity with lowering wrath was overspread:
"Dear boy! thy lifeless lips retain Persuasion's rosy breath,

It blooms upon thy glistening cheek, and those fair eyes yet laugh in death.

The palms of those so gentle hands are delicate as snows,

And through thy lifted lovesome locks the breeze shrill sighing blows; Death's chilling blast has touch'd thy limbs, but has not quench'd the

rose.

Oh dearest! wherefore wouldst thou rule th' ungovernable steer?
Why didst thou never breathe thy wish into this friendly ear,
And say that on storm-footed steeds thou wouldst career afar?
Then had I brought from Ida's tops the courser and the car.
Hadst thou but said 'I need the car,' the chariot should have run,
Thy seat secure, and solid wheels in ringing circles spun.
Then Rhea's reins had fill'd thy hold, though grasp'd by none but me;
And thou hadst lash'd the dragon yoke, tame sliding on with thee.
Alas! no more with satyr guests thou sing'st the lyral song,

No more with cymbal-clashing nymphs thou lead'st the dancing throng,
No more with Bacchus in the hunt thou ridest a youthful hunter strong.
Oh grave! oh grave unmerciful! that wilt not for the dead
Accept the price of treasures dug from earth's rich-veined bed!
All would I give to see again my Ampelus alive;

Ah, unpersuadable and stern! with one that cannot hear I strive:
Wouldst thou but listen, I would strip the river-trees that grow,
Dropping their amber jewels down, upon the banks of Po:
I'd cull Ind's ruby stone that glows with red transparent ray,
And all the gold of Alyba to bring him back to day.

Yes-for my boy, my lifeless boy, I'd give the grains of gold
In deep Pactolus' eddy tides immeasurable roll'a!"
Then looking on him as he lay upon the dust below,
Exclaiming pitiful, his voice broke forth again in cries of woe:
"Ah! if thou lovest me, Jupiter! and know'st that love was mine,
Let Ampelus but speak; its prey the grave for one short hour resign;
That one, but one last speech may breathe its music on mine ear;
Why mournst thou, oh my Bacchus! him who yet revives not at thy

tear?

Though ears are mine, yet they are deaf to thy bewailing cry; Though eyes are mine, I see thee not in this thy heart-broke agony; Give o'er thy grief; in vain beside her banks the Naiad weeps ; Narcissus' ear is dull and cold; in deathly waters calm he sleeps!?"

VIDA.

THE ACADEMY OF TASTE FOR GROWN GENTLEMEN, OR THE INFANT CONNOISSEUR'S GO-CART.'

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My dear friend and companion! if you should think me somewhat sparing of my narrative on my first setting-out-bear with me,-and let me go on, and tell my story my own way: or, if I should seem now or then to trifle upon the road,-or should sometimes put on a fool's cap, with a bell to it, for a moment or two as we pass along,-don't fly off, but rather courteously give me credit for a little more wisdom than appears upon my outside;-and, as we jog on, either laugh with me, or at me, or, in short, do any thing,-only keep your temper.

Tristram Shandy.

Now every word of this, quoth my uncle Toby, is Arabic to me.
I wish, said Yorick, 'twas so to half the world.

I BELIEVE that theory and practice are the two great original warring elements. Fire and water have sympathetic particles, and lie open to a sort of reconcilement, but theory and practice-practice and theory-turn them, and twist them, and beat them, and pound them, as much as you please, and when all's done, away they roll asunder in their unsocial, unadulterate completeness, like those confounded globules of quicksilver which get out of your weatherglasses, and worry little boys, whose combinative impulses begin to be objective. There is Mr. *****, who knows more about painting and paintings than all the Academy together (make three exceptions)-well Sir! his whole life has been employed in weighing these two things, one against the other, and strenuously endeavouring to achieve a horizontal"a hair will do it!" in goes the hair and up goes one scale to the heavens! "Whew! There's something wrong about the scales!" and he rectifies and rectifies them as if they were spirits of wine. "Now we have it!"-Lackadaisy!"How?-Great Genius of metaphysics! but I spy au adventitious flaw in the wall, it's the wind that comes through that crack which turns

my

-" and the putty is applied instanter!-He turns (a voluntary Sisyphus) with fresh hope to his dear torment, his cherished Nessus's shirt -still it singeth its old tune.

Here we go up, up, up,
And here we go down, down, down a,

Tristram Shandy again.

But

fickle and wavering as " Giralda, that famous giantess of Seville."* still he perseveres! and though I firmly believe he never will bring about this match, I am equally satisfied that, if it is to be accomplished during this generation, he is the man.

This last paragraph, that is, this first paragraph, has more utility in it than any thing I ever penned-if you apprehend it, and pull it, and stretch it, and put your hand into it, and don't be afraid of hurting it-I warrant it tough as-as-India rubber, or-let this comparison be- lest we go farther and fare worse. O it is a seed, which set in good moist soil would sprout up into whole royal quartos-a philosophical Fortunatus's purse!

Yet I could give it an unmendable slit. Shall I? No! for, whatever rotten planks compose my flooring, ingratitude, if I know myself (O ridiculous 'if''!) hath not place there; and that paragraph hath served me for a tolerably decent opening. I amend my epithet; 'tis an excellent opening, excellent because appropriate, as I shall demonstrate in a minute after, just insisting that the power of grasping and penetrating propriety, in its high original sense, is the absolute key-stone of genuine criticism. I dare say, gentlemen and ladies, this seems to you like a selfevident proposition; but if you will just take the trouble to, scrutinize some of our Reviews, I trust the remark will not be deemed impertinent:

* Vide Don Quixote's colloquy with the knight of the looking-glasses.

1

1

-have you looked Sir? Ah! you quite agree with me I see! your perceptions are extremely delicate and acute. Now for the appropriateness, which you must be told arises out of its perfect reverse-pray Sir! don't jump off the chair and run to the door, I am not mad

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pen filled with ink, but my conceit I have not the vanity to affect a fancy, much less an imagination) goes round like a whirligig, and then shoots away in the very direction it should not. Our dear Editor is quite accustomed to this chance-medley method (that's a superlatively wrong word! I wish you'd blot it, and in

My pulse as yours doth temperately keep sert a fitter) and dreams not of inves

time,

T

And makes as healthful music.
(By the bye, the present I am not
must be changed into the imperfect
I was not, what time you shall wield
the ivory liberator of our close shut
wisdom.) "Arises out of its perfect
reverse," I think I said then comes
your" quomodo?" Thus, sweet Sir!
You are aware, doubtless, that every
overture to an opera (I don't mean
English ones) contains, or is believed
to contain, (which is just the same to
me in this sentence) certain forebod-
ings, prophecies, warnings of the
musical events, the harmonious main
action: which indications, and prog-
nostic notes, stand in the same re-
lation and likeness to their after de-
velopment, as do the lightly-fleeting
bloom-flowers to the red-gold harvest
of plumpy fruit.

tigating nicely my intentions, or rather my probabilities, but blandly enquires "if there will be any thing for the next?"-What this present may produce it is quite impossible to say. I had made up for the Dulwich Gallery, therefore I rather suspect the crack-club, traveller's room, at the White-horse Cellar, may be drawn from their cosey box in the corner for the amusement of the London's Contractors.* But it is absolutely necessary for my character as a logical reasoner that I make out my proposition; and how it is to be done I know not-except I cut off all sympathetical connection betwixt the foregoing and the hereafter of my agreeable paper, in which case the ins and the aps coalesce, and shine out as clear as the stars in the constellation Ariaphlistron !!

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We have been repeatedly told that many worthy folks would collect and patronize genuine engravings and etchings if they did but know how to begin; therefore, for the joint advantage of the said well-disposed persons, ourself the LONDON MAGAZINE ESTABLISHMENT, and Messrs. Colnaghi, Hurst, Molteno, Smith, Woodburne, &c. we pronounce the collectaneal fundaments to be, first, a pair of shears, thirteen inches long : secondly, a ream of tinted paper (there is great variety at Heath's): and thirdly, a few loose hundreds. (We'll not say thousands, lest begin

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This theory of the mutual dependences of the opera and its overture is the same with my theory of the subject of an article (supposing, just for the sake of argument, an article to have a subject, which is not always the case; though that's neither here nor there :)-would you, dear Dr. examine my cranium? and perhaps we may light on the confounded Jack-o'-the lantern bump, whence spirt and squirt all these impedimental excrescences, these parentheses? But I can't stop now, because I have a sentence getting cold, therefore I write, and its proemium," which three words make it warm and air-ners be daunted.) tight,

This theory is my delight and my night-mare. Its beauty begets my love, and my incapacity to obey its commands drives me crazy · my practice is like Mr. M.'s mouth, "all on the other side." In vain I resolve and resolve this shall be on Mr. Angerstein's collection-this on Raffaëllo!-this on modern embellished books!—and so on. No sooner is my

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Next it will be well to determine on the nature of your design, whether the collection shall be artistical or collectorical If the latter, have a coat constructed with pockets, enough strong and spacious, to hold the sixteen volumes of Bartsch !-rise at six in the morning, couch not till twelve; and at the end of forty years and as many thousand pounds, you shall have some eight tomes of said

To contract is to take in, whence the substantive Contractors, people who take in any thing or body, such as magazines, horses, single gentlemen, and the like.

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