ODE TO THE PRINCE REGENT,

BY OWEN AP HOEL, ESQ.

O MUSE! did winter, bleak and cold,
O'er Hoel's hand her influence shed?
Or was that hand grown weak and old?
No-dead to song, to pleasure dead:
Sorrow more chill than wint'ry blast,
Or age's frost, had chain'd it fast.
That harp, which wak'd the passing smile,
That harp, which could his cares beguile,
Laid by, neglected, half unstrung,
Against the wall in silence hung;

Save when a nation's sighs, in grief profound,
Swept o'er its strings-its strings responsive sound.

He drooping saw a lovely flower,
And wept-but still ador'd that power
Who in the chalices of kings

The bitterest drops of sorrow flings:

With keenest anguish he was taught,
The best, the wisest-all must taste the draught.

That e'en the circle of a crown
Guards not the monarch's sacred head;

He saw it bow in anguish down,

When to the best of hearts affliction's arrow sped.

A nation's sighs, a nation's tears,
Rose to the throne of God in prayers,
Presuming not his ways to scan;

But doubly was the monarch lov'd,
Who in his anguish'd suff'rings prov'd
The best, the noblest feelings of a man.

While wrapt in gloom Britannia lay,
Broke not one bright, one cheering ray?
Some promise of a fairer day?
Yes, Prince belov'd, from thee she saw
Hope's brightest emanation flow.
She saw the filial drop divine
Hang glist'ning in thine eye;

She saw the feeling heart was thine,.
And bless'd the happy augury,
And cried a duteous son will prove
A parent to his people's love.'

GEN. CHRON. VOL. III. NO. XV.

2 L

While

Since this old dance has now beconte the rage,
Respect it ladies, for its classic age.

If you are women, don't give up the fashion!
Dance, dance the Waltz, and dance it in a passion':
Dance it with spirit, and with ease, d'ye see,
Dance it with grace,—I mean, that's dance it free;
There's no harm in the Waltz, in that with me
All Fathers of a Family' agree!

Guard it ye fair ones free from innovation,
As firmly as a charter of the nation!
Never give up a privilege, I pray,

In love-and dancing, bear your sovereign sway.
Now farewell Waitz, and may it ever be
Your fate to meet with champions such as me;
So should you flourish long as you deserv'd,
And Britain's ancient manners be preserv'd.

SUR LA WALTŻ.

ADLITAM Asor.

AVEC un peu d'adresse on peut tout altérer;
Mais la vérite reste; il faut la déclarer.

Non, la Waltz n'est point cet exercise infame,

Où l'homme est sans pudeur, où la femme se pame.'
Ce sont des pas égaux, des airs harmonieux,

Où tout flatte l'oreille et tout doit plaire aux yeux;
La main couple léger, et qu'un bras seul enlace,
Se balance en tournant, et voltige avec grace.
L'heureux, à qui sa belle osa se confier,
Avec un tendre soin se plait à la guider;
Il affermit ses pas, il veille à sa défense;
Les Graces à l'amour inspirent la décence!
Ce n'est point en public, que le vil corrupteur

En attaquant les sens, cherche à corrompre un cœur;
Ce n'est point sous les yeux d'une sœur, d'une mere,
Qu'un jeune homme s'oublie, et devient témeraire ;
Ces êtres sont trop chers: il veut les protéger,

Et

pour leur honneur même, il doit se respecter.
Et parmi ces beautés, peut-etre il en est une,
Qui doit fixer un jour, son cœur et sa fortune;
Ira-t-il, outrageant le berceau des amours;
De son bonheur futur, empoisonner le cours ?
Malgré les préjugés et la sotte-ignorance,
Ce plaisir n'a donc rien qui coute a la décence;
Les Russes, les Germains, Walsent dans leur pays,
Le bon sens, la pudeur en sont ils donc bannis?

H. DU B.

Alluding to a defence of the Waltz, published under that signature.-Ed.

ODE TO THE PRINCE REGENT,

BY OWEN AP HOEL, ESQ.

O MUSE! did winter, bleak and cold,
O'er Hoel's hand her influence shed?
Or was that hand grown weak and old?
No-dead to song, to pleasure dead:
Sorrow more chill than wint'ry blast,
Or age's frost, had chain'd it fast.
That harp, which wak'd the passing smile,
That harp, which could his cares beguile,
Laid by, neglected, half unstrung,
Against the wall in silence hung;

Save when a nation's sighs, in grief profound,
Swept o'er its strings-its strings responsive sound.

He drooping saw a lovely flower,
And wept-but still ador'd that power
Who in the chalices of kings

The bitterest drops of sorrow flings:
With keenest anguish he was taught,
The best, the wisest-all must taste the draught.

That e'en the circle of a crown
Guards not the monarch's sacred head;

He saw it bow in anguish down,

When to the best of hearts affliction's arrow sped.

A nation's sighs, a nation's tears,
Rose to the throne of God in prayers,
Presuming not his ways to scan;
But doubly was the monarch lov'd,
Who in his anguish'd suff'rings prov'd
The best, the noblest feelings of a man.

While wrapt in gloom Britannia lay,
Broke not one bright, one cheering ray?
Some promise of a fairer day?
Yes, Prince belov'd, from thee she saw
Hope's brightest emanation flow.
She saw the filial drop divine
Hang glist'ning in thine eye;

She saw the feeling heart was thine,.
And bless'd the happy augury,
And cried a duteous son will prove
A parent to his people's love.'

GEN. CHRON. VOL. III. NO. XV.

2 L

While

While tempests threaten'd to o'erwhelm,
Well-pleas'd she saw thee take the helm,
With all a pilot's skill to guide

The vessel through the foaming tide,
And heav'n approv'd the deed:
Scarce had its breezes fill'd thy sail,
When Victory sounds the proud All Hail!
And bade thy fame proceed.
First gallant Græme the signal blew,
From proud Barrosa's heights it flew:
Almaida, Albuera's plain,
Reverberate the deaf ning strain.
Græme, Wellington, and Beresford,
Wield Britain's keen ävenging sword.
The Gaul, so late in boasting loud,
No longer of his fortune proud,
Plung'd in Agueda's crimson'd waves,
And fled with half his host of slaves:
Britain, thy mingled crosses fly
Aloft. In dust their eagles lie.

'The tyrant, on his blood-stain'd throne,
Shakes in dismay; compell'd to own,
With more than mortal anguish keen,
The difference that lies between
A host of slaves--a people free;
A Prince, for virtues lov'd-and he
Whom rapine, in a lawless hour,
And crimson'd murder rais'd to power.

But while the muse o'er havock mourns,
Disgusted from his crimes she turns,
To hail th' auspicious day,

Which dawns with hope's all-cheering beam,
And promises a brighter gleam

To thy maturer ray.

THE

481

THE

OCCASIONAL REVIEW.

ART. I. A Letter upon the Mischievous Influence of the Spanish Inquisition, as it actually exists in the Provinces under the Spanish Government. Translated from El Español, a Periodical Spanish Journal, published in London. Svo. pp. 31. Johnson and Co. 1811.

IT Tis stated, in the advertisement prefixed to this letter, that the some design of its publication is that of dispelling some prejudices favourable to the Inquisition, which,' according to the writer, have been lately rather too much in fashion.' The author continues,

It is not the Inquisition, armed with flames and instruments of torture, that the present letter attacks it is the Inquisition under the mask of gentleness and mildness, ranging itself, and seeking for protection, under the banner of liberty and patriotism.

Let those who, upon reading the title-page, might either look for, or shrink from, those thread-bare, though unluckily but too true, descriptions of inquisitorial trials and executions, be not mistaken in their hopes or fears with regard to this pamphlet. It contains nothing but a few observations from a man who was born, and who has spent the best part of his life, in a country under the sway of the Inquisition--a man who has no personal grievances from that tribunal to complain of nay, among the members of which he has even had friends to regret, -Preface, p. iii.

Consistently with the views for which we are thus prepared, the author makes the following statement of the influence of the Inqui sition, as it actually exists in the provinces under the Spanish government :'

It is beyond a doubt that that institution had dwindled to a mere shadow of what it had been. The diffusion of knowledge throughout Europe had diminished the barbarous rigour exercised by that tribunal during the first years of its establishment. Nor was it possible that victims should be burnt by thousands at the end of the eighteenth century, as they were at the beginning of the sixteenth. Even if the fanaticism of the inquisitors had not yielded to the character of the times, that of their victims was much too weak to keep up their resistance to the stake. The fact is, that whatever disposition this tribunal might have to burn, there were very few who had any to undergo such an operation; and that he who had the misfortune to fall into the hands of the Holy Office, if he could not deny his heresy, was in the greatest hurry to abjure it.

This, then, was latterly the true state of the Inquisition. Its laws, its forms, its principles, were the same; the people only were different.

He