him: but, for that very reason, he forms a more intimate acquaintance with their every feature, and shade, and attitude.

From this circumstance, it would seem, that the poetical productions of widely-distant periods of society must ever bear strong marks of the age which gave them birth; and that it is not possible for a poetical genius of the one age to counterfeit and imitate the productions of the other. To the poet of a simple age, the varied objects which present themselves in cultivated society are unknown. To the poet of a refined age, the idea of imitating the productions of rude times might, perhaps, occur; but the execution would certainly be difficult, perhaps impracticable. To catch some few transient aspects any of the great appearances of nature, may be within the reach of the genius of any age; but to perceive, and feel, and paint, all the shades of a few simple objects, and to make them correspond with a great diversity of subjects, the poet must dwell amidst them, and have them ever present to his mind.

of

The excellent critic, whom I have already mentioned, has selected the instances of the moon and of mist, to show how much Ossian has diversified the appearance of the few objects with which he was encircled. I shall now conclude this paper with selecting a third, that of the sun, which, I think, the bard has presented in such a variety of aspects, as could have occurred to the imagination in no other than the early and unimproved age in which Ossian is supposed to have lived.

The vanquished Frothal, struck with the generous magnanimity of Fingal, addresses him: Terrible art thou, O king of Morven, in battles of the spears; but, in peace, thou art like the sun when he looks through a silent shower; the flowers lift their fair heads before him, and the gales shake their

rustling wings. Of the generous open Cathmor exposed to the dark and gloomy Cairbar, it is said: 'His face was like the plain of the sun, when it is bright: no darkness travelled over his brow.' Of Nathos: The soul of Nathos was generous and mild, like the hour of the setting sun.' Of young Connal, coming to seek the honour of the spear: The youth was lovely, as the first beam of the sun.' - O! Fithil's son,' says Cuchullin, with feet of wind, fly over the heath of Lena. Tell to Fingal that Erin is enthralled, and bid the king of Morven hasten. O! let him come like the sun in a storm, when he shines on the hills of grass.'

Nathos, anxious for the fate of Darthula: ‹ The soul of Nathos was sad, like the sun in the day of mist, when his face is watery and dim.'- Oscar, surrounded with foes, foreseeing the fall of his race, and yet at times gathering hope: At times, he was thoughtful and dark, like the sun when he carries a cloud on his face; but he looks afterward on the hills of Cona.'- -Before Bosmina sent to offer them the peace of heroes: The host of Erragon brightened in her presence, as a rock before the sudden beams of the sun, when they issue from a broken cloud, divided by the roaring wind.' The remembrance of battles past, and the return of peace, is compared to the sun returning after a storm: Hear the battle of Lora! the sound of its steel is long since past; so thunder on the darkened hill roars, and is no more; the sun returns with his silent beams; the glittering rocks, and green heads of the mountains, smile.'

Fingal in his strength darkening in the presence of war: 'His arm stretches to the foe like the beam of the sickly sun, when his side is crusted with darkness, and he rolls his dismal course throughout the

sky. A young hero exulting in his strength, and rushing towards his foes, exclaims, My beating soul is high! My fame is bright before me, like the streak of light on a cloud when the broad sun comes forth, red traveller of the sky! On another occasion, says a hero, I have met the battle in my youth. My arm could not lift the spear when first the danger rose; but my soul brightened before the war as the green narrow vale, when the sun pours his streamy beams, before he hides his head in a storm!'

But it would exceed the proper bounds of this paper, were I to bring together all the passages which might illustrate my remarks. Without, therefore, quoting the beautiful address to the sun, which finishes the second book of Temora, or that at the beginning of Carricthura, I shall conclude with laying before my readers that sublime passage at the end of Carthon, where the aged bard, thrown into melancholy by the remembrance of that hero, thus pours himself forth:

'I feel the sun, O Malvina! leave me to my rest. The beam of heaven delights to shine on the grave of Carthon; I feel it warm around.

—′ O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers! whence are thy beams, O sun? thy everlasting light! Thou comest forth in thy awful beauty, and the stars hide themselves in the sky: The moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave, but thou thyself movest alone: who can be a companion of thy course? The oaks of the mountain fall; the mountains themselves decay with years; the ocean shrinks, and grows again; the moon herself is lost in heaven; but thou art for ever the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course. When the world is dark with tempest; when thunder rolls, and lightning flies, thou lookest in thy beauty from the

clouds, and laughest at the storm. But to Ossian thou lookest in vain; for he beholds thy beams no more; whether thy yellow hair flows on the eastern clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of the west. But thou art, perhaps, like me, for a season, and thy years will have an end. Thou shalt sleep in thy clouds, careless of the voice of the morning. Exult, then, O sun, in the strength of thy youth! Age is dark and unlovely; it is like the glimmering light of the moon, when it shines through broken clouds; the blast of the north is on the plain, and the traveller shrinks in the midst of his journey.'

G.

No. 14. SATURDAY, MARCH 13, 1779.

Inertibus horis

Ducere sollicite jucunda oblivia vitæ.

HOR.

THERE are some weaknesses, which, as they do not strike us with the malignity of crimes, and produce their effects by imperceptible progress, we are apt to consider as venial, and make very little scruple of indulging. But the habit which apologises for these is a mischief of their own creation, which it behoves us early to resist. We give way to it at first, because it may be conquered at any time; and, at last, excuse ourselves from the contest, because it has grown too strong to be overcome.

Of this nature is indolence, a failing, I had almost said a vice, of all others the least alarming, yet, perhaps, the most fatal. Dissipation and intemperance are often the transient effects of youthful heat, which time allays, and experience overcomes; but indolence 'grows with our growth, and strengthens with our strength,' till it has weakened every exertion of public and private duty; yet so seducing, that its evils are unfelt, and its errors unrepented of.

It is a circumstance of peculiar regret, that this should often be the propensity of delicate and amiable minds. Men unfeeling and unsusceptible, commonly beat the beaten track with activity and resolution; the occupations they pursue and the enjoyments they feel, seldom much disappoint the expectations they have formed; but persons endowed with that nice perception of pleasure and pain which is annexed to sensibility, feel so much undescribable uneasiness in their pursuits, and frequently so little satisfaction in their attainments, that they are too often induced to sit still, without attempting the one or desiring the other.

The complaints which such persons make of their want of that success which attends men of inferior abilities, are as unjust as unavailing. It is from the use, not the possession of talents, that we get on in life: the exertion of very moderate parts outweighs the indecision of the brightest. Men possessed of the first, do things tolerably, and are satisfied; of the last, forbear doing things well, because they have ideas beyond them.

I ap

When I first resolved to publish this paper, plied to several literary friends for their aid in carrying it on. From one gentleman in London, I had, in particular, very sanguine expectations of assistance. His genius and abilities I had early oppor