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To these young tyrants,* by themselves misplaced, |In turns appear, to make the vulgar stare,
Combined usurpers on the throne of taste; Till the swoln bubble bursts-and all is air !
To these, when authors bend in humble awe, Nor less new schools of poetry arise,
And hail their voice as truth, their word as law- Where dull pretenders grapple for the prize:
While these are censors, 'twould be sin to spare ; O'er taste awhile these pseudo-bards prevail ;
While such are critics, why should I forbear? Each country book-club bows the knee to Baal,
But yet, so near all modern worthies run,

And, hurling lawful genius from the throne,
'Tis doubtful whom to seek, or whom to shun; Erects a shrine and idol of its own;
Nor know we when to spare, or where to strike, Some leaden calf-but whom it matters not,
Our bards and censors are so inuch alike.

From soaring Southey down to grovelling Stott.

For nature then an English audience felt.

Then should you ask me, why I venture o'er Behold! in various throngs the scribbling crew, The path which Pope and Gifford trod before; For notice eage

long review: If not yet sicken'd, you can still proceed :

Each spurs his jos egasus apace, Go on; my rhyme will tell you as you read. And rhyme and blank maintain an equal race, But hold! | exclaims a friend,-here's some neglect; Sonnets on sonnets crowd, and ode on ode: This-that-and 't other line seem incorrect. And tales of terror jostle on the road : What then ? the self-same blunder Pope has got, Immeasurable measures move along; And careless Dryden-ay—but Pye has not,- For simpering folly loves a varied song, Indeed!—'tis granted, faith!--but what care I? To strange mysterious dullness still the friend, Better to err with Pope, than shine with Pye. Admires the strain she cannot comprehend.


Thus Lays of Minstrelst-may they be the last! Time was, ere yet in these degenerate days,

On half-strung harps whine mournful to the blast. Ignoble themes obtain'd mistaken praise,

While mountain spirits prate to.river sprites, When sense and wit with poesy allied,

That dames may listen to the sound at nights ; No fabled graces, flourish'd side by side ;

And goblin brats, of Gilpin Horner's brood, From the same fount their inspiration drew,

Decoy young border-nobles through the wood, And, rear'd by taste, bloom'd fairer as they grew.

And skip at every step, Lord knows how high, Then, in this happy isle, a Pope's pure strain

And frighten foolish babes, the Lord knows why: Sought the rapt soul to charm, nor sought in vain;

While high-born ladies in their magic cell, A polish'd nation's praise aspired to claim,

Forbidding knights to read who cannot spell, And raised the people's, as the poet's fame.

Despatch a courier to a wizard's grave, Like him great Dryden pour’d the tide of song,

And fight with honest men to shield a knave, In stream less smooth, indeed, yet doubly strong. Then Congreve's scenes could cheer, or Otway's Next view in state, proud prancing on his roan, melt

The golden-crested haughty Marmion,

Now forging scrolls, now foremost in the fight, But why these names, or greater still, retrace, Not quite a felon, yet but half a knight, When all to feebler bards resign their place? The gibbet or the field prepared to grace, Yet to such times our lingering looks are cast, A mighty mixture of the great and base. When taste and reason with those times are past. Now look around, and turn each trifling page, • Stott, better known in the " Morning Post" by the name of Hafiz Survey the precious works that please the age; This personage is al present the most profound explorer of the bathos. I This truth at least let satire's self allow,

remember, when the reigning family left Portugal, a special ode of Master

Stott's, beginning thus : No dearth of bards can be complain'd of now:

(Stott loquitur quoad Hibernin.) The loaded press beneath her labor groans,

“ Princely offspring of Braganza,

Erin greets thee with a stanza," &c. &c. And printers' devils shake their weary bones ;

Also a sonnet to Rats, well worthy of the subjeci, and a most thundering ode, While Southey's epics cram the creaking shelves, commencing as follows: And Little's lyrics shine in hot-press'd twelves.

"Oh ! for'a Lay! loud as the surge fThus saith the preacher: || “Nought beneath the Lord have mercy on us! the “ Lay of the Last Minstrel" was nothing to

That lashes Lapland's sounding shore." sun;

this. Is new,” yet still from change to change we run:

See the " Lay of the Last Minstrel," poesim. Never was any plan mo What varied wonders tempt us as they pass !

incongruous and absurd is the groundwork of this production. The entrance

of Thunder and Lightning prologuizing to Bayes's tragedy unfortunaten The cow-pox, tractors, galvanism, and gas,

takes away the merit of originality from the dialogue between Messieun the Spirits of Flood and Fell in the first canto. Then we have the amiablo

William of Deloraine, " a stark moss-trooper," videlicet, a happy compoual bere represented. At the time this was written (1808) I was personally unach of poacher, sheep-stealer, and highwayman. The propricty of his magical quainted with either. 1916.-MS, note by Lord Byron.

lady's injunction not to read can only be equalled by his candid acknowledge Menors. Jeffrey and Lambe are the alpha and onega, the first and the last ment of his independence of the trammels of spelling, although, to use ha of the Elinburgh Review; the others are mentioned hereafter.

own elegant phrnse, " 'twas his neck-verse at hairbee," i. e. the gallows. • · Stulta est Clerrentia, cum toe ubique

The biography of Gilpin Horner, and the marvellous pedestrian page, who occurras perituræ parcere charte."

travelled twice as fast as his master's horse, without the aid of seven-league Juvenal, Satire I.

boots, are the chef de buores in the improvement of taste. For incident we IMITATION,

have the invisilde, but by no means sparing box on the ear, bestowed on the " Cur tamen hoc libeat potius decurrere campo

page, and the entrance of a knight and charger into the castle, under the Per quem magnus equos Auruuce flexit alumnus

very natural disguise of a wain of hay. Marmion, the hero of the latter Si vacat, et placida satfonem admitutis edam."

romance, is exactly what William of Deloraine would have been bad he

Juvenal, Satire I. been able to read and write. The poem was manufactured for Messn. 1 But hold I exclaims e friend, &e. The following six lines were inserted Constable, Murray, and Miller, worshipful booksellers, in consideration of la the fifth edition.

the receipt of a sum of money and truly, considering the inspiration, it is a $ Thus saith the preacher, &c. The following fourteen lines were inserted very creditable production. ir Mr. Scott will write for him, let him do hia the ricond edition,

best for his paymasters, but not disgrace his genius, which is undoubtech | Eeclesiastes, chap. L

great, by a repetition of black-letter ballad imitations.

And think'st thou, Scott! by rain conceit perchance, Oh! Southey! Southey!* cease thy varied song!
On public taste to foist thy stale romance, A bard may chant too often and too long:
Though Murray with his Miller may combine As thou art strong in verse, in mercy spare !
To yield thy muse just half-a-crown per line? A fourth, alas ! were more than we could bear.
No! when the sons of song descend to trade, But if, in spite of all the world can say,
Their bays are sear, their former laurels fade. Thou still wilt verseward plod thy weary way;
Let such forego the poet's sacred name,

If still in Berkley ballads most uncivil,
Who rack their brains for lucre, not for fame: Thou wilt devote old women to the devil,t
Still for stern Mammon may they toil in vain, The babe unborn thy dread intent may rue:
And sadly gaze on gold they cannot gain! “God help thee,” Southey, and thy readers too.
Such be their meed, such still the just reward
Of prostituted muse and hireling bard !

$Next comes the dull disciple of thy schoo., For this we spurn Apollo's son,

That mild apostate from poetic rule, And bid a long “good nig! Garmion.' The simple Wordsworth, framer of a lay

As soft as evening in his favorite May, These are the themes that claim our plaudits now; Who warns his friend “to shake off toil and trouble These are the bards to whom the muse must bow; And quit his books for fear of growing double;"| While. Milton, Dryden, Pope, alike forgot, Who, both by precept and example, shows Resign their hallow'd bays to Walter Scott. That prose

is verse, and verse is merely prose;

Convincing all, by demonstration plain,
The time has been, when yet the muse was young, Poetic souls delight in prose insane;
When Homer swept the lyre, and Maro sung, And Christmas stories tortured into rhyme
An epic scarce ten centuries could claim,

Contain the essence of the true sublime.
While awe-struck nations hail'd the magic name! Thus, when he tells the tale of Betty Foy,
The work of each immortal bard appears

The idiot mother of “an idiot boy;" The single wonder of a thousand years.t

A moon-struck, silly lad, who lost his way, Empires have moulder'd from the face of earth, And, like his bard, confounded night with day; I Tongues have expired with those who gave them so close on each pathetic part he dwells, birth,

And each adventure so sublimely tells, Without the glory such a strain can give,

That all who view the “idiot in his glory,
As even in ruin bids the language live.

Conceive the bard the hero of the story,
Not so with us, though minor bards content,
On one great work a life of labor spent :

Shall gentle Coleridge pass unnoticed here,
With eagle pinions soaring to the skies,

To turgid ode and tumid stanza dear? Behold the ballad-monger Southey rise !

Though themes of innocence amuse him best, 'To him let Camoens, Milton, Tasso yield,

Yet still obscurity's a welcome guest. Whose annual strains, like armies, take the field. If Inspiration should her aid refuse First in the ranks see Joan of Arc advance, To him who takes a pixy for a muse,** The scourge of England and the boast of France ! Yet none in lofty numbers can surpass Though burnt by wicked Bedford for a witch, The bard who soars to elegize an ass. Behold her statue placed in glory's niche;

So well the subject suits his noble mind, Her fetters burst, and just released from prison, He brays, the laureat of the long-ear'd kind.ft A virgin phenix from her ashes risen. Next see tremendous Thalaba come on,

• We beg Mr. Southry's pardon : "Marloc dis lains the degrading title a Arabia's monstrous, wild and wond'rous son ;

epie." See his preface. Why is epic degraded ? and by when ? Certainly Domdaniel's dread destroyer, who o'erthrew

the late romaunts of Masters Cottle, Laurent Pye, Ogilvy, Hole, and gentle More mad magicians than the world e'er knew.

Mistress Cowley, have not exalted the cpic mitise; but as Mr. Southey'

poem " disduins the appellation," allow us to ask-has he substituted any Immortal hero! all thy foes o'ercome,

thing better instead? or must liebe content to rival Sir Richard Blackmore in For ever reign-the rival of Tom Thumb!

the quantity as well as the quality of his verse? Since startlod metre fied before thy face,

+ See "The Old Woman of Berkley," a bullad, by Mr. Southey, wherein sa

aged gentlrwoman is carried away by Beelzebuli, on a "high-trotting hatre." Well wert thou doom'd the last of all thy race ! 1 The last line, "God help thee,” is an evident plagiarisin fron the Andi Well might triumphant genii bear thee hence, Jacobin to Mr. Southey, on his dacıylics : Illustrious conquerer of common sense !

" Gol belp thee, silly one !"

Poetry of the Anti-jacobin, p. 23. Now, last and greatest Madoc spreads his sails,

Against this passage on Wordsworth and Coleridge, Lord Byron la Cacique in Mexico and prince in Wales:

written " unjust."

| Lyrical Ballude, p. 4.--"The Tables Turned." Stanu I. Tells us strange tales, as other travellers do,

“Up, up, my friend, and clear your looks; More old than Mandeville's and not so true.

Why all this toil and trouble?
Up, up, my friend, and quit your booke,

Or sirely you'll grow double." • "Goxt night to Marmion"-the pathetic and also prophetie exclamation | Mr. W. in his preface lalwrs hard to prove that prose and verse & Henry Blount, Esquire, on the death of bonest Marnsion.

much the same; and certainly his precepta and practice are wridely con † As the Odys'y is so closely connected with the story of the Iliad, they formable. may almost be clased as one grand historical poem. In alluding to Milton

" And thus to Betty's questions, he and Tasso, we consider the “ Paradise Lost," and "Grerusalemme Liberata,"

Merle answer like a traveller bold, na their standard efforts, since neither the “Jerusalemn Conquered" of the

The cock did crow, to-whoo, lo-whoo, Italian, nor the "Paradise Regained" of the English bard, obtained a pro

And the suu did shine so cold," &c. &c. portionate celebrity to their former poems. Query: Which of Mr. Southey's

Lyrical Ballads, p. 129. will survive?

• Coleridge's Poerns, p. 11, Songs of the Pixies, i.e. Devonshire faire 1 Thalaba, Mr. Southey's second poem, is written in open defiance of prep. 42, we have "Lines to a Young Lady;" and p. 52, " Lines to A young sedent and poetry. Mr. S. wished to produce something novel, and succeeded Ass." to a miracle. Joan of Are was marvellous enough, but Thalaba was one of 11 He brays, the laureat of the long-ear'd t'nd,-Altered by Lord Byron wiowe poems " which," in the words of Punson, “will be read when Hoxer in his last revision of the satire. In all former e litious the line stood, sad Virgil are forgotten, but-not sill then."

" A fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind."

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And art thou not their prince, harmonious Bowles! |

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Oh! wonder-working Lewis! monk, or bard, Whether he spin poor couplets into plays,
Who fain wouldst make Parnassus a church-yard ! Or damn the dead with purgatorial praise,
Lo! wreaths of yew, not laurel, bind thy brow, His style in youth or age is still the same,
Thy muse a sprite, Apollo's sexton thou !

For ever feeble and for ever tame.
Whether on ancient tombs thou takest thy stand, Triumphant first see “ Temper's Triumphs" shine
By gibb'ring spectres hail'd thy kindred band; At least I'm sure they triumph'd over mine.
Or tracest chaste description on thy page, Of “Music's Triumphs," all who read my swear
To please the females of our modest age:

That luckless music never triumph'd there.*
All hail, M. P.!* from whose infernal brain
Thin sheeted phantoms glide, a grisly train ; Moravians, rise! bestow some meet reward
At whose command "grim women” throng in On dull devotion---lo! the Sabbath bard,

Sepulchral Grahame, pours his notes sublime
And kings of fire, of water, and of clouds, In mangled prose, nor e'en aspires to rhyme;
With "small gray men,” “wild yagers," and what- Breaks into blank the Gospel of St. Luke,t

And boldly pilfers from the Pentateuch; To crown with honor thee and Walter Scott; And, undisturb'd by conscientious qualms, Again all hail! if tales like thine may please, Perverts the Prophets, and purloins the Psalms. I St. Luke alone can vanquish the disease; Even Satan's self with thee might dread to dwell, Hail, Sympathy! thy soft idea brings And in thy skull discern a deeper hell.

A thousand visions of a thousand things, [years.

And shows, still whimpering through threescore of Who in soft guise, surrounded by a choir

The maudlin prince of mournful sonneteers. Of virgins melting, not to Vesta's fire, With sparkling eyes and cheek by passion flush'd, Thou first, great oracle of tender souls ? Strikes his wild lyre, whilst listening dames are || Whether thou sing'st with equal ease, and grief, hush'd ?

The fall of empires, or a yellow leaf; 'Tis Little ! young Catullus of his day,

Whether thy muse most lamentably tells As sweet, but as immoral, in his lay!

What merry sounds proceed from Oxford bells. I Grieved to condemn, the muse must still be just,

Or, still in bells delighting, finds a friend Nor spare melodious advocates of lust.

In every chime that jingled from Ostend; Pure is the flame which o'er her altar burns; Ah! how much juster were thy muse's hap, From grosser incense with disgust she turns : If to thy bells thou wouldst but add a cap! Yet kind to youth, this expiation o'er,

Delightful Bowles ! still blessing and still est, She bids thee “mend thy line,t and sin no more. All love thy strain, but children like it best:

'Tis thine, with gentle Little's moral song, For thee, translator of the tinsel song,

To soothe the mania of the amorous throng! To whom such glittering ornaments belong,

With thee our nursery damsels shed their tears, Hiberniau Strangford! with thine eyes of blue, I

Ere miss as yet completes her infant years : And boasted locks of red or auburn hue,

But in her teens thy whining powers are vain; Whose plaintive strain each love-sick miss admires, She quits poor Bowles for Little's purer strain. And o'er harmonious fustiang half expires,

Now to soft themes thou scornest to confine Learn, if thou canst, to yield thine author's sense,

The lofty numbers of a harp like thine, Nor vend thy sonnets on a false pretence.

“ Awake a louder and a loftier strain,"'** Think'st thou to gain thy verse a higher place,

Such as none heard before, or will again! By dressing Camoens|| in a suit of lace! Mend, Strangford ! mend thy morals and thy taste ; • Hayley's (wo most notorinis verse productions are “ Triumphs of

Temper," and "Triumphs of Music " He has also written much comedy Be warm, but pure; be amorous, but chaste:

in rhyrne, epistles, &c., &c. As he is rather an elegant writer of notes and Cease to deceive; thy pilfer'd harp restore,

biography, let iis recommend Pope's advice to Wycherley i Mr. H.'. conNor teach the Lusian bard to copy Moore.

sideration, viz. " to convert his poetry into prose," which may be easily done by taking away the final syllable of each couplet.

“ Dreaks into blank the Gospel of St. Luke." Behold !-ye tarts! one moment spare the text. In the first edition, Hayley's last work, and worst-until his next;

« Breaks into mawkish lines each holy book." Mr. Grahame has poured forth two volumes of cant, under the name of

" Sabbath Walks," and " Biblical Pictures." • " For every one kuows little Matt's an M. P."-See a poem to Mr.

Sall whimpering through threescore of years.--Thas arred in the

fifth edition. The original reading was, Lai, in The Slatestnan, supposed to be written by Mr. Jekyll. † In the original manuscript,

“Dissolved in thine owa melting tears." * Mend thy life." 1 The render, who may wish for an explanation of this, may refer to

1 Whether thou sing 'st, &c.- This couplet, in all the editions before the "Strangtord'. Camoena,” page 127, note to page 56, or to the last page of fifth, was printed,

“ Whether in sighing winds thou seek'st reliel, the Edinburgh Review of Strangford's Camoens. Fuation; in the first edition, nonsense.

Or consolation in a yellow leaf." I It is also to be remnarted, that the things given to the public as poems of

1 See Bowles's Sonnets, &c.--"Sonnet to Oxford," and “Stann ou Cambers are no more to be found in the original Portugese, than in the hearing the Bells of Ostend." Bongs of Solomon.

** " Awake a louder," &c., &c., is the first line in Bowles's “Spirit of 1

Discovery;" a very spirited and pretty dwarf epic. Among other exquisita * Bebold ye tarts i one moment spare his text

lines we have the following: Hayley's last work, and work until his next;

" A kise
Whether he spins poor couplets into plays,

Stole on the list'ning silence, never yet
Or damms the dead with purgatorial praise."

Here heard; they trembled even as if the power," &c., &c. So emended by Lord Byron in the fifth edition of this mtire. The lines That is, the woods of Madeira trembled to a kiss, very much astonished, vere originally printed :

well they might be, at such a phenomenon. " In many marble-cover'd volumnes view

(Misquoted and misunderstood by me; but not intentionally. It was noj Hayley, in vain attempting something new;

the "woods," bart the people in them who treinbled--why, Heaven only Whether he spins his comedies in rhyme,

known-unless they were overheard making the prodigious smack --MS. Ox crawl, as Wood and Barclay walk, 'gainst time' note by Lord Byron, 1816.)

Where all discoveries jumbled from the flood, Baotian Cottle, rich Bristowa's boast,
Since first the leaky ark reposed in mud,

Imports old stories from the Cambrian coast,
By more or less, are sung in every book,

And sends his goods to market-all alive! From Captain Noah down to Captain Cook. Lines forty thousand, cantos twenty-five! Nor this alone; but, pausing on the road, Fresh fish from Helicon ! * who'll buy! who'll buy! The bard sighs forth a gentle cpisode ;*

The precious bargain's cheap-in faith not I.
And gravely tells-attend, each beauteous miss !- + Your turtle-feeder's verse must needs be flat,
When first Madeira trembled to a kiss.

Though Bristol bloat him with the verdant fat;
Bowles ! in thy memory let this precept dwell, If Commerce fills the purse, she clogs the brain,
Stick to thy sonnets, man! at least they sell.+ And Amos Cottle strikes the lyre in vain.
But if some new-born whim, or larger bribe, In him an author's luckless lot behold,
Prompt thy crude brain, and claim thee for a scribe; Condemn'd to make the books which once de sold
If chance some bard, though once by dunces fear'd, Oh, Amos Cottle -Phæbus ! what a name
Now, prone in dust, can only be revered ;

To fill the speaking trump of future fame!
If Pope whose fame and genius from the first Oh, Amos Cottle! for a moment think
Have foil'd the best of critics, needs the worst, What meagre profits spring from pen and ink!
Do thou essay; each fault, each failing scan; When thus devoted to poetic dreams,
The first of poets was, alas! but man.

Who will peruse thy prostituted reams?
Rake from each ancient dunghill ev'ry pearl, Oh pen perverted ! paper misapplied !
Consålt Lord Fanny, and confide in Curll; 1 Had Cottle I still adorn'd the counter's side,
Let all the scandals of a former age

Bent o'er the desk, or, born to useful toils,
Perch on thy pen, and flutter o'er thy page; Been taught to make the paper which he soils,
Affect a candor which thou canst not feel,

Plough'd, delved, or plied the oar with lusty limb, i Clothe envy in the garb of honest zeal ;

He had not sung of Wales, nor I of him.g Write, as if St. John's soul could still inspire, And do for hate what Mallet, did for hire. As Sisyphus against the infernal steep Oh! had'st thou lived in that congenial time, Rolls the huge rock whose motions ne'er may sleep To rave with Dennis, and with Ralph to rhyme ; || So up thy hill, ambrosial Richmond, heaves Throng'd with the rest around his living head, Dull Maurice || all his granite weight of leaves : Not raised thy hoof against the lion dead; Smooth-solid monuments of mental pain! A meet reward had crown'd thy glorious gains, The petrifactions of a plodding brain, [again 1 And link'd thee to the Dunciad for thy pains.** That, ere they reach the top, fall lumbering back # Another epic! Who inflicts again

With broken lyre, and cheek serenely pale, More books of blank upon the sons of men ?

Lo! sad Alcæus wanders down the vale ;

Though fair they rose, and might have bloom'd at • The episode above alluded to is the story of "Robert a Machin" and

last, " Aune d'Arfet," a pair of constant lovers, who performed the kiss above mentioned, that started the woods of Madeira.

His hopes have perish'd by the northern blast: t * Stick to thy sonnets, man kat least they sell :

Nipp'd in the bud by Caledonian gales,
Or take the only path that open lies

His blossoms wither as the blast prevails !
For modern worthies who would hope to rise :
Fix on some well-knowu name, and, bit by bit,

O'er his lost works let classic Sheffield weep!
Pare of the merits of his worth and wit;

May no rude hand disturb their early sleep !!
On each alike employ the critic's knife,
And when a comment fails, prefix a life;
Hint certain failings, faults before unknown,

Yet say! why should the bard at once resign
Review forgotten lies, and add your own;

His claim to favor from the sacred nine?
Let no discase, let no misfortune 'scape,
And print, if luckily deformed, his shape :

For ever startled by the mingled how]
Thus shall the world, quite undeceived at Inst,

Of northern wolves, that still in darkness prowl;
Cleave to their present wits, and quit their paat;

A coward brood, which mangle as they prey,
Bards once revered no more with favor view,
But give the modern sonneteers their due :

** By hellish instinct, all that cross their way;
Thus with the dead may living merit cope,

Thus Bowles may triumph o'er the shade of Pope."
In the first edition, the observations on Dowles ended with these lines,

• Fresh Ash from Helicon !_" Helicon " is a mountain, and not a fiab which were written by a friend of Lord Byron,' and omitted when the satire pond. It should have been " Hippoorene."-MS. note by Lord Byron

1816, was published with the author's name. The following fifty-five vers:s, containing the conclusion of the passage on Bowles, and the notices of Cottle and

† Your turtle feeder's perse, &c.—This couplet was altered in the Brick

edition. It originally stood : Maurice, were then printed for the first time.

« Too much in turtle Bristol's sons delight, Curll is one of the heroes of the Dunciad, and was a book eller, Lord Fanny is the poetical name of Lord Hervey, author of " Lines to the Imitator

Too much o'er bowls of sack prolong the night," Horace."

* Mr. Cottle, Amos, Joseph, I dou't know which, but one or both, onde f Lord Bolingtroke hired Mallet to traduce Pope after his docenue, because sellen of books they did not write, and now writers of books that do not sell, the poet had retained some copics of a work by Lord Bolingtroke, (the have published a pair of epics. “ Alfred," (poor Alfred ! Pye has been al Patriot King,) which that splendid, but malignant genius, had ordered to be him too!) " Alfred," and the “ Fall of Cambria." dest1

$ He had not sung of Wales, nor I of him-aw some letter of dya I was the critic, and Ralph the rhymester.

fellow (Joseph Cottle) to an unfortunate postess, whose productions, which " Silence, ye wolves ! while Ralph to Cynthia howls,

the poor woman by no means thought vainly of, he attacked to roughly and Making night hideous : answer him, ye owls!

bitterly, that I could hardly resist sailing him, even were it unjast, which it Dunciad,

is nol-for verily be is an ass.-MS. nole by Lord Byron, 1816. And linu'd thee to the Dunciad for thy pains.-Too savage all this on

| Mr. Maurice hath manufactured the component parts of a ponderou Buwles.--MS. note by Lord Byron. 1816.

quarto upon the beauties of " Richmond Hill," and the like:- also take ** See Bowles's late edition of Pope's works, for which le roccived three in a charming view of Turnham Green, Hammersmith, Brentford, Old and bundred pounds: thus Mr. B. has experienced how much easier it is to profil New, and the parts adjacent. by the reputation of another than to elevate his own.

Poor Montgomery I though praised by every English Review, has bees 11 Another epic —Opposite this passage on Joseph and Amos Cottle, Lord bitterly reviled by the Edinburgh. After all

, the bard of Shefbeld is a maa Byron las wetten, " All right."

of considerable genius: his “Wanderer of Switzerland," is worth a thousand

“Lyrical bo "ade," and at least fifty" degraded epics." • Hobhouse

** See Lord Byron's letter to Mr. Mury, June 13, 1813, volume 2

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Aged or young, the living or the dead,

Nay last, not least, on that portentous morn, No mercy find-these harpies must be fed. The sixteenth story, where himself was born, Why do the injured unresisting yield

His patrimonial garret, fell to ground, The calm possession of their native field ? And pale Edina shudder'd at the sound: Why tamely thus before their fangs retreat, Strew'd were the streets around with milk-white Nor hunt the bloodhounds back to Arthur's Seat?*


Flow'd all the Canongate with inky streams; Health to immortal Jeffrey! once, in name, This of his candor seem'd the sable dew, England could boast a judge almost the same; That of his valor show'd the bloodless hue; In soul so like, so merciful, yet just,

And all with justice deem'd the two combined Some think that Satan has resign'd his trust, The mingled emblems of his mighty mind. And given the spirit to the world again,

But Caledonia's goddess hover'd o'er To sentence letters, as he sentenced men. The field, and saved him from the wrath of Moore; With hand less mighty, but with heart as black, From either pistol snatch'd the vengeful lead, With voice as willing to decree the rack ;

And straight restored it to her favorite's head: Bred in the courts betimes, though all that law That head, with greater than magnetic pow'r, As yet hath taught him is to find a flaw;

Caught it, as Danaë caught the golden show'r, Since well instructed in the patriot school And, though the thickening dross will scarce reine, To rail at party, though a party tool,

Augments its ore, and is itself a mine.
Who knows, if chance his patrons should restore My son," she cried, “ ne'er thirst for gore again,
Back to the sway they forfeited before,

Resign the pistol, and resume the pen;
His scribbling toils some recompense may meet, O'er politics and poesy preside,
And raise this Daniel to the judgment seat? + Boast of thy country, and Britannia's guide ?
Let Jeffries' shade indulge the pious hope, For long as Albion's heedless sons submit,
And greeting thus, present him with a rope: Or Scottish taste decides on English wit,
"Heir to my virtues! man of equal mind! So long shall last thine unmolested reign,
Skill'd to condemn as to traduce mankind, Nor any dare to take thy name in vain.
This cord receive, for thee reserved with care, Behold, a chosen band shall aid thy plan,
To wield in judgment, and at length to wear." And own thee chieftain of the critic clan.

First in the oat-fed phalanx * shall be seen
Health to great Jeffrey! Heaven preserve his life, The travellid Thane, Athenian Aberdeen.t
To flourish on the fertile shores of Fife,

Herbert shall wield Thor's hammer, I and sometimes, And guard it sacred in its future wars,

In gratitude, thou'lt praise his rugged rhymes. Since authors sometimes seek the field of Mars !

Smug Sydney ý too thy bitter page shall seek, Can none remember that eventful day, I

And classic Hallam,|| much renown'd for Greek ; That ever glorious, almost fatal fray,

Scott may perchance his name and influence lend, When Little's leadless pistol met his eye,

And paltry Pillans I shall traduce his friend; And Bow-street myrmidons stood laughing by ? 5 While gay Thalia's luckless votary, Lambe, ** Oh, day disastrous ! On her firm-set rock, Damn'd like the devil, devil-like will damn.tt Dunedin's castle felt a secret shock:

Known be thy name, unbounded be thy sway! Dark roll'd the sympathetic waves of Forth, Thy Holland's banquets shall each toil repay; Low groan'd the startled whirlwinds of the north ; Tweed ruffled half his wave to form a tear,

-Oct-fed phalani.-80 altered in the fifth edition. The origina The other half pursued its calm career; ||

reading was, “ ranks illustrious." Arthur's steep summit nodded to its base,

| His lordship has been much abroad, is a member of the Athenian

Society, and reviewer of “Gell's Topography of Troy." The surly Tolbooth scarcely kept her place.

Mr. Herbert is a translator of Icelandic and other poetry. One of the The Tolbooth felt-for marble sometimes can, principal pieces is " Song on the Recovery of Thor's Hammer; " the On such occasions, feel as much as man

translation is a pleasant chant in the volgar tongue, and endeth thus :

“ Instead of money and rings, I wol, The Tolbooth felt defrauded of his charms,

The hammer's bruises were her lot, If Jeffery died, except within her arms: 1

Thus Odin's son his hammer got."

$ The Rev. Sydney Smith, the reputed author of Peter Piymley's Letten, • Arthur's seat; the hill which overhange Edinburgh.

and sundry criticisms. And raise this Daniel to the judgment-seat.-Too ferociou this is | Mr. Hallam reviewed Payne Knight's "Taste," and was exceedingly mere insanity. MS. note by Lord Byron. 1816.

severe on some Greek verses therein: it was not discovered that the lines Can none rernember, &c. --All this is bad, because personal.-MS. nota were Pindar's till the press rendered it impossible to cancel the critique, which by Lord Byron. 1816.

still stands an everlasting monument of Hallam's ingenuity. 6 la 1806, Menars. Jeffrey and Moore met at Chalk-Farm. The duel The sahi Hallan is incensed because be is falsely accused, seeing that he was prevented by the interference of the magistracy; and, on examination, never dineth at Folland House. If this be true, I am sorry-nol for having the balls of the pistols were found to have evaporated. This incident gave said so, but on his account, as I understand his lordship's feasts are preferatia Kcasion to much waggery in the daily prints.

to his compositions.-If he did not review Lord Holland's performance, I am I am informed that Mr. Moore published at the time a disavowal of the glad, because it must have been painful to read, and irksomne to praiso it. I Matements in the newspapers, as far as regarded himself; and la justice to Mr. Hallam will tell me who did review it, the real name shall find a place Stan 1 mention this circumstance. As I never heard of it before, I cannot in the text; provided, nevertheless, the said name be of two orthodox musical peate the particulara, and was only made acquainted with the fact very sylables, and will come into the verse : till then, Hallam must stand for want lately.-November 4, 1811.

of a better. 1 The Tweed here behaved with proper decorum; it would have been | Pilans is a tutor at Eaton. highly reprehensible in the English half of the river to have shown the ** The Hon. G. Lambe reviewed "Beresford'. Miseries," and is moreover Finallest symptom of apprehension.

author of a farce enacted with much applause at the Prtory, Stanmore ; and This display of sympathy on the part of the Tolbooth (the principal damned with great expedition at the late theatre, Covent Garden. It was prison in Edintrigh), which endly seems to have been most affected on this entitled, " Whistle for it." occasion, is much to be commended. It was to be apprehended, that the 1 Damn'd like the deal, devil-like wila samn.-The line stood, in all many unhappy criminals executed in the front might have rendered the editions before the fifth, Bifice zore callous. She is said to be of the softer sex, because her delicacy

As he himself was damn'd shall try to damn." or feeling on this day was truly feminine, though, like most feminine Impulses, perhaps a little selisti.


The we ended here in the first edition.

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