Such was Calliopé's unhappy son,
Whose tuneful harp could soothe the savage kind,
And bid descending streams forget to run.
Poor youth! no charms in music could he find,
His bride twice lost, to ease his love-fick mind,

When hid beneath the hoary cliffs he lay
On Strymon's banks, and mourn'd his life away.

Such was the eyeless Greek, great facred name! Who snatch'd the son of Thetis from the

grave; And hung his arms high in the house of fame, Vi&torious still, Time's envious pow'r to brave, While funs arise and seek the western wave.

Such he, who in Sicilia's flow'ry plains
Tun'd to the oaten reed his doric strains.

And he, who sung the frantic rule of chance,
Leaving no room for 'wisdom and for choice,
And built the world with atoms drove askance,
Theme all unworthy of a skilful voice :
And Mantua's swan, whose clearer notes rejoice

Th' enravish'd ear; so graceful he relates
Flocks, fields, and swains, and fierce contend-

ing states.

And, like the Greek in fate and in renown,
Britannia's

poet,

born in latter days,
Whofe brow new wreaths and flow'rs celestial crown;
Who sung man's hapless fall, and angels' frays;
And, bold to venture through untrodden ways,

Explor'd the secrets of the frowning night,
And foar'd above the stars with daring flight.

Northall my partial song leave Thee unsaid,
Worthy to mix with this harmonious band,
Thee, gentle Spenser, whom the muses led
Through fancy's painted realms and fairy land,
Where vice and virtue all embody'd stand,

Where useful truths in fair disguise appear,
And more is understood than meets the ear.

Come, condescending goddess, and inpart
A mild assistance to an aking breast :
Exert the force of thy propitious art;
If thou be present, who can be distrest?
Pain seems to smile, and sorrow is at rest;

The thoughts in inad disorder cease to roll,
And still serenity o'erspreads the foul.

See our Author's Remarks on Spenser, inserted in this collection,

By

By thee the youth encourag'd nought to fear,
"Sdeigning ignoble ease and mean repose,
Meets the swift fury of the threat’ning spear,
And follows glory through an host of foes.
Nor canst thou not the din of arms compose :

Thou mak'st the God of war forsake the field,
And drop his lance, and lay aside his Thield.

Thou know'st, in pleasing, how to wound the

mind,
Surpris’d, unguarded, and to love betray'd :
Alas! why art thou to that impe so kind,
That pow'rful impe, in heav'n and earth obey’d?
His shafts strike deep, and want no other aid:

Deep strike his shafts, unerring in their aim,
And his torch burns with unextinguish'd flame,

These are thy triumphs, goddess, this thy might,
Faintly describ'd in far unequal lays.
Me, all unmeet, fond hopes did still incite,
Ambitious by thy name my verse to raise,
And find thy favour, whilst I sung thy praise.

O smile on these endeavours, heav'nly maid !
Sweet is the toil, if with thy smile repaid.

T# ambitious muse with early-daring flight Spurn'd the dull nest, and ventur’d into light; Yet even then, not fondly indiscreet, She burnt a volume where she spar'd a sheet Dwelt with the authors of the golden age, And stole some beauties from the classic page; In modern verse would willingly have shone, And read Pope's poems, and destroy'd her own; Suffer'd no peevish lines to see the day; (Spleen oft compos’d what candour threw away ;) Nor wrong'd herself, nor wrong'd another's name, Too proud to fawn, too honest to defame; Remote, and shelter'd, in the paths the chose; From foolish friends and formidable foes.

Non inelegans effe hoc Epigrammā, præfertim in fine, libens concedo, sed antiquum dubito ; veritus conditum ac cufum effe in officinâ recentioris Poetæ Itali, minimè quidem inepti, quanquam versus secundus delicatas aures, ut durior, possit offendere.

Præcipua pars carminis colores suos, licet lan. guidiori Imitatione, debet optimo Epigrammatic, ubi Atimetus Homonææ,

Si pensare animas finerent crudelia fata,

Et poffet redimi morte aliena falus ;
Quantulacumque meæ debentur tempora vita,

Pensafsem pro té, cara Homoncea, libens.
At nunc, quod pofsum, fugiam lucemque deosque,

Ut te matura per Styga morte fequar.

* Hoc Epigranima edidit Burmannus in Anthol. Latin. Vol. II. Epigr. CXLIII. p. 94. et nostram Inscriptionem in notis laudavit. ** Ultimi, autem, inquit, distichi elegantisfimum colorem forte adoptavit Poeta, nescio quis, in Epitaphio PAETAE, et inter loca conferenda attulit Eurip. Alcefi. 370.

Αλλ' εν εκεισε προσδοκα μ' οίαν θανω,
Και δωμ’ Ποιμαζ, ως ξυνοικήσεσ' εμού.

Verba sunt Admeti, ad Alcestin jam morituram.”