the other; and this we see exemplified in the early poems of Demosthenes and Cicero. The latter was esteemed a poet of great merit; but when he became immersed in business, his poetry fell into obscurity, and his eloquence rose from its tomb. Juvenal has treated with great ridicule the poems of Cicero."

The following short poem, the hasty effusion of Mr. Curran's pen, was produced on this occasion: A party of gentlemen had dined with a friend; in the enjoyment of the table they became (as Irish gentlemen will) rather indulgent; and, having continued till a late hour, it was proposed that they (according to their remaining powers) should produce something worthy of so happy a day. Mr. Curran's Muse dictated these verses :—

66 TO SLEEP.

"O Sleep! awhile thy power suspending,
Weigh not yet my eyelid down;
For Mem❜ry see, with Eve attending,
Claims a moment for her own.

I know her by her robe of mourning,
I know her by her faded light,
When, faithful with the gloom returning,
She comes to bid a sad Good night!

Oh! let me hear, with bosom swelling,
While she sighs o'er time that's past;
Oh! let me weep while she is telling

Of joys that pine and pangs that last.
And now, O Sleep! while grief is streaming,
Let thy balm sweet Peace restore,
While fearful Hope through tears is beaming,
Soothe to rest that wakes no more."

From the foregoing sketch it will be seen, that Law and Poetry are, on the whole, incompatible; and that eminence in the one is very rarely attained by those who are celebrated in the other. The Laws of Poetry, unlike those of our country, cannot be made to yield before the pleadings of the greatest lawyers; nor is the Court of the Muses to be biassed in its decisions by "appeals" to precedents, or "pleas," however "special."

POETICAL TRIBUTES ON THE DEATH OF

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

IN a MS. at the British Museum, No. 4712, in Ayscough's Catalogue, there are the following verses on the Death of Queen Elizabeth, which will be admired for their quaintness.

"BRITANNIE LACHRYME.

"Weep, little Isle! and for thy Mistress' death, Swim in a double sea of brackish water!

Weep, little world! for great Elizabeth,

Daughter of warre,

for Mars himself begat her!

Mother of Peace, for she bore the latter.

She was and is (what can there more be said?)

On earth the first, in heaven the second maid."

On the Funeral of the Maiden Queen, a poet of the day described the national grief in the following stanzas:

"The Queen was brought by water to Whitehall,

At every stroke the oars did tears let fall;

More clung about the barge; fish under water
Wept out their eyes of pearle, and swome blind after.
I think the bargemen might, with easier thighs,

Have row'd her thither in her people's eyes;

For, howsoe'er, thus much my thoughts have scann'd,
Sh'ad come by water, had she come by land."

VOL. II.

E

RULES FOR BECOMING A POET.

THE following observations on poetry were written in the Turkish language, by Nabi Effendi, a celebrated poet, who died about the beginning of the eighteenth century. If modern British poets would subject themselves to the standard thus prescribed, they would either be less numerous, or more valued.

verse.

"My son, before you attempt to run the painful race of poetry, examine your strength. If you perceive within yourself that divine fire which glows in the bosom of great poets, give yourself up to your genius. First enrich your mind by reading the works of those who have excelled in Nesi and Baki are in the first rank of the Turkish poets. Persia, the fruitful mother of genius, has produced a great number of good poets. What strength and purity in the works of Saib and Kellmi! Ciami, Nouri, and Khakani abound with beauties innumerable and inexpressible. Sali, like the soft nightingale, fills the groves with sounds of melody. Chevket, like the eagle, bears his ambitious wings to heaven. Hafiz sings of love, and the sweet juices of the vine, while Atter aids the cause of virtue, by the sublime precepts of morality. The Arabs have been no less ardent in the cultivation of poetry than the Persians. They have even more of that enthusiasm, that poetic furor, which seizes, inflames, and elevates the heart. Their style is impetuous: their strong imagination

paints every object with force; and their poetry is impregnated with all the warmth of their climate. Their works are like diamonds, that dart a thousand rays; but, to taste their beauty, it is necessary thoroughly to understand their language. Whoever would attain to perfection, should have a consummate knowledge of the Arabic and the Persian. Those two languages are the wings on which a poet must rise into the air; without them he will grovel on the ground.

"Would you wish, my son, that your verse should not only be admired by your contemporaries, but pass to posterity, never sacrifice sense to rhyme. Convey some useful truth under some ingenious emblem, or fine allegory. Let your works have a general tendency to promote the virtues of mankind. The garden of poetry is dry and uugenial, if it be not watered with the streams of philosophy.

"The greater part of our ordinary poets speak only of lilies, locks of hair, nightingales, and wine. If they describe some imaginary beauty with which they are smitten, they compare her sometimes to the spring, sometimes to an enamelled mead. Her lips are like the rose, and her complexion resembles the jessamine. Cold and servile imitators, their languid imagination supplies them with nothing new. They cannot march, except in a beaten path.

"Truth, my son, hath no need of severity to make us hear her voice. Never employ your muse in satire. A professed satirist is feared by all mankind: all are apprehensive of the malignity of his pen. He has hatred and envy to encounter, and many reasons to repent his caustic genius."