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Of Paradise, pictured in flowers and Hang the pure chrystal clouds of those regions of love.


shine-at this hour

If the glimpses of bliss, all delight, all Nor does Earth less enchantingly
E'er flashed on the soul in its loveliest The humming-bird shoots from the
tree to the flower;

vision; If the spirit partakes of the light it And the beams, ever busy, illume as he springs,


Its essence compounded of roses and And betray all the topaz and gold of


With a bound, such as Fancy must every where make

his wings;

Whilst the falling of waters-green rising of hills,

mer distils,

When its pulse to new beauties is And the soul-melting odours that sumsweetly awake, To the land let it fly, where true love- Combine all their beauties, and sweetly liness blesses


The heart that will haunt her, the A bliss to the eye, and a balm to the

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"Tis the clime of the East! Oh! how And the evening :-how beauteous bright to behold when brilliancy dies

All the mildness of morning now melt In a milder luxuriance o'er Easterly skies,

into gold!

Each shadowy tint that the night left To behold the sweet pillow on which behind, it reposes Now brightens, like Hope, on the fears In the west, tinged with lilies halfof mankind; mingled with roses. And the daylight is hailed by the Like the soft shining maid that is languidly stealing

nightingale's hymn, And the purple pomegranate looks All the ore of the heart, in th' endarkly and dim; chantment of feeling;

The camel, just roused, now awakes So the calmness of evening, more tenderly glows,

from the dells, Whilst Echo repeats his light tinkling Than the radiance of pomp that a daybeam bestows,

of bells :

And the Jessamine odours that rise Oh, how lovely looks light' and its from the bowers, shadows how tender,

And the hues of new beauty, all glow- When fades into twilight this farewell ing in flowers, All breathe, and all smile, as if they Like the music that fancy will often

had been born

of splendor !

times hear,

To welcome, in bliss, the delights of In her dreams of delight, indistinctly more dear;

the morn.

So the whispers of melody-far, far Snowy-neck'd Maid! to thy couch I

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am creeping,

Awake not! awake not!-be gen

tle my tread!

A world I would give to behold thee, thus sleeping,

With the wreath of sweet roses that blush 'round thy head.

In the quick, twinkling motion that I will cut me a lock from the beautiful

plays upon stars:

And the pilgrim his beads at this holy

hour counts,

In the cool cedar groves, where the Hyaline founts

Through beds of pure amber roll mellowly on,

In a sweet pensive murmur, when

daylight is gone;

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The stars, which in innocence slumber beneath,

And beauteously wild, with their front- And oh! let me tenderly kiss like a

lets of pearls,

From their bright mountain homes

come the Jessamere girls.


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Like the flower that till night all its Snowy-neck'd Maiden! while thus I

loveliness keeps,

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lean o'er thee,

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ON A YOUNG LADY SLEEPING. Thy writings, where satire and moral

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To the Editor of the Oxford Enter

taining Miscellany.

SIR,-I have selected the following from my Scrap Book, and shall feel obliged by your inserting it in your Miscellany.


TEN different modes of rendering

When Jove his vengeance hurl'd on
Phrygia's shore,

(Her tow'rs, her glory, and her race
no more!)

Revolving time now brought the des

tin'd hour

To god-built Ilion, and the Phrygian power.

Lo time fulfils the mandate of the


into English verse the three first | And sacred Troy in smoking ruin lies! lines of the 3rd book of the

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Perhaps some of your ingenious Correspondents may feel disposed to satisfy my curiosity by answer

When Priam's line celestial vengeance found, And Troy's proud walls lay smoking ing the following Query, if you will allow it a place in your Enter

on the ground.

When hostile gods o'erthrew the Phry-taining Miscellany; by doing

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When Troy, by heav'n's high synod well of, generally characterises

was decreed

To fall, and Priam's perjur'd race to


When Priam's house the price of sin

had paid,

And Ilion's glories in the dust were laid.

When Troy, abandon'd by celestial

Laid in the dust her venerable tow'rs.
No. 2, Vol. I. June 16, 1824.

the man of sense?


We beg to acknowledge the receipt. of ACADEMICUS's Letter. We are obliged to him for his encomiums and shall be happy to receive his promised favours.

[Printed and Published by F. Trash, Oxford


unabated ardour by the people, and are still read with animation

by the scholar. They interest the old and the young, the gallery and At their representation the appethe pit, the people and the critic. tite is never palled-expectation never disappointed. The changes of fashion have not cast him into the shades; the variations of language have not rendered him obsolete.

It seems to be a kind of respect due to the memory of excellent men, especially of those whom their wit and learning have made famous, to deliver some account of themselves, as well as their works, to posterity. For this reason, how fond do we see some people of discovering any little personal story of the great men of antiquity! their families, the common accidents of their lives, and even their shape, make, and Exhausted worlds, and then imagin'd features, have been the subject of critical inquiries. How trifling soever this curiosity may seem to be, it is certainly very natural; and we are hardly satisfied with an account of any remarkable person, till we have heard him And unresisted passion storm'd the described even to the

clothes very he wears. As for what relates to men of letters, the knowledge of an author may sometimes conduce to the better understanding his book; and though the works of Shakspeare may seem to many not to want a comment, yet we fancy some little account of this great man may not be thought uninteresting.

If ever there was a man born for immortality, it was William Shakspeare. He was, indeed, "not for an age, but for all time." The author of thirty-six plays, of which not fewer than twenty-two are still favourites with the age; his dramas, after a lapse of two

centuries, are still witnessed with

"Each change of many-colour'd life he drew,


Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign,

And panting time toil'd after him in vain;

His powerful strokes presiding truth impress'd,


William Shakspeare was the son of Mr. John Shakspeare, and was born at Stratford-on-Avon, in Warwickshire, in April, 1564. His father, who was a considerable dealer in wool, had so large a family, ten children in all, that though he was his eldest son, he could give him no better education than his own employment. He had bred him, it is true, for some time at a free school, where, it is probable, he acquired what Latin he was master of: but, the narrowness of his circumstances, and the want of his assistance at home, forced his father to withdraw him from thence, and unhappily prevented his further pro


fallen into ill company, and amongst them, some, that made a frequent practice of deer-stealing, engaged him more than once in robbing a park that belonged to Sir Thomas Lucy, of Charlecote, near Stratford. For this he was prosecuted by that gentleman, as he thought, somewhat too severely; and, in order to revenge that

ficiency in that language. It is without controversy, that in his works we scarce find traces of any thing that looks like an imitation of the ancients. Whether his ignorance of the ancients were a disadvantage to him or no, may admit of a dispute: for, though the knowledge of them might have made him more correct, yet, it is not improbable, but that the regu-ill usage, he made a ballad upon larity and deference for them, which would have attended that correctness, might have restrained some of that fire, impetuosity, and even beautiful extravagance, which we admire in Shakspeare.

him. It is at this time, and upon this accident, that he is said to have made his first acquaintance in the playhouse. He was received into the company then in being, at first in a very mean rank, but his admirable wit, and the natural turn of it to the stage, soon distinguished him, if not as an extraordinary actor, yet as an excellent writer. Whatever the particular times of his writing were, the people of his age, who began to

ons of this kind, could not but be highly pleased to see a genius arise amongst them of so pleasurable, so rich a vein, and so plenti

Upon his leaving school, he seems to have given entirely into that way of living which his father proposed to him; and, in order to settle in the world after a family manner, he thought fit to marry while he was yet very young. His wife was the daugh-grow wonderfully fond of diversiter of one Hathaway, said to have been a substantial yeoman in the neighbourhood of Stratford. In this kind of settlement he continued for some time, till an extra-fully capable of furnishing their vagance that he was guilty of favourite entertainments. Besides forced him both out of his country, and that way of living which he had taken up; and though it seemed at first to be a blemish upon his good manners, and a misfortune to him, yet it happily proved the occasion of exerting one of the greatest geniuses that ever was known in dramatic Queen Elizabeth had several of poetry. He had, by a misfortune his plays acted before her; and, common enough to young fellows, without doubt, gave him many

the advantages of his wit, he was in himself a good-natured man, of great sweetness in his manners, and a most agreeable companion; so that it is no wonder, if, with so many good qualities, he made himself acquainted with the best conversations of those times.—

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