ballads consists in their quaintness; and that to adopt their obsolete phraseology is to appropriate their beauties. This is an unfortunate mistake. The authors of those compositions wrote the best language with which they were acquainted; and those who conceive that the modern style is incapable of expressing simplicity and feeling, with truth, need only turn to the ballads of Gay and Goldsmith. Gay is, indeed, the most perfect model for the English ballad. We read and repeat his verses without satiety; while we should never again endure to be told, that • Merrily merrily rung the bells, The bells of St. Michael's tower, This is the right butter-woman's rank to market. To the Burnie Bee*. There is a considerable display of sportive fancy in this little piece, which we shall therefore extract: • Blythe son of summer, furl thy filmy wing, • Here may'st thou freely quaff the nectar'd sweet Or with the wild-thyme's balm anoint thy sides. • Nor shall the swarthy gaoler for thy way • Forego thy wheeling in the sunny air Here to the elves who sleep in flowers by day * A provincial name of the beetle Coccinella, or lady-bird.' Or 1 Or o'er the lovely band thy shield display With rainbow tints thy folding pennons fret, • With viewless fingers weave thy wintry tent, • Blest if like thee I cropt with heedless spoil Fit for the spring that waits beyond the tomb.' "O thou that swing'st upon the waving hair Drunk ev'ry night with a delicious tear, Dropt thee from heav'n, where now thou'rt rear'd. LOVELACE. The word shards,' in the third stanza, however correct, is not poetical, and ought to have been rejected. Inscriptions, by Robert Southey. When we say that these inscriptions remind us of those which were published by Akenside, we pay Mr. Southey a lower compliment than many of our readers might suppose. The general fault of these pieces is that they are too long, and that the lines, by running into each other, become prosaic. Tameness, too, is substituted here for simplicity; the absence of superfluous ornament is not a sufficient recommendation of style; it should come forth naturali pulchritudini. We meet with no felicity of expression, nor any novelty of thought, which can furnish an interesting extract. Stanzas written on the Sea-Shore, in 1792, signed by Mrs. Opie, contain much good sense, though not expressed with any remarkable poetical force. Living without God in the World. By Charles Lamb. This gentleman must be some preternatural Being, for he proclaims, I see a mighty arm, by man unseen.' We should therefore suppose him to be the shadow of an author; and indeed there is nothing very substantial in his lines. The Sons of Genius. We cannot afford the praise either of poetical energy or elegance to this composition. The lines are heavy and monotonous, and there is not sufficient vigour in in the thoughts to atone for the metrical defects. The rhimes are inaccurate: play and sea, war and shore, are made to correspond. We hope that the author will produce better proofs than the present, of his claim to be admitted among the lawful sons of Genius. This poem inclines to the bend sinister. Song, by Mrs. Opie. A pretty, sentimental trifle. The Song of Pleasure. We have found no pleasure in perusing this song: it consists of a few common images, borrowed from former poets, and not decorated by new expressions. To Indolence. This is another ode in blank verse; its greatest peculiarity is that, notwithstanding the title, it appears about the middle of the poem that it is not addressed to Indolence, but to her sister Leisure.' This is quite a new way of writing, but we observe nothing else remarkable in the composition. The Filbert. "There can be no kernel in this light nut *;" unless the poem be intended to satirize somebody. If such were the author's design, he ought to have afforded us some means of guessing at his object. Sonnets. These are all nearly equal in merit. That the reader may determine what degree of praise they deserve, we shall insert two, one of which is a very successful parody on the serious pieces: ( : How soothing sweet methinks it is to walk By moonlight, when the still delicious calm Of hopeless Love, and weep upon my wounds, Soft as the veiled virgin's evening song, That gooseberry-bush attracts my wandering eyes, When those grey woods shall don their summer dress With golden flowers shall star the verdant vale. Then may the enthusiast Youth at eve's lone hour, Go listen to the soothing nightingale Remain at home and feed on gooseberry-pye.' In a sonnet to Personification, we observe a very unwarrantable extension of the poetical licence. • Discord and Death, and stern defying Fate, This passage reminds us of those verses which were The Killcrop. This dialogue turns on a popular superstition, which supposes that a dæmon is substituted occasionally for a child, to the vexation of some honest peasant. The name given to the supposititious child is Killcrop; -a passage to this purpose is quoted from Luther's works. The Spirit. This story is told with some humour, and will be read with pleasure by those who are fond of nursery-tales. Eclogue, by Robert Southey; The last of the Family. An affecting poem might be written on this subject, but Mr. S. has proved so very correct in his imitation of the gossipping of Farmer James and Farmer Gregory, that he has taken off much from the gravity as well as the interest of the piece. Ode to St. Michael's Mount, in Cornwall. This ode presents nothing which we are tempted to extract. The rhimes are very incorrect: recal and soul, sea and away, philosophy and eye, are not admissible in a short poem. The Tempest. We observe, in the measure and sentiments of this poem, an imitation of Dr. Beattie's Hermit, but certainly no improvement on the original. Dr. Beattie's verses were evidently founded on some lines of the epitaph on Bion, by Moschus; Αι, αι, ἄι μαλακαι, επαν κατα καπου ολώνται, &c. but the despondency of the Grecian poet, on the subject of a future state, has been happily corrected by the hopes of the Christian bard. The Hermit-Boy. By A. S. Cottle. This story is taken from one of Fontaine's tales: Les Oies de Frere Philippe. It is here attempted in the measure of Mr. Lewis's Alonzo the Bold and the Fair Imogene, with no peculiar felicity. The Seas. The author of this piece was probably instructed by a schoolmaster, like him who is mentioned by Quintillian, whose 14 whose precept was constantly σκοτίζον, be obscure. We have not the honour of understanding this gentleman's language. It is too peregrinate for us. Passages, extracted from imitative "Verses on Alexander's Expedition down the Hydaspes and the Indus, to the Indian Ocean," printed in 1792, but not published. These verses, which have the signature of Dr. Beddoes, are intended (we suppose) to resemble the poetry of the Botanic Garden. In some passages, the imitation is pretty correct: but, in general, the tone and finishing are unequal to the productions of Dr. Darwin. Some of Dr.Beddoes's opening lines will remind our readers strongly of the Botanic Garden: • At first low murmurs creep; at length the bands And pealing shouts assail the Indian skies' 1 It is remarkable that the allegorical personages in Dr. Darwin's poem exhibit only two actions; they either wave their locks, or clap their hands. -The verses on the premature death of Alexander are much superior to those which we have just quoted: 1 : • But Earth's fond hope how blasted in its bloom! We must observe, on one line, That nursed young Art and infant Science bore ;' that it appears to be taken from a very good line by Mr. Hayley, in which he describes India as "The soil that infant Art and letters bore." The strain of these verses, however, is generally above the common |