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We, who love order, yield our betters place
With duteous zeal, and, if we can, with grace.
Roderick, Kehama, Thalaba, belong
To mightier movers of majestick song.
To such as these we give, by just controul,
Not our five shillings, but our heart and soul.
Try what it is to pierce the mails of men
In their proud moods .. kings, patriots, heroes .. then
Back wilt thou run as if on Kalgarth-flat
A shower had caught thee in thy Sunday hat.
Are there no duodecimos of mind
Stitcht to tear up? wherein 'tis hard to find
One happy fancy, one affection kind.
Its polisht lip to your attentive ear,
And it remembers its august abodes,
And murmurs as the ocean murmurs there.
The words in the Excursion markt by italics are certainly not imitated from Gebir; and it is but justice to add that this passage has been the most admired of any in Mr. Wordsworth's great poem.
Why every author on thy hearthstone burn?
Why every neighbour twitcht and shov'd in turn ?
Rather than thus eternally cry hang 'em,
I'd almost praise the workmanship of Wrangham.
But, О true poet of the country! why
With goatskin glove an ancient friend defy?
Should Gifford lead thee? should Matthias? they
Were only fit to flap the flies away,
Leave 'em their night, for they have had their day.
What would they give to drive a Collins wild,
Or taunt a Spenser on his burning child !
What would they give to drag a Milton back
From heaven, or cord a Shakspeare to the rack.
These, and their corporal Canning, are forgotten,
Since fruits soon perish when the core is rotten.
Throw, throw the marching-guinea back, 'tis solely
For poets under standard highth, like Croly.
Alas! to strike with little chance to hit
Proves how much longer-winded wrath than wit.
The frequent stroke, the plunge, the puffing, show
A hapless swimmer going fast below.
Verses (and thine are such) undoom'd to die,
From gentle thoughts should raise the willing sigh.
If youth had starts of jealousy, let age
Rest with composure on another's page.
Take by the hand the timid, rear the young,
Shun the malignant, and respect the strong.
Censure's coarse bar, corroded, crusts away,
And the unwasted captive starts on day.
Another date hath Praise's golden key,
With that alone men reach Eternity.
He who hath lent it, tho' awhile he wait,
Yet Genius shall restore it at the gate.
Think timely, for our coming years are few,
Their worst diseases mortals may subdue ;
Which, if they grow around the loftier mind,
Death, when ourselves are gathered, leaves behind.
Our frowardness, our malice, our distrust,
Cling to our name and sink not with our dust.
Like prince and pauper in our flesh and blood,
Perish like them we cannot, if we wou’d.
Is not our sofa softer when one end
Sinks to the welcome pressure of a friend ?
If he hath rais'd us in our low estate,
Are we not happier when they call him great?
Some who sate round us while the grass was green
Fear the chill air and quit the duller scene:
Some, unreturning, thro' our doors have past,
And haply we may live to see the last.
From the (Not-Gentleman's) Magazine.
“Hurrah! boys! Our staunch Scotch terriers have drawn the old savage beast out of his hole at last. We told you
We shall have rare fun with him. Start him, hunts
“ Hold a moment! hold hard ! “Gentlemen ! if you please, half-a-crown each to the hunts
“ Thank you, Sirs ! Now off with him.
“For eaters of goose-liver.'
“Ay; for eaters of such a dish, this is really dainty. Here we have not only the liver, but head too, with all the brains it ever had in it. We will singe it a little, and it will be as good as a haggis.