"A good character should not be rested in as an end, but em ployed as a means of doing still further good." Atterb. " I have read of an author of this taste that compares a ragged coin to a tatter'd colours." Addison. Upon which Dr. Lowth asks, ought it not to be a mean? &c. " Means," is not the plural of the noun "mean," but, (notwithstanding etymological alliance) a different word. " Mean," is simply "medium;" " means" is the instrument or agency for a particular purpose. In like manner, if we withdraw the "s" from colours, we leave the word incapable of expressing the sense: for "colours" (ensign) was never called " colour." 395- "Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so." This is one, among many, of those delicate touches of nature that abound in Shakespear, and which I believe we shall in vain seek for in the works of any other poet; where an incident is introduced wholly immaterial to the plot or conduct of the scene, yet perfectly congenial to the character of the agent, and illustrative of it. Thus the impetuous Hotspur forgets the map, though no inconvenience is propos'd from the want of it; and here the sedate and philosophic Brutus, discomposed a little by the stupendous cares upon his mind, forgets where he had left his book of recreation. 10.-" Fearful bravery." ACT V. * Fearful," (as Mr. Malone observes) in these works, as often relates to the action as to the passion of fear; but in this place I think Anthony means, not a bravery that is to excite dread, but an exterior or boastful bravery, that is to hide fear. "By this face," (he says) i. e. this outside, they think "To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage; 126. "For ever and for ever farewell Cassius! The tenderness of Brutus here, and throughout his conduct, is no less admirable than his magnanimity. G-VOL. ΧΙν. ORIGINAL POETRY. SONNET XXIII. BY THE AUTHOR OF THE PRECEDING SERIES. On Recollection of an Inscription-Post in a Cross Road near Ely. Pillow'd beneath the green Turf's soothing hue, II. Yet might his Heart, like thine, have learnt to know Yet might he joy to see another blest; And sorrow at another's Tale of Woe. Then let his poor Remains uninjur'd rest, And leave his Heart and Doom to Heaven's behest.* 23 Apr. 1802. TO MR. PRATT, ON HIS POEM OF "THE POOR," &c. HAIL'D be thy Muse! for O whene'er she sings, And while it moves our nature mends our heart, S. W. L. * No one, it is trusted, will think this Sonnet a vindication or an apology for suicide. But the best writers, among whom may be ranked Montesquieu, Beccaria dei Delitti e delli Pene, and Eder on the Principles of Penal Law, have thought this mode of pointing out to scorn and contempt the Remains of the Delinquent, neither suitable to the dignity of Law, the feelings of Humanity, nor the interest of Society, To leave to the behests of Heaven, an Act like this is to leave it with an impression sufficiently aweful. If this does not deter from suicide, vain and useless will be the stake and the Burial in a cross Road. C. L. The generous heart-but for those breasts of steel To gentle beings gentle means may prove Yet still proceed, blest poet of the poor! SONNET. Written on a visit in Lincolnshire. A STRANGER, Aislabie! with wand'ring feet, 2 Delighted ;-for congenial to his breast, Thy landscape richly spreading o'er the sight; Thy wood-crown'd hills, with proudly towering crest Rearing toward Heaven sublime their daring height In leafy grandeur; while at distance seen, Mingle thy temple's turrets in the view, Upon whose burnish'd fane of golden hue The sun of evening darts his parting gleam.How pleas'd the world's vain coil could I resign, Were thy sequestred shades and peaceful vale but mine. OCTAVIUS. THE WANDERING SAVOYARD'S SONG. BY MR. DIMOND, JUNR. WITHIN a silent, shelter'd spot, In front, delightful vineyards blush, With thymy dales (where browse the flock) Just bounded by some granite rock, Whence water-falls in murmurs gush. Ah! how I sorrow'd when "Farewell!" I bade unto my native dell ! The wild-bee there gallanting roves, While little birds of blythest lay, Ah! faint of phrase is tongue to tell And there, when moon-beams frost the green. And as the cates and cup pass round, Ah! how with joy my heart would swell, THE PROSTITUTE. DACTYLICS. WOMAN of weeping eye, ah! for thy wretched lot, Sad is thy chance, thou daughter of misery, Destin'd to pamper the vicious one's appetite; Thou hast no friends, for they with thy virtue fled; Daughter of misery, sad is thy prospect here; Famine and fell disease shortly will wear thee down, Soon thou wilt sink into death's silent slumbering, Once wert thou happy-thou wert once innocent; Now he perhaps is reclin'd on a bed of down, 1 HENRY KIRKE WHITE. |