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may p'art,

—а

AN EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, Esq.

COWPER. Dear Jo'seph-five-and-twenty y'ears ago (Alas, how time esca'pes !—'tis e'ven so-) With frequent intercourse, and always swe'et, And always frie'ndly, we were wont to ch'eat/* A tedious ho'ur-and noow/ we never me'et ! As some grave gentleman in Terence say's, ('Twas therefore / much the same in anocient-days), Good la'ck! we know not what to-mo'rrow bringsStrange fluctuʼation of all human thi'ngs ! Tr'ue. Changes will befa'll, and friends But distance o'nly/ cannot change the heart: An'd, were I ca'lled/ to prove the assertion tr'ue, On'e proof should ser've

reference to you. Whence comes it theʼn, th'at/ in the waone-of-life, (Though nothing have occur'red to kindle str'ife,) We find the frien'ds/ we fancied we had wo'n, Though numerous o'nce, reduced to fe'w or no'ne ? Can gold grow worth'less/ that has stood the tou'ch ? No-gʻold they seeîmed, but they were never suoch.

Horatio's servant on'ce, with bow and cri'nge
(Swinging the parlour do'or/ upon its hinge,)
Dreading a negative, and overa'wed/
Le'st he should tre'spass, begged to go abroad.
Go, f'ellow !-whi ther?-(turning short about-)
Na'y--stay at ho'me-yo'u're always going out.
'Tis but a step, si'r, just at the street's e'nd.-
For wh'at?—

An please you, si'r, to see a frie'nd.
A fri end! (Horatio cried, and seemed to start) –
Yea
marry shalt thou, and with a'll

my

hea'rt.

* Too much care cannot be paid to the pronunciation of the last word of every line in rhyming poetry, especially when there is no printer's punctuation after it, as in “cheat,'' where the unskilful reader is almost certain to make no pause, and hastens to run “ We were wont to cheat" into the next line, thereby at once injuring both the elocution and the verse ;-now, be it remembered, that every such line, though without a point, requires a consiilerable pause, and, in general, the rising inflection.

And fetch my clo'ak; fo'r/ though the night be ra'w, “I'll see him to'o the firs't I ever sa'w.

I knew the maʼn, and knew his nature mild, And was his pla'y-thing often/ when a child; But/ somewhat at that moment/ pinched him clo'se, E'lse/ he was seldom b'itter or moro'se. Perhaps his confidence just then betra’yed, His grief might prompt him/ to the speech he m'ade; Perhaps 'twas mere good-humour gave

it b'irth, (The harmless play of ple'asantry and mirth.) Howe'er it wa's, his lan'guage (in my m'ind,) Bespoke at least a m'an, that kn'ew mank'ind.

But, not to moralize too mu'ch, and stra'in
To prove an evil of which a'll complain,
(I hate long arguments, verbosely spʻun),
One story mor'e, dear Hi'll, and I have don'e.
Once on a tim'e, an e'mperor, a wise ma'n-
(No matter whe're, in China/ or Japa'n)-
Decre'ed/ th’at/ whosoe ver should off'end/
Against the well-known du ties of a fri'end,
Convicted on'ce, should ever after we’ar/
But ha'lf-a-co'at, and show his b'osom bar'e.
The punishment importing th'is, (no do'ubt)
That a'll was naught wit'hin, and a'll found-out.

Oh, happy Brit'ain! we have not to fear'/
Such hard and arbitrary me'asure he're ;
Els'e, could a law like that/ which I rela'te/
Once have the san'ction of our triple state',
Some fe'w (that I have known in days of o'ld)
Would run most dreadful r’isk of catching cold ;*
While yoou (my fri'end), whatever wi'nd should blo'w,
Might tra'verse E'ngland/ safely to and fro',
An honest ma'n, close buttoned to the chin',
Broad cloth with'out, and a warm h'eart within'.

* We see here the power of emphasis ! If “cold” had not required a peculiarly significant turn of the voice (the falling circumflex) it would, agreeably to rule, have bad the rising inflection.

LINES ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE
LIVERPOOL MARINE SOCIETY.

RUSHTON.
What is li'fe, but an ocean, precarious as th'ose/

Which surround this terraqueous ba'll ?
What is m'an, but a ba'rk, often laden with w'oes,

What is deaoth, but the harbour of a'll ?
On our passsage-to-da'y/ may be mild and ser'ene,

And our loftiest ca'nvass be sho'wn:
While to-moorrow/ fierce tempests may blac'ken the sc’ene,

And our ma'sts by the boʻard/ may be go'ne.
On life's rosy mo'rn (with a prosperous bre'eze,)

We all our light sa'il/ may displa'y,
With a cloudless horizon/ may sweep at our e'ase,

And of sorrow, ne'er feel the salt spray;
But/ ere' we have reached our mer'idian, the ga'le,

From the point of ill-fortune, may blo'w,
And, the su'n of our be'ing (all cheerless and p'ale)

May se't/ in the wild wa'ves of wo'e.
Exp'erience (when bound o'er the turbulent w'aves)
Remembers that i'lls

may

ari'se,
And with se dulous care (er'e the danger he braves)

His bark with spare tackle/ suppl’ies.
So you* on life's o'cean (with provident m'inds)

Have here a spare an chor secur'ed,
With whi'ch (in despite of adver'sity's wi'nds)

The hel'pless/ will one day be moor'ed.

* When the pronoun you occurs in the nominative case, it is pronounced full and open, so as to rhyme with new; but when in the accusative case, and unemphatic, it must be pronounced as if spelt ye. This observation is likewise applicable to the possessive pronoun your. When in the nominative case, it is pronounced so as to rhyme with fewer ; if in the accusative, and unemphatic, it is pronounced as if written yur. This sound of the possessive pronoun your always takes place when it is used to signify any particular species of persons or things, as, "your men of the world," &c. &c. My, too, when unemphatic, runs into the familiar sound of me.

The personal pronoun you should likewise, when unemphatic, be pronounced as in the accusative case, when coming after the auxiliary verbs are, were, shall, may, can, &c.

When the strong arm of w’inter/ uplifts the blue ma'in,

And sno'w-storms, and shi'pwrecks abo’und ; When hollow-cheeked fa'mine/ inflicts her fell pa'in,

And the swam p/ Alings destruction arou'nd; When the folly of ru'lers/ embroils human ki'nd,

And my riads/ are robbed of their bre'ath : This wise Institution/ shall come o'er the m'ind,

And may soften the p`illow of deîath.
The p'oor/ wi"dowed-mourner —the sw'eet/ pra'ttling-throng,

The veďteran (whose powers are no m'ore)
Shall here find an ar’m/ to defend them from wro'ng,

And to chase meagre w'ant/ from the door.
This is “ tempering the w'ind/ to the laʼmb newly sho'rn,”

This is following the an't's prudent ways;
And, Oh' (blest Instit’ution !) the child ye't unb'orn

With ra'pture shall lisp forth thy praise.

ODE ON THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.*

Rev. CHARLES WOLFE. Not a drum was hea'rd, not a funeral n'ote,

(As his corse to the ramparts we h'urried ;) Not a soldier dischar'ged/ his farewell sh'ot

O'er the grave/ where our H'ero was bu'ried. We buried him dar'kly, at dead of n'ight,

(The sod with our ba'yonets tu’rning,)

* This accomplished general has had few equals. Glasgow has the honour of having been the place of his birth. While little more than thirty, he served with distinguished honour under Sir Ralph Abercrombie, in the West Indies, as Brigadier-General. At the close of the disastrous Peninsular campaign of 1808, by the masterly disposition of his troops at Corunna, he repelled the formidable attack of the French army; in which unequal contest a cannon ball deprived him of his valuable life, and his country of one of her best and bravest generals, in the fortyeighth year of his age. Sir John Moore was the son of Dr. Moore, the distinguished tourist and author of “ Zeleuka," “ Edward,” &c., and brother to the admiral, who died at an advanced age in 1844.

| The highly-gifted and amiable writer of this beautiful Ode, which Lord Byron so eloquently and deservedly panegyrized, (while the author was yet unknown) was born in Dublin, and died, in the thirty-second year of his age, at the Cove of Cork, in 1823.

By the struggling moo'n-beams,/ misty light,

And the la’ntern/ dimly bur'ning.
No useless co'ffin/ inclosed hi`s br'east,

Nor in sh'eet/ nor in shro'ud/ we wou'nd-him ;
But he lay like a warrior, taking his r'est,

With his martial cloak/ arou'nd-him.
Few and short were the pra'yers/ we sa'id,

And we spoke not a wo'rd of sororow;
But we steadfastly ga zed on the face of the d'ead,

And we biỉtterly thoʻught-of the mor'row.
We thoʻught (as we hollowed his narrow b'ed,

And smoothed down his lo'nely pillow)
That the fo'e and the stran ger/ would tread o'er his h'ead,

And w'e far aw'ay/ on the bil'low.
Ligʻhtly they'll talk of the spi'rit/ that's gʻone,

And o'er his cold a'shes/ upbraid h'im;
And lit^tle he'll re'ck (if they let him sleep o'n)

In the gra've/ where a Bíriton has laid hi'm !
But half of our heavy task was do'ne,

When the clo'ck/ struck the hour for reti'ring, And we h'eard (by the distant and random gʻun)

That the f'oe) was suddenly firing. Slo'wly and sa'dly we laid him d'own, (From the field of his fam'e fresh and gʻory)

Lower and slawer. We carved not a lin'e, we raised not a st'one,

But we left him alone with his glory'.

SCIPIO'S RESTORING THE CAPTIVE LADY

TO HER LOVER.

THOMSON.

A

When, to his glorious/ first essay in war, *
New Carthage fe'll ; there all the flower oft Spa'in

* We have an instance, in this line, of the absolute power of Rhythmus, or, of alternate emphasis and remission :-" Thesis” () indicating the heavy pulsation ; and " Arsis,” (:) the light; by which power the accent

essay" is changed from the first, to the second syllable, as · in the verb.

† “Of.” This preposition is pronounced as if written uv, except when

in the noun

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