Bloated with pride and gorg'd with luxury, A spectacle abhorred of their God; Whom scarce this globe's vast limits could contain, These we lament not !-but shall Genius die? There is: the philosophic sage feels this, And strains his lungs, confronting the foul tribe, Spite of their venal bickerings! And yet the Poet feels it greater still! Say, oh ye amiable Sons of Song, How vast the distance 'twixt your bliss and theirs? Whether meek slaves to Pity's dewy eyes Ye drop the tear upon your plaintive harps, Or wak'd to higher theme exalt your strains, Sit those who glory in the minstrel's lore, Glad to appreciate his genuine worth; The raptures flitting from the well swept string! Plucks the dark veil from Time's retentive grasp, Finis. T. J. ART. DCCCLXXI. Continuation of Auld Robin "THE spring it was past, it was simmer, nae mair, And thinly were scatter'd the leaves in the air: Oh winter, says Jenny, we kindly agree, For the sun he looks wae, when he shines upon me. Nae langer she grat, for her tears were a spent, Her mither was vex'd, and her father was wae ; She smil❜d, when she heard them, to banish their fear; And bitter the tear that is forc'd by a love, Her faether was vex'd, and her mither was wae, Nae questions he ask'd her, concerning her health, Syne he took to his bed, no physick he sought: Oh! kill me not, Jenny, said auld Robin Grey, I valued not crummy, I thought but of thee, ART. DCCCLXXII. Two short Trifles in Verse, by the late Professor Porson. THOUGH charades may be deemed too trifling for this work, yet surely a trifle from the late lamented Porson will be worth preserving, I. My first from the thief tho' your house it defends, All the good, all the great, all the learn'd, all the wise. Except that it marks the departure of day.* II. My first is the lot, that is destin'd by fate ART. DCCCLXXIII. Sonnet on the Neglect of Virtue. SLEEPLESS as I lie tossing on my bed Thro' half the midnight hours, while thro' my brain This vile world's base affairs revolve with pain, I sigh and weep to think, in Virtue's stead How mean Intrigue and Falsehood lift the head; And every palm that Valour ought to gain, All that the toils of Genius should sustain, Corruption's rav'nous appetite has fedd O state of sharp probation, where the good Meet disappointment, sad neglect, disgrace; And only in retreat can comfort find! O wretched world, on whose affairs to brood, Is woe and madness to my troubled mind! Nov. 2, 1808. * Curfew. + Woman. X. ART. DCCCLXXIV. Sonnet on the Trade of Bookmaking, and its consequences. AH! were the Muses more than but a name, Of sordid booksellers, who love their laws, Where all the Graces dwelt in laureate shade; And blasts of senseless scorn the gentle bloom devour. O HAIL, ALFIERI!-To thy tragic tone The GRECIAN BARDS, a band sublime appear, * Makers, Poets. Spenser. Пov, Пoints, Plato. Though to create, in its proper sense, be incommunicable, yet the analogy is enlarging and exalted. I prefer the arrangement of the Sonnet which marks the recurrence of the rhimes by correspondent indentings. SIENNA 1783 Qualtro Tragedie. Quindci Traged: EDIMBORGO 1806. 3 vols. 12mo. Editore il Dottre: ANTONIO MONTUCCI. |