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Art. XXI. The Ruminator. Containing a series of moral and sentimental Essays.

[To be continued.]

.“ Meditation here
May think down hours to moments. Here the heart
May yive an useful lesson to the head.",

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On the consequences of War; with a poem in com

mendation of the Feudal Times.

In the multiplicity of subjects that offer themselves to a contemplative mind for consideration, I have experienced the common consequence of fulness of choice; I have deferred it till it is too late to do justice to any. But I will wave the formality of an introduction, which, from the practice of former essayists, is become too trite to interest; and proceed to make use of such materials, as are ready at my call; trusting to futurity to develope my plans, and bestow strength on my progress.

It is too well known, that refinement and luxury in all nations, at all times, have gone hand in hand; and that with wealth and prosperity have been sown the seeds of corruption, decline, and ruin. Some fluctuations there will be in all states; wars and even misfortunes may call forth a temporary energy, even after the commencement of a fall; 'and I am not sure that even those scenes of peculiar and unexampled distress and danger, which the Continent of Europe has expe

rienced

rienced for the last fifteen years, may not procrastinato the total predominance of barbarism, and for a little while prolong some of the institutions of social order.

The amiable and enlightened Cowper, now and then, suffered under a passing cloud of narrow prejudice. He has said, that

* War is a game, which, were their subjects wise,
Kings would not play at."

I take for granted, he does not mean to allude merely to particular instances of a wanton exercise of prerogative in a sovereign, by engaging in a war from motives of personal ambition, contrary to the wishes of his people, (cases that do perhaps occur, yet not very often,) but to war in general, which he assumes to originate in

this way.

Now I do not believe that wars in general are principally attributable to kings; still less do I believe that kings have entered into them for their own amusement; and least of all, that their consequences are so mis-, chievous as the passage cited from Cowper seems to in. sinuate. The horrors of a field of battle, scenes of blood-shed, and devastation, and famine, are apt subjects for the powerful descriptions of a poet; and from such, results the moral (a little too encouraging to popular prejudices) of the affecting work of a living poet, one of the most beautiful writers* perhaps, which this nation ever produced; I mean, of the Joan of Arc of Southey! But from these partial evils, deep as they often are, I am convinced that there springs a great deal of good. They awaken a nation from that state

• I must except his Thalaba.

of

of stupefaction, sensuality, and effeminacy, which are its worst and most fatal disease: they dispel apathy, foster a generous and energetic spirit, accustom the body to wholesome exercise and toil, and nerve the mind against the hour of adversity and privation.

It is well remembered that, when, at the close of the late reign, the celebrated Dr. Brown, in his “Estimate," represented this nation, as sunk into the lowest state of femine debility, the energy of Lord Chatham's administration, and the vigorous war which he carried on, electrified the kingdom, and raised it in a short period to a point of unexampled glory and renown, both for its wisdom and its heroism. Have we not seen similar effects from the late war? Compare the energy of the preseut race of males in all ranks of society, with the habits of those who predominated in society, during the peace, which followed the American contest! There is a vigour and hardihood in the rising generation, worthy of less luxurious times !

But how long we shall keep off the baneful effects, which commerce never fails at last to produce, I dare not inquire ! My imagination at least will never fail to be best pleased with the manners of ages approaching nearer to those of chivalry! For this reason I shall here venture to insert a poem, congenial to these sentiments, which has hitherto lain unnoticed among my papers.

Lines on the figure of a Warrior, dressed in Feudal

Armour, his shield adorned with an ancient heraldric coat; a Baronial castle in the back ground, on the highest tower of which is displayed a banner, vearing the same insignia; drawn and presented to the author by the Rev. C.W.*

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" So shone th' heroic chief in days of old;
Fierce was his mien; his limbs of giant mould
Beneath the load of cumbrous armour light,
Active he bounded to th' infuriate fight;
Broad was his shield, with bold device imprest,
And on his helmet frown'd the grimly crest:
Yon moated castle's

massy
walls

uprose
To frown defiance on his vassals' foes;
And o'er that shadowy forest's wide domains,
O'er these blue hills, and those extended plains,
O'er many a scatter'd vill, and many a town,
He rul'd by right, by favour, or renown.

Ferocious days, and days of wild alarm,
Yet chear'd by many a joy, and many a charm,
Which these degenerate times have lost.-For Power
Dwelt with the chief, who own'd the Feudal Tower!
Lord of the generous arts, that win command,
By noble counsel, or by valorous hand,
He knew no rivals in the dastard knaves,
Who spring to wealth from Lucre's base-born slaves; 20

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* One, who after one and thirty years of uninterrupted friendship, and after baving buffeted with the rage of the yellow fever in the Atlantic, and having afterwards visited all the shores of the Mediterranean, and witnessed the horrors and the glories of the tremendous night, which was illuminated by the battle of the Nile, is returned safe to form one of the few props and comforts of the author's life.

Who

VOL- III

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Who gain rich lands, and feed luxurious boards,
By the vile modes, which groveling Trade affords!
Perchance some Knight of more advontrous name
His spirit's generous envy might enflame,
One, on whose breast with more resplendent fire
Bcam'd the red cross, or growi'd the lion's ire;
Who rode with statelier grace the prancing horse,
Or couch'd his quivering lance with mightier force !
E'en tho' his heaving bosom swell'd with pain,
Aspiring wreaths of equal worth to gain,
Still in the grateful strife was glory mix'd,
And Virtue's wishes in his heart were fix'd:
No wcalthy son of Commerce bade him bide
Before superior pomp his lessen'd pride,
Nor callid him with insulting sneers to vie
In the mean race of arts he scorn'd to try :
Honour and rank and wealth he saw await
Toils of the wise, and actions of the great;
Nor mark'd, where'er before his aching eyes
Halls, mansions, castles, palaces, arise,
Wretches usurp them, who in darksome cells
Won their base spoils by Traffic's hated spells!

Rude was the pile, that from th' impendingbrow
Of some steep rock upon the wave below
Oft look'd with fearful grandeur; loud the blast
Ray'd on its walls, and thro' its turrets past;
Chill were its sunless rooms, and drear the aisles
Along whose length the night breeze told her tales;
Massive the walls, thro' which the genial day
Strove with warm breath in vain to win its way:
But jocund was its hall; and gay the feast
That spoke the genuine gladness of the breast,
When rang'd its hospitable boards, along
The warlike bands renewid th' heroic song;

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