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India, on the general literature of Asia, and on the history of the family of nations. He carried philosophy, eloquence, and philanthropy, into his character of a lawyer and a judge. Amidst the driest toils of erudition, he retained a sensibility to the beauties of poetry, and a talent for transfusing them into his own language, which has seldom been united with the same degree of industry. Had he written nothing but the delightful ode from Hafiz,

“Sweet maid, if thou would'st charm my sight,” it would alone testify the harmony of his ear, and the elegance of his taste. When he went abroad, it was not to enrich himself with the spoils of avarice or ambition ; but to search, amidst the ruins of Oriental literature, for treasures which he would not have exchanged i

“ For all Boccara's vaunted gold,

“ Or all the gems of Zamarcand.” It is, nevertheless, impossible to avoid supposing, that the activity of his mind spread itself in too many directions to be always employed to the best advantage. The impulse that carried him through so many pursuits, has a look of something restless, inordinate, and ostentatious. Useful as he was, he would in all probability have been still more so, had his powers been concentrated to fewer objects. His poetry is sometimes elegant; but altogether, it has too much of the florid luxury of

the East. His taste would appear, in his latter years, to have fallen into a state of Brahminical idolatry, when he recommends to our particular admiration, and translates, in pompous lyrical diction, the Indian description of Cumara, the daughter of Ocean, riding upon a peacock; and enjoins us to admire, as an allegory equally new and beautiful, the unimaginable conceit of Camdeo, the Indian Cupid, having a bow that is made of flowers, and a bowstring which is a string of bees. Industrious as he was, his history is full of abandoned and half-executed projects. While his name reflects credit on poetical biography, his secondary fame as a composer shews, that the palm of poetry is not likely to be won, even by great genius, without exclusive devotion to the pursuit--

'Αλλα όπως άμα πάντα δυνήσεαι αυτός ελέσθαι; ,
'A'raw pis yap i owse Jods Tongusta ígya
'Araw do ogxrisus, itégw ridagiv vej ảoldsy.

ILIAD. XIV. 729.


Sweet maid, if thou would'st charm my sight,
And bid these arms thy neck infold;
That rosy cheek, that lily hand,
Would give thy poet more delight
Than all Bocara's vaunted gold,
Than all the gems of Samarcand...

Boy, let yon liquid ruby flow,.
And bid thy pensive heart be glad,
Whate'er the frowning zealots say:
Tell them, their Eden cannot show
A stream so clear as Rocnabad,
A bower so sweet as Mosellay.

0! when these fair perfidious maids,
Whose eyes our secret haunts infest,
Their dear destructive charms display;
Each glance my tender breast invades,
And robs my wounded soul of rest,
As Tartars seize their destin'd prey.

In vain with love our bosoms glow:
Can all our tears, can all our sighs,
New lustre to those charms impart?
Can cheeks, where living roses blow,
Where nature spreads her richest dyes,
Require the borrow'd gloss of art?

Speak not of fate: ah! change the theme,
And talk of odours, talk of wine,
Talk of the flowers that round us bloom:
'Tis all a cloud, 'tis all a dream;
To love and joy thy thoughts confine,
Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom.

Beauty has such resistless power,
That even the chaste Egyptian dame

Sigh'd for the blooming Hebrew boy:
For her how fatal was the hour,
When to the banks of Nilus came
A youth so lovely and so coy!

But ah! sweet maid, my counsel hear
(Youth should attend when those advise
Whom long experience renders sage):
While music charms the ravish'd ear;
While sparkling cups delight our eyes,
Be gay; and scorn the frowns of age.

What cruel answer have I heard !.
And yet, by heaven, I love thee still:
Can aught be cruel from thy lip?
Yet say, how fell that bitter word
From lips which streams of sweetness fill,
Which nought but drops of honey sip?

Go boldly forth, my simple lay, i
Whose accents flow with artless ease,
Like orient pearls at random strung:
Thy notes are sweet, the damsels say;
But O! far sweeter, if they please
The nymph for whom these notes are sung.



* What constitutes a State? Not high-rais'd battlement or labour'd mound,

Thick wall or moated gate;
Not cities proud with spires and turrets crown'd;

Not bays and broad-arm’d ports,
Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride,

: Not starr'd and spangled courts, Where low-brow'd baseness wafts perfume to pride.

No:-men, high-minded men,
With pow’rs as far above dull brutes endued

In forest, brake, or den,
As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude;

Men, who their duties know,
But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain,

Prevent the long-aim'd blow,
And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain :

These constitute a State,
And sov'reign Law, that state's collected will,

O'er thrones and globes elate
Sits Empress, crowning good, repressing ill ;

Smit by her sacred frown
The fiend Discretion like a vapour sinks,

And e'en th' all-dazzling Crown
Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks.

Such was this heav'n-lov’d isle,
Than Lesbos fairer and the Cretan shore !

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