PROMISCUOUS PIECES.

“.." Section 1. ! COLLINS’ ODE ON THE PASSIONS. Few productions of genius are to be found in the English Language, the recital of which is better calculated for that Exercise and preparation of the Or-. gans indispensable for the higher graces of Oratorical expression, than the following Ode of Collins'.

When Music, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung,
The passions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng'd around her magic cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting.
By turns, they felt the glowing mind
Disturb’d, delighted, rais'd, refin'd:
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd,
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir’d,
From the supporting myrtles round
They snatch'd her instruments of sound,
And as they oft had heard apart
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each (for madness rul'd the hour)
Would prove his own expressive power.
First, Fear, his hand, its skill to-try,

Amid the chords bewilder'd laid ;
And back recoil'd he knew not why,

Even at the sound himself had made.

Next, Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire ;

In lightnings own'd his secret stings.

In one rude clash he struck the lyre :

And swept with hurry'd hands, the strings.

With woful measures, wan Despair
Low sullen sounds his grief beguil'd;

' A solemn, strange, and mingled air ;

'Twas sad, by fits-by starts 'twas wild. But thou O Hope! with eyes so fair,

What was thy delighted measure?

Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure, ; And bade the lovely scenes at distance haik. Still would her touch the strain prolong;....

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, i She call’d on echo still through all her song; openi

And, where her sweetest theme she chose,

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And Hope, enchanted, smil'd and wav'd her golden hair : . : ;in

7

And longer had she sung—but, with a frown

Revenge impatient rose.
He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder dowo;

And, with a withering look,
The war denouncing trumpet took,
And blew a blast, so loud and dread, a
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo; i.
And, ever and anon, he beat

a
The doubling drum with furious heat. Sie
And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between,
Dejected Pity at his side, - . . *.

? Her soul subduing voice applied,

Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mein ; While each strain'd ball of sight-seem'd bursting

from his head. i

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd ; *

Sad proof of thy distressful state. Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd :. And, now, it courted Love ; now, raving call'd on

Hate.

With eyes up rais'd, as one inspir'd,
Pale Melancholy sat retir'd;
And from her wild sequestered seat,
In notes by distance made more sweet,
Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul;

And, dashing soft, from rocks around,

Bubbling runnels join'd the sound. : Through glades and glooms the mingled measure

stole, Or o'er some haunted streams, with fond delay, * (Round a holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace and lonely musing)
In hollow murmurs died away.

ay

But, 0, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone!
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,
- Her bow across her shoulder flung, en

Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,

The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known.
The oak-crown'd Sisters, and their chaste-eye'd

Queen, . .
Satyrs, and sylvan Boys, were seen,;
Peeping from forth their alleys green :
Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear;
And Sport leapt up, and seiz'd his beechen spear.

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial.
He, with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand address'd;
But, soon he saw the brisk awakening viol,

Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best. They would have thought who heard the strain,

They saw, in Temple's vale, her native maids,

Amid the festal sounding shades,
To some unweary'd minstrel dancing;

While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,
Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round,

(Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound) And he amid his frolic play,

And have you thus left your primeval estate, . .
And wander so widely-so strangely of late ?
Alas! the sad course I too plainly can see,
These evils have all come upon you through Tea..
Cursed weed, that can make your fair spirits resign
The character mild of their mission divine,
T'hat can blot from their bosoms that tenderness true,
Which from female to female forever is due.
Oh how nice is the texture, how fragile the frame
Of that delicate blossom, a female's fair fame! :
'Tis the sensitive plant, it recoils from the breath,
And shrinks from the touch as if pregnant with death.
How often, how often, has innocence sigh’d,
Has beauty been reft of its honour, its pride,
Has virtue, though pure as an angel of light,
Been painted as dark as a demon of night;
All offer'd up victims-an auto de fe, .
At the gioomy cabals, the dark orgies or tea.

If I, in the remnant that's left me of life,
Am to suffer the torments of slanderous strife,
Let me fall, I implore, in the slang wanger's claw,
Where the evil is open, and subject to law.
Not nibbled and mumbled, and put to the rack,
By the sly undermining of tea party clack :

Condemn me, ye gods, to a newspaper roasting, : But spare me! oh spáre me, a tea-table toasting !

Section III.

THE THREE BLACK CROWS, OR THE

PROGRESS OF UNTRUTH.

Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand,
One took the other, briskly, by the hand;
Hark-ye, says he, 'tis an odd story this,
About the crows I don't know what it is,
Reply'd his friend--No! I'm surpris'd at that
Where I come from it is the common chat :