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But Crusca still has merit, and may claim
'Tis just-for what three kindred souls have done, No humble station in the ranks of fame;
Is most unfairly charged, I ween, on one. He taught us first the language to refine,
Pardon, my learned friend ! With watery eyes, To crowd with beauties every sparkling line, Thy growing fame to truth I sacrifice ; Old phrases with new meanings to dispense, To many a sonnet call thy claims in doubt, Amuse the fancy, and confound the sense! And,“ at one entrance, shut thy glory out.” 0, void of reason! Is it thus you praise
Yet mewl thou still. Shall my lord's dormouse die, A linsey-Woolsey song, framed with such ease, And low in dust without a requiem lie? Such vacancy of thought, that every line
No, mewl thou still: and, while thy d—s join Might tempt e'en Vaughan to whisper, “ This is their melancholy symphonies to thine, mine!”
My righteous verse shall labour to restore Vaughan! well remember'd. He, good man, The well earned fame it robb'd them of before : complains
Edwin, whatever elegies of wo That I affix'd his name to Edwin's® strains: Drop from the gentle mouths of Vaughan and Co.,
To this or that, henceforth no more confined, into plain Mr.- has honoured Mr. Tasker's poetical
Shall, like a surname, take in all the kind. and other priductions with high and distinguished marks of her approbation."- Gazetteer, Jan. 16.
Right! cry the brethren. When the heavenWhy this is the very song of Prodicus, Ý XEIP TTV XEL
born muse paine-for the rest, I trust my readers will readily Shames her descent, and, for low, earthly views, subscribe to the praises which these most “competent | Hums o’er a beetle's bier the doleful stave, anu disinterested judges" have reciprocally lavished upon
Or sits chief mourner at a May-bug's grave, each other. But allons !
Satire should scourge her from the vile employ, 6 — My hand, at night's fell noon,
And bring her back to friendship, love, and joy.
But spare Cesario,* Carlos,f Adelaide,
The truest poetess! the truest maid !
laying before the public another effusion of the same exThat loves my mournful song to seize,
quisite pen. And bears it to the mountain breeze."
It will be found, I Natter myself, not less beautiful
than the former; and fully prove that the author, though Here we find that listening to the wind, and singing to it,
ostensibly devoted to elegy, can, on a proper occasion, are one and the same thing; and thal-but I can make
assume an air of gayety, and be " profound with ease, nothing of the rest.
and instructive with elegance.
* On the circumstance of a mastiff's running furiously Exulting glitter in her wane,
(sad dog!) toward tuo young ladies, an'l, upon coming And pruudly gleam their borrow'd light
up to them, becoming instantly gentle (good dog !) und To get the sombre dome of night."
tractable.” Whatan admirable observer of nature is this great poetess! Tantum ad narrandum argumentum est benignitas!
The stars trinkling in a cloudy night, and gleaming " When Orpheus took his lyre to hell, their borrowed lustre, is superlatively good. I had almost
To fetch his rib away, farzut to observe that these and the preceding lines are
On that same thing he pleased so well, taken from the Ode to the Nightingale, so superior, in the
That devils learn'd to play. reverend judgment of Dr. Tasker, to one of a Mr. John
" Besides, in books it may be read, Milton on the same subject.
That whilst he swept the lute,
Grim Cerberus hung his savage head,
And lay astoundly mute. Attracted by"- (what! for a ducat ?)
“But here we can with justice say, * Allracted by the rose's bloom !"
That nature rivals art; "Let but thy lyre impatient seize
He sang a mastiff's rage away, Departing twilight's filmy breeze,
You look'd one through the heart." That winds th' enchanting chords among
Fecit Edwin. In lingering labyrinths of song."
* Cesario. In the Baviad are a few stanzas of a most - See in the clouds its mast the proud bark laves, delectable ode to an owl. They were ascribed to Arno; Scorning the aid of ocean's humble waves!"
nor was I conscious of any mistake, till I received a polite From this it appears, that Mrs. Cowley imagines proud | note from that gentleman, assuring me that he was not harks to float on their masts. It is proper to mention only not the author of them, but (horresco referens) that that the vessel takes such extraordinary state on herself, I he thought them “execrable." Mr. Bell, on the other because she carries Della Crusca!
hand, affirms them to be "admirable." “ From a young grove's shade,
“Who shall decide when doctors disagree ?" Whose infant boughs but mock th'expecting glade!
Be this as it may, I am happy to say that I have discoSweet sounds stole forth, upborne upon the gale, Press'd through the air, and broke upon the vale;
vered the true author. They were written by Cesario;
and as I rather incline to Mr. Bell, pace Arno dixerim, Then silent walk'd the breezes of the plain,
| I shall make no scruple of laying the remainder of this Or svar'd aloft, and seized the hovering strain."
" mellifluous piece" before the reader. Della Crusca.
Slighted love the soul subduing, The force of folly can no farther go!
Silent sorrow chills the heart, Edwin's strains.--If the reader will turn to the con.
Treacherous fancy still pursuing, clusion of the Baviad, he will find a delicious Eri tadiov
Still repels the poison'd dart. on a tare mouse, by this gentleman. As it seemed to give universal satisfaction, I embrace the opportunity of + See note t, Ist col. p. 178. See note t, ib.
Lorenzo, 5 Reuben,ll spare : far be the thought
| They pour « from their big breast's prolific zone A proud, poetic fervour, only known
“Soothing those fond dreams of pleasure, age," who, from her flippant nonsense, appears to be Pictured in the glowing breast,
Mrs. Piozzi, were it not for the sake of remarking, that, Larish of her sweetest treasure,
whatever be the merit of " drawing out the fine powers Anxious fear is charm'd to rest.
of Arno," (which, it seems, this ungrateful country has ** Fearless o'er the whiten'd billors,
not yet rewarded with a statue,) she must be content to Proudly rise, sweet bird of night,
share it with Julia. Hear her invocation-but first hear Safely through the bending willos,
Mr. Bell. “A most elegant compliment, which for geneGently wing thy aery flight."--Cesario. rous esteem has been seldom equalled, any more than Though I flatter myself that I have good sense and taste
the muse which inspired it." enough to see and admire the peculiar beauties of this
“ JULIA TO ARXO. ode, yet a regard for truth obliges me to declare that they
"Arno! where steals thy dulcet lay, are not original. They are taken (with improvements,
Soft as the evening's minstrel note, I confess) from a most beautiful “ Song by a person of
Say, docs it deck the rising day, quality," in Pope's Miscellanies. This, though it de.
Or on the noontide breezes tioat ?" tracts a little from Cesario's inventive powers, still leaves him the praise (no mean one) of having gone
Mrs. Robinson (for we may as well drop the name of
Julia) has been guilty of a trifling larceny here; havin: beyond that great poet, in what he probably considered
taken from the Baviad, without any acknowledgment, as the ne plus ultra of ingenuity.
a delicious couplet, which I flattered myself would never Tenimus ad summum fortunæ ! Mr. Greathead equals
have been seen out of that poem; but so it is, that, like Shakspeare, Mrs. Robinson surpasses Milion, and Cesa. rio outdoes Pope in that very performance which he vainly imagined so complete as to take away all desire
" Write whate'er I will, of imitating, all possibility of excelling it!
Some rising genius sins up to it still." “O favour'd clime! O happy age !"
This has neuiled me a little, and possibly injured the + Carlos.- I have nothing of this gentleman (a most
great poetess in my opinion ; for I have been robbed so pertinacious scribbler in the Oracle) but the following
often of late, that I begin to think with the old economist "gonnet;" luckily, however, it is so ineffably stupid, that
Ούτος αοιδων λωστος ος εξ εμευ οισεται ουδεν, it will more than satisfy any readers but Mr. Bell's. For the rest, this “ elegant invocation" called forth a “ON A LADY'S PORTRAIT.
specimen of Arno's fine powers in the following dulid
lays. "On hath the poet hail'd the breath of morn, That wakens nature with the voice of spring,
"ARNO TO JULIA. And oft, when purple summer feeds the lawn,
« Sure some dire star inimical to man, Hath fancy touch'd him with her procreant wing;
Guides to his heart the desolating fire, Full frequent has he bless'd the golden beam
Fills with contention only his brief span, Which yellow autumn glowing spreads around,
And rouses him to murderous desire. And though pale winter press'd a paly gleam,
“ There are who sagely scan the tortured world, Fresh in his breast was young description found."
And tell us war is but necessity, I can copy no more-Job himself would lose all patience
That millions by the Great Dispenser hurl'd, here. Instead, therefore, of the remainder of this incom
Must suffer by the scourge, and cease to be." prehensible trash, I will give the reader a string of judi
Euge, Poeta ! cious observations by Mr. T. Vaughan : “Bruyere says, § Lorenzo. he will allow that good writers are scarce enough, but Και πως εγω Σθενελου φαγοιμ’ αν ρημα τι, adds, and justly, that good critics are equally so : which Εις οξος εμβαπτομενον, η λευκους αλαςreminds our correspondent also of what the Abbé Trublet
Says a hungry wight in an old comedy. But I know of writes, speaking of professed critics, where he says, if
no seasoning whatever, capable of making the insipid they were obliged to examine authors impartially
garbage of this modern Sthenelus palatable; I shall there would be fewer writers in this way. Was this to
therefore spare myself the disgust of producing it. be the liberal practice adopted by our modern critics,
|| Reuben, whom I take to be Mr. Greathead in disguise, we should not see a Bariad-falling upon men and things
| (it being this gentleman's fate, like Hercules of old, to that are much above his capacity, and seemingly for no
assume the merit of all unappropriated prodigies,) introother reason than because they are so.”
duced himself to the World by the following A Daniel come to judgment, yea, a Daniel! This is in truth the reason; and when Mr. Vaughan and his coad
" ADDRESS TO ANNA MATILDA. jutors condescend to humble themselves to my under " To thee a stranger dares address his theme, standing, I will endeavour to profit by their eloquent
To thee, proud mistress of Apollo's lyre, strictures.
One ray emilled from thy golden gleam, 1 Adelaide.--And who is Adelaide ? O seri studiorum!
Prompted by love, would set the world on fire! “Not to know her, argues yourselves unknown.” Hear "Adorn then love in fancy-tinctured vest, Mr. Bell, the Longinus of newspaper writers.
Chameleon like, anon of various hue, " ADELAIDE.
By Penseroso and Allegro dressid, “He who is here addressed by the first lyric writer in
Such genius claim'd when she Idalia drew."the kingdom, must himself endeavour to repay a debt so
Anna Matilda, what could she less! found highly honourable, if it can be done by verse! This lady
• This resuscitating praise shall have the praise which ought to be given by the
Breathe life upon her dying lays," country, that of first discovering and drawing out the like “the daisy which spreads her bloom to the moist fine powers of Arno and Della Crusca."
evening!"and accordingly produced a matchless “ adorn“O) thou, whom late I watch'd, while o'er thee hung ment of love," to the great contentment of the gentle The orb whose glories I so oft have sung,
“But, bard polite, how hard the task Made night a lovelier morning seem," &c
Which with such elegance you ask !" We might here dismiss this “first lyric writer of thel Who would have imagined that these lines, the simple § See nole ş, next col. || See note ll, ib.
1 Sce nole , 1st col. p. 179.
To souls like theirs ;” as Anna's youth inspires, And chased the oppressive doubts which round me As Laura's graces kindle fierce desires,
clung, As Henriet- For heaven's sake, not so fast. And fired my breast, and loosen'd all my tongue. I too, my masters, ere my teeth were cast, E’en then (admire, John Bell ! my simple ways) Had learn’d, by rote, to rave of Delia's charms, No heaven and hell danced madly through my lays, To die of transports found in Chloe's arms, No oaths, no execrations; all was plain : Coy Daphne with obstreperous plaints to woo, Yet, trust me, while thy“ ever-jingling train” And curse the cruelty of-God knows who. Chime their sonorous woes with frigid art, When Phæbus, (not the power that bade thee write, And shock the reason, and revolt the heart, For he, dear Dapper! was a lying sprite,)
My hopes and fears, in nature's language dress’d,
Not yet forgot amid my native plains,
* Mr. Parsons is extremely angry at my“ ostentatious O impotence of toil! thou mightst as well
intrusion" of the "Otium Divos" into the notes on this
poem. What could I do? I ever disliked publishing my Give sense to Este, or modesty to Bell.
little modicums on loose pages-but I shall grow wiserliy Forbear, forbear:- What though thou canst not his example ! and, indeed, am even now composing" one claim
riddle, two rebusses, and one acrostic to a babe at The sacred honours of a Poet's name,
nurse," which will be set forth with all convenient Due to the few alone, whom I inspire
speed. Meanwhile I am tempted to offend once more,
and subjoin the only three of my " wild strains" that now With lofty rapture, with ethereal fire !
live in my recollection. I can assure Mr. Parsons that Yet mayst thou arrogate the humble praise
they were written on the occasions they profess to beof reason's bard, if, in thy future lays,
and the last of them at a time when I had no idea of Plain sense and truth, and surely these are thine, surviving to provoke his indignation: Correct thy wanderings, and thy flights confine.”
- Sed Cynaræ breveg
Annos fata dederunt, me Here ceased the god and vanish’d. Forth I sprang,
Servatura diu. While in my ear the voice divine yet rang,
TO A TUFT OF EARLY VIOLETS. Seized every rag and scrap, approach'd the fire,
Sweet flowers ! that, from your humble beds, And saw whole Albums in the blaze expire.
Thus prematurely dare to rise, Then shame ensued, and vain regret, t' have spent And trust your unprotected heads So many hours (hours which I yet lament)
To cold Aquarius' watery skies; In thriftless industry; and year on year
Retire, retire! These tepid airs Inglorious roll'd, while diffidence anıl fear
Are not the genial brood of May;
That sun with light malignant glares, Repressd my voice-unheard till Anna came,
And flatters only to betray. What! throbb'st thou YET, my bosom, at the name?
Stern winter's reign is not yet past
Lo! while your bude prepare to blow, lribute of gratitude to genius, should nearly occasion “a
On icy pinions comes the blast, perdition of souls ?" Yet so it was. They unfortunately
And nips your root, and lays you low. roused the jealousy of Della Crusca “on the sportive
Alas, for such ungenile doom! banks of the Rhone.” One luckless evening
But I will shield you; and supply * When twilight on the western edge
A kindlier soil on which to bloom, Had twined his hoary hair with sabling sedge,”
A nobler bed on which to die. as he was “ weeping" (for, like Master Stephen, these
Come then-ere yet the morning ray good creatures think it necessary to be always melan
Has drunk the dew that gems your crest, choly) at the tomb of Laura, he started, as well he might,
And drawn your balmiest sweets away; at the accursed name of Reuben.
O come, and grace my Anna's breast.
Ye droop, fond flowers! but, did ye know
What worth, what goodness there reside,
Your cups with liveliest tints would glow,
And spread their leaves with conscious pride.
For there has liberal nature join'd
Her riches to the stores of art,
And added to the vigorous mind stroyed this beautiful fancy-scene with one stroke of his
The soft, the sympathizing heart. clownish pen. In a note on the above verses, Album,
Come then-ere yet the morning ray R 131, he officiously informs us that Della Crusca knew
Has drunk the dew that gems your crest, * nothing of his rival, till he read-detested word !_"his
And drawn your balıiest sweets away ; Bonnet in the Oracle.” O Bell! Bell ! is it thus thou
O come, and grace my Anna's breast. humblest the strains of the sublime ? Surely we may say of thee, what was not ill said of one of thy sisters,
O! I should think,-that fragrant bed
Might I but hope with you to share,-
Years of anxiety repaid,
By one short hour of transport there.
1 See one epigram, two sonnets, and one ode to a boy at school, by W.
Pansons, Esq." The “one ode" was expressly written to show the folly and Thy soul's deep tone, thy thought's high swell,
absur!ity of Gray's ode to Elon College, which the "boy at school" was Thy proud, poetic fervour, known
very properly called to attest. What the "one epigrani" and the "two son. But in thy breast's prolific zone."---Della Crusca. nets" were written for uobody knows,
While thou hast sweetly gurgled down the vale,
| Since this, while Merry and his nurslings die,
Thrill'd by the liquid peril of an eye ;*
O, for thy spirit, Pope! Yet why, my lays, which wake no envy, and invite no praise,
More bless'd than me, thus shall ye live
Your little day; and, when ye die, Sweet flowers ! the grateful muse shall give
A verse; the sorrowing maid, a sigh. While I, alas! no distant date,
Mix with the dust from whence I came, Without a friend to weep my fate,
Without a stone to tell my name.
So hours like moments wing'd their flight,
Till now the boatman, on the shore, Impatient of the waning light,
Recall'd us by the dashing oar. Well, Anna,-many days like this
I cannot, must not hope to share; For I have found an hour of bliss
Still follow'd by an age of care Yet oft, when memory intervenes
But you, dear maid, be happy still, Nor e'er regret, 'mid fairer scenes,
The day we pass'd on Greenwich Hill.
First of May. Though clouds obscured the morning hour,
And keen and eager blew the blast, And drizzling fell the cheerless shower,
As, doubtful, to the skitf we pass'd; All soon, propitious to our prayer,
Gave promise of a brighter day: The clouds dispersed in purer air,
The blast in zephyrs died away. So have we, love, a day enjoy'd,
On which we both,-- and yet, who knows |-May dwell with pleasure unalloy'd
And dread no thorn beneath the rose.
To view the varied scene below,
The circling Thames' majestic flow!
We overhung that long-drawn dale, To watch the checker'd light and shade
That glanced upon the shifting sail ! And when the shadow's rapid growth
Proclaim'd the noontide hour expired,
We to our simple meal retired;
The careles9 mind's spontaneous flow,
Which richer tables may not knowThe babe that, on the mother's breast,
Has toy'd and wanton'd for a while, And, sinking to unconscious rest,
Looks up to catch a parting smile, Feels less assured than thou, dear maid
When, ere thy ruby lips could part, (As close to mine thy cheek was laid,)
Thine eyes had open'd all thy heart. Then, then I mark'd the chasten'd joy
That lightly o'er thy features stole, From vows repaid, (my sweet employ,)
From truth, from innocence of soul : While every word dropp'd on my ear,
So soft, (and yet it seems to thrill,) So sweet, that 'twas a heaven to hear,
And e'en thy pause had music still.And O! how like a fairy dream,
To gaze in silence on the tide, While soft and warm the sunny gleam
Slept on the glassy surface wide! And many a thought of fancy bred,
Wild, soothing, tender, undefined, Play'd lightly round the heart, and shed
Delicious languor o'er the mind.
THE GRAVE OF ANNA.
For I am sick of lingering here;
Go, and partake her humble bier.
I lost my all; and life has proved,
A waste unlovely and unloved.-
Shall duly to her grave repair,
And weeds that have no business there
The flowers she cherish'd, snow-drops cold,
To scatter o'er her hallow'd mould ?
Upon her name for ever dear,
And pour the bitter, biler tear ?
Should visit still, should still deplore-
And I, alas! can weep no more.
The last I offer at thy shrine;
And all thy memory fade with mine.
Thy voice, that might with music vie,
Thy matchless eloquence of eye;
Thy courage, by no ills dismay'd,
Thy gay good-humour-Can they fade ?"
Cold turf, which I no more must view,
A long, a last, a sad adieu !
In liquid peril from thy eye."- Della Crusca. “ Ne'er shalt thou know to sigh,
Or on a soft idea die,
Half creeping and half Aying, yet suffice
(Dear to the feeling heart,) in doubt to win To stagger impudence and ruffle vice.
The vacant wanderer ’mid the unceasing din An hour may come, so I delight to dream,
Of this hoarse rout; I seized at length the wand; When slowly wandering by the sacred stream, Resolved, though small my skill, though weak my Majestic Thames ! I leave the world behind,
hand, And give to fancy all th’enraptured mind : The mischief, in its progress, to arrest, An hour may come, when I shall strike the lyre And exorcise the soil of such a pest. To nobler themes; then, then the chords inspire | HENCE! IN THE NAME—I scarce had spoke, when With thy own harmony, most sweet, most strong,
lo! And guide my hand through all the maze of song! Reams of outrageous sonnets,* thick as snow, Till then, enough for me, in such rude strains As mother-wit can give, and those small pains indeed, replied the shepherd; but thy silence alone is the A vacant hour allows, to range the town,
cause of it. And hunt the clamorous brood of folly down;
“ There's comfort yet !" Force every head, in Este's despite, to wear
* Reams of outrageous sonnets. Of these I have col.' The cap and bells by nature planted there ;
lected a very reasonable quantity, which I purpose to
prefix to some future edition of the Mæviad, under the Muffle the rattle, seize the slavering sholes,
classic head of And drive them, scourged and whimpering, to their
INSIGNIUM VIRORUM holes.
ALIQUOT TESTIMONIA Burgoyne,* perhaps, unchill'd by creeping age,
QUI May yet arise and vindicate the stage; I
BAV: ET MÆV: INCLYTISS: AUCTORIS The reign of nature and of sense restore,
MEMINERUNT. And be whatever Terence was before.
Meanwhile I shall present the reader with the first two
which occur, as a specimen of the collection. And you, too, whole Menander !+ who combine With his pure language, and his flowing line,
SONNET I. The SOUL of comedy, may steal an hour
“ To the anonymous author of the Baviad, occasioned by
his scurrilous and most unmerited attack on Mr. WesFrom the foul chase of still escaping power;
ton. The poet and the sage again unite,
“ Demon of darkness ! whosoe'er thou art, And sweetly blend instruction with delight.
That darest assume the brighter angel's form,
With many a sigh to rend the honest heart,
Force from th' unconscious eye the tear to start,
And with just pride th' indignant bosom warm; His youthful breast, still glow uncheck’d, untired:
Avaunt! to where unnumber'd spirits swarın, And yet though, like the bird of eve, his song
Foul and malignant as thyself, depart. Fit audience finds not" in the giddy throng, Genius of Pope, descend, ye servile crew The notes, though artful, wild, though numerous,
Of imitators vile, intrude not!!! I appeal chaste,
To thee, and thee alone, from outrage base;
Tell me, though fair the forms his fancy drew, Fill with delight the sober ear of taste.
Shouldst thou the secrets of his heart reveal, But these, and more, I could with honour name,
Would fame his memory crown, or cover with disToo proud to stoop, like me, to vulgar game,
J. M.-Gent. Mag. Aug. 1792. Subjects more worthy of their daring choose, This poor driveller, who is stupid enough to be Weston's And leave at large th' abortions of the muse. admirer, and malignant enough to be his friend, I take Proud of their privilege, the innumerous spawn,
to be one Morley ;1 whom I now and then observe, in the From bogs and fens, the mire of Pindus, drawn,
1 I was right. Mr. Morley, who, I understand, is a clergyman, and who, New vigour feel, new confidence assume,
like Mr. Parsons, exults in the idea of having first attacked me, has since And swarm, like Pharaoh's frogs, in every room. published a “ Tale," the wit, or rather dulness of which, if I recollect right, Sick of th' eternal croaks, which, ever near,
consists in my being disappointed of a living.
Here follow a few of the introductory lines, which for poetry and pleaBeat like the death-watch on my tortured ear; santry can only be exceeded by those of Mr. Parsons. And sure, too sure, that many a genuine child
" What if a little once I did abuse thee? Cf truth and nature check'd his wood-notes wild,
Worse than thou hadst deserved I could not use thee :
Tis very true I took thee for a brute ; * Burgoyne. -See note *, 2d col. p. 174.
And, marking more attentively thy manners, + And you, too, whole Menander. &c.- spem fallacem!
I since have wish'd thy hide were at the tanner's. Our Menander has since "stolen an hour” (it would be
But if a man thou art, as some suppose,
0! how my fingers itch to pull thy nose! injustice to suppose it more) from public pursuits, and
As pleased as Punch, 18 hold it in my gripe, prostituted it to the reproduction of a German sooterkin.
Till Parkinson had stuff's thee for a snipe!!!" Check'd his wood-notes wild.-Ewrnoavtwy koloiwy, It is rather singular that this still-born lump of insipidity should be introecoTOI KOKVOt. But this is better illustrated in a most duced to the bookseller under the auspices of Dr. Parr. If that respectable elegant fable of Lessing, to which I despair of doing jug- name was not abused on the occasion, I can only say that polities, like misery, tice in a translation.
“bring a man acquainted with strange bedfellows!"
For the rest, I will present Mr. Morley with a couple of lines, which, - Du zürnest, Liebling der Musen," &c. &c. if he will get them construed, and seriously reflect upon, before he next puts Thou art troubled, darling of the Muses, thou art pen to paper, may be of more service to him than all the instruction, and all troubled at the clamorous swarms of insects which infest the encouragement the Doctor, apparently, ever gave him. Parnassus. O hear from me what once the nightingale
Cur ego laborem notus esse tam prave, heard from the shepherd.
Cum stare gratis cum silentio possim ! Sing then, said he to the silent songstress, one lovely
I find, from a letter which my publisher has received from Dr. Parr, that
this note (which I have left in its original state) has given him some slight evening in the spring, sing then, sweet nightingale! Alas! |
degree of uneasiness. said the nightingale, the frogs croak so loud, that I have it is satisfactory to me to reflect that this uneasiness is founded on a misLost all desire to sing: dost thou not hear them? I do, I apprehension. When I remarked on the singularity of Mr. Morley's Tale