The sweets of a dew-fprinkled rose, O ye woods, fpread your branches apace; I would hide with the beafts of the chace; Yet my reed shall resound through the grove, The foregoing Pastoral Ballad, of four parts, has been long confidered as a master-piece in its kind, and perhaps may be ranked the first in the list of fimilar compofitions by the fame author.-We think the following, by Cunningham, is highly deferving the attention of the fcholar, not only in confequence of the great and many beauties it contains, but also as it affords a number of fituations in which he may administer infinite pleasure to his hearer, by reading it with propriety. A neat fimplicity of expreffion must be attended to; and, in delivering fome of the ftriking images with which it abounds, an occafional use of appropriate action will have a good effect; K 2 effect; but do not be too profufe with it, as, in that cafe, you weaken, instead of adding strength to a fentiment. MORNING. IN the barn, the tenant cock Clofe to Partlet perch'd on high, Jocund that the morning's nigh. Jocund, as if fpelt with two ce-Joccund. When you commence the next verse, look upward. Philomel forfakes the thorn, Plaintive where the prates at night; Paufe after "Soars," and let your voice have a tone of continuation when you pause. From From the low-roof'd cottage ridge Let there be nothing loitering or heavy in your utterance. Now the pine-tree's waving top From the balmy fweets, uncloy'd, Trickling thro' the crevic'd rock, Colin, for the promis'd corn (Ere the harvest hopes are ripe) Anxious, hears the huntfman's horn, Sweet, O fweet! the warbling throng, Echoes to the rifing day. NOON. FERVID on the glitt'ring flood By the brook the fhepherd dines; Now the flock forfakes the glade, Sure to find a pleafing fhade By the ivy'd abbey-wall. Echo, in her airy round, O'er the river, rock, and hill, Cannot catch a fingle found, Save the clack of yonder mill. |