She's damnable ugly, my Vanity cried, lie ; You lie, says my Conscience, you Resolving to follow the dictates of Pride, I'd view her a hag to my eye. But should she regain her bright lustre again, 'Tis but to accept of the works of my pen, * We do not aver that, in general, these productions tend to augment Chatterton's fame; on the contrary, as some of them have been written almost during infancy, as others are merely unfinished fragments, and as all seem incorrect and hasty productions, we cannot but consider them as far inferior to the poems ascribed to Rowley, and even to those which Chatterton was himself pleased to own during his life. But in another point of view, these early and unfinished compositions are very interesting. In Chatterton, above all other poets, we would wish, not merely to admire the works upon which he may safely rest his claim to immortal fame, but also to investigate the performances in which his exertions have been less successful; and by comparing them together, to form, if it be possible, some idea of the strength and weakness of this prodigy of early talent. We therefore approve of publishing such pieces as 'Sly Dick' and 'Apostate Will,' which display the early satirical propensities of young Chatterton; with the elegies, songs, and burlettas, by which he endeavoured rather to supply his necessities, and postpone the dreadful crisis of his fate, than to indulge his genius, or extend his poetical fame. One of his juvenile productions is a hymn for Christmas Day, which bears ample testimony to the premature powers of the author.-Such was the early command of language displayed by a child, who, when a beardless youth, was to quell a whole synod of grizzled deans and antiquaries.-SIR WALTER SCOTT. HECCAR AND GAIRA, AN AFRICAN ECLOGUE. Where the rough Caigra rolls the surgy wave, In all the burning torments of the day; Their bloody jav'lins reeked one living steam, Gaira, the king of warring archers found, • Distant is written under echoing in the MS. HECCAR. Gaira, 'tis useless to attempt the chace, Swifter than hunted wolves they urge the race; Let us return, and strip the reeking slain GAIRA. Heccar, my vengeance still exclaims for blood, 'Twould drink a wider stream than Caigra's flood. This jav'lin, oft in nobler quarrels try'd, Put the loud thunder of their arms aside. Fast as the streaming rain, I pour'd the dart, HECCAR. When Gaira the united armies broke, Death wing'd the arrow; death impell'd the stroke. See, pil'd in mountains, on the sanguine sand The blasted of the lightnings of thy hand. • Query, whether not intended for foes ?-SOUTHEY'S Edition. The children of the wave, whose pallid race, GAIRA. Rouse not Remembrance from her shadowy cell, Trailing his glories thro' the blossom'd brake: The sun sat low'ring in the western sky, ; Pierced his rough armour, but escaped his heart; He fled, tho' wounded, to a distant waste, The gods had given me to the dæinon's power. |