Dic O! propinquis quot tua murmura The English poems are justly said by the editor to possess the same general tendency which was conspicuously the aim of their author's whole life; that is, "to recommend a sincere love of virtue, and to express that awe of the Supreme Being, which ever filled his grateful and humble heart." They partake, however, of the same faults which have, with respect to style, so deeply blemished the pages of his Psyche, though not in an equal degree; for they exhibit a greater perspicuity and chastity of diction, and a greater freedom from farfetched conceits and colloquial familiarities. Their texture, indeed, being altogether of a lyric cast, and, therefore, void of narrative, may in some measure account for this; yet from the sixty-five quarto pages which are devoted to these compositions, I do not think it possible to extract more than eight or nine passages, which, in a poetic light, will be considered as reflecting credit on the memory of their author. If we * Life prefixed, p. xxiii. recollect, however, that from the folio of Psyche not more than eighteen specimens were deemed worthy of exhibition, the comparison will be greatly in favour of the smaller volume. The collection opens with some stanzas entitled "Reasonable Melancholy," in the metrical construction of which there is a pleasing flow of melody, well adapted to the nature of the subject. The commencing and concluding stanza are more especially entitled to notice, as well for the philosophy of their sentiment as the poetry of their expression, and with these I shall gratify my readers. Tell me no more of sweets and joys; Nor flatter poor unworthy toys As they were kings. 'Tis not a pretty name That can transform the frame Of bitterness, and cheat a sober taste. Good 'Tis not a smile That can beguile eyes, and on false joys true colours cast. Come hither grief; one draught of thee Will taste more sweet Than all false joy's hypocrisy, Which here doth greet Deluded souls; one tear Flows with more honey far Than all Hyblean hives; one pious sigh Breathes sweeter air Than all the fair Arabia, and can sooner reach the sky. There is a moral and devotional charm pervading throughout the poetry of Dr. Beaumont, which tells us, in terms which cannot be mistaken, of the goodness of his heart, and of the fervor of his Christian faith. This is a feature which, whilst it induces us to overlook with tenderness many errors of taste, fixes us with a more than common interest on those parts of his writings which give a clear and unalloyed transcript of his thoughts and feelings. Thus, there can be little doubt from what we know of the tenor of his life, that the following piece of advice was drawn from an intimate and impartial acquaintance with the state of his own bosom : Turn thine eye Inward, and observe thy breast; There alone dwells solid rest. To thyself a tenant be, And inhabit safe and free. Say not that this house is small, In the same pleasing metre, and in a vein of piety at once rational and glowing, he has composed an address to heavenly love, under the title of An Evening Hymn, and which, as being nearly, if not altogether, free from any quaintness, as to style or imagery, I shall give entire. Never yet could careless sleep Damp his eye's immortal light: Love is his own day, and sees Pardon then what thou dost see, 'Cause my heart awake I keep, Meekly waiting upon Thee, Whilst thou deign'st to watch for me. There is in these miscellaneous poems, notwithstanding the brief space they occupy, a large fund of ethical wisdom, and not seldom expressed in very forcible and emphatic terms. Their author appears, indeed, from the turbulent complexion of the times in which it was his fortune to live, to have acquired a knowledge of |