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fpread out and fupport the • flowers.

These are very large, and of a beautiful red. They are not like thofe of the • houfeleek, compofed of ⚫ twelve petals; but formed of one only, and that divided but into ten fegments. "The feeds are contained in

C capfules, feveral of which

Verfes to the People of England.

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ance.

'C. Bauhine calls it Sedum montanum tementofum."

1758. By William White head, Efq; Poet Laureat. 4to. 6d. Dodfley.

TH

HIS little poem contains fome very seasonable advice to the people of England; but we could have wifhed it had been conveyed in Heroic numbers; the fhortnefs of the ftanza fometimes obfcuring the Author's fenfe, and never carrying with it due weight or dignity. It muft, however, be allowed, that the verfification is flowing and easy, the language correct and poetical and if this piece fhould not have the fame effect upon our countrymen, as the verses of Tyrtæus had upon the twice defeated Lacedemonians, it ought to be confidered that we are a lefs martial people than the Spartans.

L

It muft, however, be allowed, that an English Laureat cannot better employ his Mufe, than in endeavouring

By magic Numbers, and perfuafive Senfe,

to excite in us a patriotic zeal for the glory and safety of our country. It is, indeed, a mortifying circumstance, to reflect how little Public Spirit at prefent prevails, among all ranks of people. Well, therefore, may our Poet thus give vent to his refentments on this occafion.

Curft be he, the willing Slave,

Who doubts, who lingers to be brave."
Curft be the Coward tongues that dare
Breathe one accent of despair,
Cold as Winter's icy hand
To chill the Genius of the land.

Chiefly you, who ride the deep,
And bid our thunders wake or fleep,
As Pity pleads, or Glory calls-
Monarchs of our wooden Walls!

Midft your mingling feas and fkies
Rife ye BLAKES, ye RALEIGHS rife!
Let the fordid luft of gain
Be banifh'd from the liberal Main.
He who ftrikes the generous blow,
Aims it at the public foe.

Let Glory be the guiding flar,

Wealth and Honours follow her.

After this fpecimen, the Reader will not be displeased to see the Laureat's address to the British Muse; for tho', we confess ourselves no great Believers in the martial prowess of the tuneful Tribe, yet

Ære ciere Viros, martemque accendere cantu

would be, on the prefent occafion, could the Mufe effect it, of the laft importance to the public.

Thou genuine BRITISH MUSE,
Nurs'd amidit the Druids old,
Where Deva's wizard waters roll'd,
THOU, that bear'ft the golden key
To unlock Eternity,

Summon thy poetic guard--
Britain ftill has many a Bard,
Whom, when Time and Death fhall join
T expand the ore, and ftamp the coin,
Late Pofterity fhall own

Lineal to the Mufe's throne——

Bid them leave th' inglorious theme
Of fabled fhade, or haunted ftream.
In the daily painted mead

'Tis to PEACE we tune the reed:
But when WAR's tremendous roar
Shakes the ifle from shore to fhore,
Every Bard of purer fire

Tyrtæus like fhould grafp the lyre;
Wake with verfe the hardy deed,

Or in the generous ftrife like SYDNEY bleed.

Sir Philip Sydney. mortally wounded in an action near Zutphen, in Gelderland.

Gr-r

An Ode to the Country Gentlemen of England. By Dr. Akenfide. 4to. 6d. Dodfley.

HE poetical productions of this two-fold difciple of Apollo, as he is, with no impropriety, ftiled by the English Ariftippus*, have this peculiar excellence-they uniformly glow

THE

* See Review for February laft, page 168.

with

with the facred fire of liberty; infomuch that our public-fpirited Doctor well deserves to be ftiled, The Poet of the Community.

In this light we have read his Ode to the Country Gentlemen of England, with peculiar fatisfaction. It is fpirited, manly, and fufficiently poetical for those to whom it is addreffed ;-and, as in former times, the halls of our rural ancestors were adorned with paffages from our old chronicles, fo we heartily with, that moft of the ftanzas of this patriot performance were to fupply the place, in our modern manfions, of race-horfes, Newmarket-jockies, and the trophies of the chace: for it is a melancholy reflection, that this island will, probably, one day, either fall a prey to foreign invaders, or her own foldiery, unless the body of the people are inftructed in the use of arms. Did our farmers but know, that they are poffeffed of more wealth and freedom than the peafantry of any other nation; and above all, were our country gentlemen (for with them the chief remora lies) but fufficiently apprized of the fuperior advantages they enjoy, compared with what those of the fame rank poffefs on the continent, we cannot think fo meanly of either, as to imagine they would not gladly embrace the opportunity our laws have put into their hands, of becoming mafters of the only art by which these invaluable bleffings can be preserved to themselves, and tranfmitted to pofterity.

Our Poet, after expofing the extreme folly, as well as danger, of trufting entirely to either our fleets or ftanding armies, for the defence of Britain, which, (in proportion to its wealth, will only prove the more tempting to invaders) thus proceeds:

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VII.

But if thy fons be worthy of their name,

If lib'ral laws with lib'ral hearts they prize,
Let them from conqueft and from fervile shame
In war's glad school their own protectors rise.
Ye chiefly, heirs of Albion's cultur'd plains,
Ye leaders of her bold and faithful swains,
Now not unequal to your birth be found:
The public voice bids arm your rural state,
Paternal hamlets for your enfigns wait,

And grange and fold prepare to pour their youth around.

VIII.

Why are ye tardy? what inglorious care

Detains you from their head, your native post?
Who moft their country's fame and fortune fhare,
'Tis theirs to share her toils, her perils most.
Each man his task in focial life fultains.
With partial labours, with domeftic gains

Let

Let others dwell: to you indulgent heav'n
By counsel and by arms the public cause
To ferve for public love, and love's applause,
The firft employment far, the nobleft hire, hath giv'n.

IX.

Have ye not heard of Lacedæmon's fame ?
Of Attic chiefs in freedom's war divine?

Of Rome's dread gen'rals? the Valerian name?
The Fabian fons ? the Scipio's, matchless line?
Your lot was theirs, the farmer and the fwain
Met his lov'd patron's fummons from the plaia;
The legions gather'd; the bright eagles flew :
Barbarian monarchs in the triumph mourn'd;
The conqu'rors to their houfhold gods return'd,
And fed Calabrian flocks, and steer'd the Sabine plough.

X.

Shall then this glory of the antique age,
This pride of men, be loft among mankind?
Shall war's heroic arts no more engage
The unbought hand, the unsubjected mind ?
Doth valour to the foul no more belong?
No more with fcorn of violence and wrong
Doth forming nature now her fons inspire,
That, like fome mystery to few reveal'd,
The skill of arms implicitly they yield,
And from their own defence abafh'd and aw'd retire ?

XI.

O fhame to human life, to human laws!
The loose advent'rer, hireling of a day,
Who his fell fword without affection draws,
Whofe God, whofe country is a tyrant's pay,
This man the leffons of the field can learn ;
Can every palm, which decks a warrior, earn,
And every pledge of conqueft: while in vain,
To guard your altars, rights, paternal lands,
Are focial arms held out to your free hands:
Too arduous is the lore; too irksome were the pain.

XII.
Meantime by pleafure's fophiftry allur'd,

From the bright fun and living breeze ye ftray;
And deep in London's gloomy haunts immur'd,
Brood o'er your fortune's, freedom's, health's decay.
O blind of choice, and to yourselves untrue!
The young grove fhoots, their bloom the fields renew,
The manfion afks its lord, the swains their friend;
While he doth riot's orgies haply fhare,

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Or tempt the gamester's dark, destroying foare,
Or at fome courtly fhrine with flavish incenfe bend.-
XVI.

Say then; if England's youth, in earlier days,
On glory's field with well-train'd armies vy'd,
Why fhall they now renounce that generous praise ?
Why dread the foreign mercenary's pride?
Tho' Valois brav'd young Edward's gentle hand,
And D'Albret rufh'd on Henry's way-worn band,
With Europe's chofen fons in arms renown'd,
Yet not on Vere's bold archers long they look'd,
Nor Audley's 'fquires nor Mowbray's yeomen brook'd:
They faw their ftandard fall, and left their monarch bound.

XVII.

Such were the laurels which your fathers won;
Such glory's dictates in their dauntless breaft:

Is there no voice that speaks to every son?
No nobler, holier call to You address'd?
O! by majestic freedom, righteous laws,
By heav'nly truth's, by manly reafon's cause,
Awake; attend; be indolent no more:

By friendship, focial peace, domeftic love,
Rife; arm; your country's living fafety prove;
And train her valiant youth, and watch around her shore,

G

Lettre Familiari e Critiche di Vincenzio Martinelli.
Nourfe.

8vo. 6s.

TH

HIS collection of familiar letters is the work of a gentleman already known to the literary world, by his entertaining hiftory of Civil Life *. Mr. Martinelli, we are told, has refided ten years in this country; and we hope he will have no reafon to complain of English hofpitality, or to object to us, that any partiality of country, or opinion, blinds our judgments, or contracts our affections, when real merit folicits our regard. He has lived, it feems, fince his arrival, in a continued friendfhip with the Great, the Elegant, and the Learned. The refpect with which he has been treated, and the favours he has received, he has taken occafion to acknowlege in these letters, the greater part of which are infcribed to one or other of his honourable acquaintance.

plied

Mr. Martinelli tells us, that obferving in this nation a great curiofity in regard to Italian literature, and finding the fhops ill fup

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See Review, Vol. VII. p. 143

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