"All hail, inexorable lord!

At whose destruction-breathing word
The mightiest empires fall!
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train,
The ministers of grief and pain,
A sullen welcome, all!
With stern-resolv'd, despairing eye,

I see each aimed dart;
For one has cut my dearest tie,
And quivers in my heart.

Then lowering and pouring,
The storm no more I dread;
Though thickening and blackening
Round my devoted head."

Ibid.

CAMPBELL.

Thus, Mary, be but thou my own,

While brighter eyes unheeded play,

I'll love those moonlight looks alone,

Which bless my home and guide my way!"

Of Pastoral Poetry.

MOORE.

WHEN, in any country, poetical compositions become numerous, and the subjects of which they treat are greatly diversified, it is common to classify or arrange them under different heads. The classes or kinds of poetry usually enumerated, are pastoral, lyric, descriptive, epic, and dramatic.

The term pastoral is derived from the Latin pastor, which signifies a shepherd, and of consequence, properly applies to the scenes, circumstances, characters, and sentiments, connected with the tendance of flocks. Pastoral poetry is not, however, entirely restricted to these, but extends to every kind of rural occupation. Whatever is truly descriptive of the manners, the employments, the amusements, and the language of rustics in general, is comprehended under this head.

The first poet who excelled in this kind of poetry, was Theocritus, who has painted the rich and romantic landscape of Sicily, and given a beautiful and original picture of the language and occupations of its rustic inhabitants; and had succeeding poets followed

his example in this respect, our pastorals would not be the insipid things, which with a few exceptions, we must now consider them. But in this department of

poetry, imitation has been carried on with a degree of the most unpardonable servility, and poets have absurdly introduced the costume and scenery of Sicily, instead of giving a faithful representation of their own climate and rural character. Virgil, Pope, Gay, Philips, and others of inferior fame, have written what are called pastorals, but their writings have no legal claim to the title. Shenstone's pastoral ballad makes a much nearer approach to truth. There is in it no affectation or indelicacy; it is natural, innocent, and elegant. Its principal faults are too great elevation of thought and refinement of sentiment, for a person in the humble situation of a shepherd. As a poetical production it is sweetly simple, and deserves the highest praise.

The following lines from

that part of it denominated Hope, may be regarded

as a fair specimen.

“One would think, she might like to retire

To the bower I had laboured to rear;

Not a shrub that I heard her admire,
But I hasted and planted it there.
Oh! how sudden the jessamine strove,
With the lilac, to render it gay;
Already it calls for my love,

To prune the wild branches away.

"I have found out a gift for my fair,

I have found where the wood-pigeons breed;
But let me that plunder forbear,

She will say 'twas a barbarous deed:
For he ne'er could be true she averr'd

Who could rob a poor bird of its

young;

And I loved her the more, when I heard

Such tenderness fall from her tongue."

"In artless expression of passion," says Dr. Beattie, "in truth of colouring, and simplicity of diction, nothing can rival the Scotch pastoral songs; they originated in a country abounding in a rich assemblage of rural images; smooth and lofty hills, covered with verdure; clear streams winding through long and beautiful valleys; trees produced without culture, here straggling or single, and there crowding into little groves and bowers; with other circumstances peculiar to the districts to which I allude, render them fit for pasturage, and favourable to romantic leisure and tender passions. Several of the old Scotch songs take their names from the rivulets, villages, and hills, adjoining the Tweed, near Melrose; a region distinguished by many charming varieties of rural scenery, and which, whether we consider the face of the country or the genius of the people, may properly enough be termed the Arcadia of Scotland. And all these songs are sweetly and powerfully expressive of love and tenderness, and of emotions suited

"The association of the words and the music of these songs, with the beautiful parts of the scenery of Scotland, has contributed to give them a popularity, which otherwise they might not have obtained. It has given them not merely popularity, but permanence; it has imparted to the works of man some portion of the durability of the works of nature. If, from our imperfect experience of the past, we may judge with any confidence respecting the future, songs of this description are the least likely to perish. In the changes of language they may, no doubt, suffer change, but the associated strain of sentiment and music will, perhaps, survive while the clear stream sweeps down the vale of Yarrow, or the yellow broom waves on Cowden Knowes.

To the pastoral songs of Scotland Burns has made great additions. He has extended the poetical scenery of his country; and conferred immortality on many of its rivers formerly unsung. The Doon, the Lugar, the Ayr, the Nith, and the Cluden, are now, like the Yarrow, the Tweed, and the Tay, considered as classic streams, and their borders trod with new and superior emotions. The pastoral poetry of Burns is in general excellent, but his "Cotter's Saturday Night" stands unrivalled.

When treating of the beauties of pastoral poetry, the