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النشر الإلكتروني

The fields we stray, let BLOOMFIELD's voice prevail,
To shew the "farmer's" toil, the circling "ale;"
See his poor" Blind Boy" forming, on his knees,
The beauteous "nosegay which he never sees."
With GISBORNE walk the tangled "forest" thro';
And, in his Leasowes, meet thy SHENSTONE too;
Ascend with DENHAM to his " Cooper's hill;"
And view" the Chase" with Georgic SOMERVILLE.

Poet of sentiment, our WORDSWORTH sings, Fraught with the purest images of things; And not so "simple" as some people tell: Read his " Excursion" and his " Hartleap-well." Nor must we slight, in careless Parthian view, The "classic SHEFFIELD," and the virtuous too; Whose wandering Swiss, and Afric's barter'd slave,* Swept, anguish-torn, across th' Atlantic wave, Alone might serve, had he no higher claim, To give a deathless splendour to his name.

* Montgomery's "Wanderer in Switzerland" and "West Indies."

Truth, Beauty, Grandeur, weave a fairy chain, That wreathes and dances round the Poet's brain. Nature will whisper in her Harper's ear

The sounds that float through her melodious sphere,
And he will sing them. Nor, indeed, I ween,
Could calmest Fancy, tranquil, view the scene.
Rich Panorama! Nature's sun-clad day,-
The faithful moon-the pathless milky-way,-
The bow of promise, arch'd in mercy's hour,
To paint the globules of the genial shower,-
The briny main, now, every wave asleep,
Anon her mountains foaming from the deep,-
Her tides obsequious to the sand-girt shore,-
The zephyrs mild-the ruthless whirlwind's roar,—
The heights precipitous, in snowy shroud,
Or lightning-scorch'd and riven, where, yelling loud,
The night-wolf howls, or sun-fed eagle cowers;-—
The velvet lawns, sweet birds, and balmy bowers,-
The amaranth flowers the dewy grass among,—
Sounding cascades—and crystal lakes—and song

Of matin lark, and tuneful nightingale

That hymns a requiem to the peaceful vale.
Ten thousand objects crowd from pole to pole,
And strike the thoughts responding in the soul,
Till, prompted oft, by such inspiring call,
The embryo thoughts in "golden cadence" fall.

Say not the Muse on Helicon must sing,
Drink inspiration from Castalia's spring,-
In every place enraptur'd spirits find

Some theme of song-some theatre of mind:
Impressive Nature, in the rich display
Of all her bright magnificent array,

Forms in her beauteous, as unbounded, whole,

ONE VAST ODEON for the Poet's soul.

E'en when abstracted from these outward things, Lost to the scenes encircling Nature brings, The Mind itself on it's own treasure turns, With action rises, and with passion burns.

It's busy, strange, ethereal constitution,—

It's ample range, and ceaseless evolution,

It's progress towards perfection, boundless scope,
It's pleasures sweet of memory and of hope,-
It's scenes ideal, unexhausted stores,

Where, unconfined, imagination soars,-
With changeful passions, in successive train,
Nurs'd in the heart, if govern'd by the brain,—
These-tell the Poet he may cease to roam;
A field of mental beauty smiles at home.

So thought enchanting BEATTIE, when he (Oh why was such a harp so soon unstrung?)

sung

How Nature's self, by beauty, converse, dreams,
Form'd a sweet minstrel midst her rocks and streams;

And every stage, with nice distinction, shows,
How opening genius to perfection grows.

So too, instructive ROGERS, to the gale
Auspicious, yielding Memory's faithful sail,
While up the stream the bark glides smoothly by,
Paints every scene that meets the ranging eye.

Accomplish'd CAMPBELL, with his fragrant wing, Sweeps every flower of Hope's enchanted spring. With ardent flight, and philosophic scheme,

The lofty AKENSIDE exalts his theme;

And potent COLLINS, at his swift control,

Describes each passion as it warms the soul:
Ah! splendid Genius! hadst thou better fared,
Few are the Bards who had with thee compared!

Still nobler aims ask Poesy's support:
The love of country may the soul transport;
The high achievements of the olden time,
In EPIC verse demand the true sublime;
Such as Mæonides o'er Græcia rang,
Or, polish'd Maro to Mecænas sang;
Or, later Tasso, to a slumbering age;
Or, the dread argument of Milton's page.
These mighty masters of the heavenly art,
Pass, in review, unequall'd and apart.

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