and it must be confessed that we can bring forward no production in merit equal to the ode of Sappho; yet shall we be able to collect some little pieces of high value to the lover of nature and simplicity. A few of our early poets have greatly excelled in the amatory song, and Harrington, better than two centuries ago, published one, which is entitled to very distinguished praise. The talents too of George Wither, which are much undervalued, were employed in this department with success, and the stanzas inserted by Dr. Percy in his Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, Hence away, thou Syren, leave me, Pish! unclasp these wanton arms, &c. &c. are the offspring of no inferior genius. FLETCHER's little song I have already mentioned, descending, therefore, to a more recent period, the pathetic strains of Thomson, Percy and Goldsmith arrest our notice and claim our warmest admiration. Some pieces of Mrs. Barbauld's also, and the Braes of Yarrow by Logan will be highly relished; the fourth stanza of the latter poem is strikingly beautiful and tender. His mother from the window look'd The green wood path to meet her brother; They only saw the cloud of night, They only heard the roar of Yarrow! ODES, CLASS IV. AMATORY. 1. Whence comes my love, O hearte, disclose Harrington 2. Hence away, thou Syren, leave me Wither. eyes 3. Drink to me only with thine eyes 4. Ask me why I send you here 5. Take, O take those lips away 6. The heavy hours are almost past - Lyttleton. 7. O Nightingale, best poet of the grove Thomson. 8. Tell me, thou soul of her I love - Thomson. 9. Thy fatal shafts unerring love 10. When Sappho tun'd the enraptur'd strain 11. Too plain, dear Youth, these tell-tale eyes Smollet. Smollet. Jenyns. 12. When lovely woman stoops to folly Goldsmith. 13. O Nancy wilt thou go with me Percy. Hamilton. 14. Ah! the shepherd's mournful fate 18. Sister of Phœbus, gentle Queen - Miss F*** 19. From thy waves, stormy Lannow, I 20. What tho' I 'm told that Flora's face Sayers. 21. Once more, enchanting girl, adieu! Rogers. 22. Sweet flowers! that from your hum ble beds Gifford. 23. Say, have you in the valley seen Anon. 24. I have a silent sorrow here Sheridan. I have thus, in a brief manner, considered the merits of our English lyric poets, and attempted to prove, that in the Sublime, Pathetic and Descriptive Ode they are not inferior to the ancients, and in the Amatory make a near approach to their models. For this purpose, under their respective departments, I have enumerated many of our best productions, and it will not, I should imagine, be disputed, that they form together a body of lyric poetry of undoubted excellence, Together dart their intermingled rays Gray. As an humble appendage to these strictures, I have ventured to introduce an original ode. It opens with a very bold prosopopæia, but which will not, the author trusts, be thought too daring for the subject. * In drawing the comparison between ancient and modern lyric poetry, I have not thought it necessary to notice, except in the instances of Secundus and Gallus, the modern writers of latin verse. I cannot conclude this sketch however, without declaring that many of the Odes of Casimir Sorbiewsky are worthy of the genius of Horace. I select the following as a specimen, and append to it the very elegant translation of Mr. Heald. ad suam testudinem. Sonori buxi filia sutilis, Pendebis alta, barbite, populo; Dum ridet aer, et supinas Te sibilantis lenior halitus Perflabit Euri: me juvet interim Collum reclinasse, et virenti Sic temerè jacuisse ripa. Eheu! Serenum quæ nebulæ tegunt Surgamus. Heu semper fugaci Gaudia præteritura passu! Lib. i. THE STORM. AN ODE. Heard ye the Whirlwind's flight sublime, Swift as the rushing wing of Time; Vaunting he rear'd his giant form, In the high-towering poplar thus swinging The blue vault its full beauty displaying, Not a cloud the pure ether o'ershades, The green foliage fond zephyr pervades. Thus I leave thee to murmur and quiver, Ha! along yon horizon dark scowling, Hark! the show'r, whistles loud on mine ear. O my harp, my companion, my treasure, HEALD |