And tenderest tints, along their summits driven, Mark his gay course, and own the hues of heaven; Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep, Behind his Delphian rock he sinks to sleep. On such an eve his palest beam he cast, When, Athens! here thy wisest look'd his last. How watch'd thy better sons his farewell ray, That closed their murder'd sage's latest day; Not yet not yet-Sol pauses on the hill, The precious hour of parting lingers still; But sad his light to agonizing eyes, And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes; Gloom o'er the lovely land he seem'd to pour, The land where Phoebus never frown'd before; But ere he sank below Citharon's head, The cup of woe was quaff'd-the spirit fled; The soul of him that scorn'd to fear or fly, Who lived and died as none can live or die. But, lo! from high Hymettus to the plain, The queen of night asserts her silent reign:f No murky vapour, herald of the storm, Hides her fair face, or girds her glowing form; With cornice glimmering as the moonbeams play, There the white column greets her grateful ray; And bright around, with quivering beams beset, Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret: The groves of olive scatter'd dark and wide, Where meek Cephisus sheds his scanty tide, The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque, The gleaming turret of the gay kiosk, And sad and sombre 'mid the holy calm, Near Theseus' fane, yon solitary palm : All, tinged with varied hues, arrest the eye; And dull were his that passed them heedless by. Again the Ægean, heard no more afar, Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war; Again his waves in milder tints unfold Their long expanse of sapphire and of gold, Mix'd with the shades of many a distant isle, That frown, where gentler ocean deigns to smile. As thus, within the walls of Pallas' fane, j I mark'd the beauties of the land and main, Alone, and friendless, on the magic shore, Whose arts and arms but live in poet's lore; Oft as the matchless dome I turn'd to scan, Sacred to gods, but not secure from man, The past return'd, the present seem'd to cease, And glory knew no clime beyond her Greece! * Socrates drank the hemlock a short time before sunset (the hour of execution), notwithstanding the entreaties of his disciples to wait till the sun went down. + The twilight in Greece is much shorter than in our own country; the days in winter are longer, but in summer of less duration. Hours rolled along, and Dian's orb on high Yes, 'twas Minerva's self; but, ah, how changed 'Mortal!'-'twas thus she spake-'that blush of shame Proclaims thee Briton, once a noble name: Scaped from the ravage of the Turk and Goth, Recount the relics torn that yet remain: That all may learn from whence the plunderer came, The kiosk is a Turkish summer-house; the palm is without the present walls of Athens, not far from *This is spoken of the city in general, and not of the temple of Theseus, between which and the tree the Acropolis in particular. The temple of Jupiter the wall intervenes. Cephisus' stream is indeed Olympius, by some supposed the Parthenon, was scanty, and Ilissus has no stream at all. finished by Hadrian; sixteen columns are standing, of the most beautiful marble architecture. The Parthenon, or Temple of Minerva, Ask'st thou the difference? From fair Phyle's And marvel at his Lordship's "stone shop" there. towers Survey Boeotia ;-Caledonia's ours. And well I know within that bastard landt Round the throng'd gates shall sauntering coxcomb creep, To lounge and lucubrate, to prate and peep; And envies Laïs all her Attic beaux. When shall a modern maid have swains like these? And last of all amidst the gaping crew, In many a branding page and burning line; 'So let him stand through ages yet unborn, Mortal! the blue-eyed maid resumed, once Hers were the deeds that taught her lawless son more Bear back my mandate to thy native shore. Though fallen, alas, this vengeance yet is mine, 'First on the head of him who did this deed If one with wit the parent brood disgrace, * His Lordship's name, and that of one who no longer bears it, are carved conspicuously on the Parthenon; above, in a part not far distant, are the torn remnants of the basso-relievos, destroyed in a vain attempt to remove them. To do what oft Britannia's self had done. 'Look to the east, where Ganges' swarthy race * Eratostratos, who, in order to make his name re +Irish bastards, according to Sir Callaghan membered, set fire to the Temple of Diana at Ephe O'Bralaghan. sus. 'Look on your Spain!-she clasps the hand she | Or, back returning, sees rejected stores But boldly clasps, and thrusts you from her gates. Can spare a few to fight, and sometimes fly. 'Look last at home-you love not to look there, 'Now fare ye well! enjoy your little hour; Blest paper credit! last and best supply, Rot piecemeal on his own encumber'd shores: Show me the man whose counsels may have weight. Vain is each voice where tones could once command; E'en factions cease to charm a factious land : Yet jarring sects convulse a sister isle, And light with maddening hands the mutual pile. "Tis done, 'tis past, since Pallas warns in vain; SIR,-I am a country gentleman of a midland county. I might have been a Parliament man for a certain borough; having had the offer of as many votes as General T. at the general election in 1812.* But I was all for domestic happiness; as, fifteen years ago, on a visit to London, Í married a middle-aged maid of honour. We lived happily at Hornem Häll till last season, when my wife and I were invited by the Countess of Waltzaway (a distant relation of my spouse) to pass the winter in town. Thinking no harm, and our girls being come to a marriageable (or, as they call it, marketable) age, and having besides a Chancery suit inveterately entailed upon the family estate, we came up in our old chariot; of which, by the by, my wife grew so much ashamed in less than a week, that I was obliged to buy a second-hand barouche, of which I might mount the box, Mrs. H. says, if I could drive, but never see the inside-that place being reserved for the Honourable Augustus Tiptoe, her partner-general and opera-knight. Hearing great praises of Mrs. H.'s dancing (she was famous for birthnight minuets in the latter end of the last century), I unbooted, and went to a ball at the Countess's, expecting to see a country dance, or, at most, cotillons, reels, and all the old paces to the newest tunes. But judge of my surprise, on arriving, to see poor dear Mrs. Hornem with her arms half round the loins of a huge hussar-looking gentleman I never set eyes on before: and his, to say truth, rather more than half round her waist, turning round, and round, and round, to a dd see-saw up-and-down sort of tune, that reminded me of the Black Joke,' only more 'affetuoso,' till it made me quite giddy with wondering they were not so. By and by they stopped a bit, and I thought they would sit or fall down. But no; with Mrs. H.'s hand on his shoulder, 'quam familiariter'† (as Terence said when I was at school), they walked about a minute, and then at it again, like two cockchafers spitted upon the same bodkin. I asked what all this meant, when, with a loud laugh, a child no older than our Wilhelmina (a name I never heard but in the Vicar of Wakefield, though her mother would call her after the Princess of Swap. penbach) said, 'Lord! Mr. Hornem, can't you see they are valtzing!' or waltzing (I forget which); and then up she got, and her mother and sister, and away they went, and round-abouted it till supper-time. Now that I know what it is, I like it of all things, and so does Mrs. H. (though I have broken my shins, and four times overturned Mrs. Hornem's maid, in practising the preliminary steps in a morning). Indeed, so much do I like it, that having a turn for rhyme, tastily displayed in some election ballads, and songs in honour of all the victories (but till lately I have had little practice in that way), I sat down, and with the aid of William Fitzgerald, Esq., and a few hints from Dr. Busby (whose recitations I attend, and am monstrous fond of Master Busby's manner of delivering his father's late successful 'Drury Lane Address'), I composed the following hymn, wherewithal to make my sentiments known to the public; whom, nevertheless, I heartily despise, as well as the critics.-I am, Sir, yours, &c. &c., HORACE HORNEM. State of the poll (last day), 5. My Latin is all forgotten, if a man can be said to have forgotten what he never remembered; but I bought my title-page motto of a Catholic priest for a three-shilling bank token, after much haggling for the even sixpence. 1 grudged the money to a Papist, being all for the memory of Perceval and No Popery,' and ite regretting the downfall of the Pope, because we can't burn him any more. MUSE of the many-twinkling feet ! whose charms Far be from thee and thine the name of prude; Thy breast, if bare enough, requires no shield: Dance forth-sans armour thou shalt take the field, And own-impregnable to most assaults, Hail, nimble nymph! to whom the young hussar, The whisker'd votary of waltz and war, His night devotes, despite of spurs and boots; ners A modern hero fought for modish manners; On Hounslow's heath to rival Wellesley's fame,† Cock'd, fired, and miss'd his man-but gain'd his aim: Hail, moving Muse! to whom the fair one's breast And give both Belial and his dance their due! * 'Glance their many-twinkling feet.'-GRAY. + To rival Lord Wellesley's, or his nephew's, as the reader pleases. The one gained a pretty woman, whom he deserved, by fighting for; and the other has been fighting in the Peninsula many a long day. by Shrewsbury clock, without gaining anything in that country but the title of the great Lord, and the Lord; which savours of profanation, having been hitherto applied only to that Being to whom Te Deums for carnage is the rankest blasphemy. It is to be presumed that the general will one day return to his Sabine farm, there 'To tame the genius of the stubborn plain, Almost as quickly as he conquer'd Spain !' The Lord Peterborough conquered continents in a summer; we do more: we contrive both to conquer and lose them in a shorter season. If the great Lord's Cincinnatian progress in agriculture be no speedier than the proportional average of time in Pope's couplet, it will, according to the farmer's proverb, beploughing with dogs. By the by, one of this illustrious person's new titles is forgotten; it is, however, worth reinembering-Sal vador del mundo ! credite, posteri! If this be the appellation annexed by the inhabitants of the Peninsula to the name of a man who has not yet saved them (query, are they worth saving, even in this world? for, according to the mildest modifications of any Christian creed, those three words make the odds much against them in the next. 'Saviour of the world, quotha!)-it were to be wished that he, or any one else, could save a corner of it-his country. Yet this stupid misnomer, although it shows the near connexion between superstition and impiety, so far has its use, that it proves there can be little to dread from those Catholics (inquisitorial Catholics too) who can confer such an appellation on a Protestant. 1 suppose next year he will be entitled the Virgin Mary: if so, Lord George Gordon himself would have nothing to object to such liberal bastards of our Lady of Babylon. Imperial Waltz! imported from the Rhine (Famed for the growth of pedigrees and wine), Long be thine import from all duty free, And hock itself be less esteem'd than thee; In some few qualities alike-for hock Improves our cellar--thou our living stock. The head to hock belongs-thy subtler art Intoxicates alone the heedless heart : Through the full veins thy gentler poison swims, And wakes to wantonness the willing limbs. O Germany! how much to thee we owe, We bless thee still-for George the Third is left! But peace to her, her emperor and diet, Ere yet unlucky Fame, compelled to creep She came-Waltz came-and with her certain sets Fraught with this cargo, and her fairest freight, |