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others," —such as lack of the needful,' &c. &c.; moreover being “exceeding charitable. Should the following effusions of a Pensive Muse," &c. &c. " afford Her Majesty the minutest fraction of a moment's gratification, the author (Trinitarius) will feel amply rewarded, &c. &c. for his exertions”-unparallelled as they may have been.

Here follow some prefatory stanzas, in which the author entreats the reader not to be afraid of his muse

Impassioned friend, whoe'er thou art,

Fear not my pensive muse." This admonition is no less necessary than benevolent, otherwise the reader, on encountering such a stanza as the following, might in attempting to unravel its meaning, (which is doubtless what Aristotle terms esoteric, for the favored few,) stands an excellent chance of losing his wits were they as subtle as those of Hermogenes.

" For I awhile consign the task-(what task ?)
To others of the brain,
Come share with me, 'tis all I ask,

The pleasures born in 'pain.We fear Trinitarius asks too much of his “impassion'd friends, whoe'er they be,(except perhaps Queen Adelaide, who is “made of other stuff.”) The next stanza embraces a discovery worthy of Newton :

“ Tho' storms with grandeur can astound,

Too oft they blight the earth.”
We are tempted here to exclaim with Horace-

« Parturiunt montes, nascetur ridiculus mus.” The concluding verse develops the author's ambition whilst writing S

“ Let other bards their poesy
Constrain by rules of art,
My great ambition is to be

The poet of the heart.Hail, all hail! W.J. Abington, Esq., alias Trinitarius," poet of the heart," who dignis carminibuscuttest up the affections into stanzas, and makest a poetic Fricandeau of the tumultuous passions of the human mind-Hail

, all hail! mighty Magician, hearty as artless—whose unperturbed soul sheds“ musings” as tentiginous as the incomprehensible teratology of a Macphersonized Ossian, or an Ariosto a la Hoole-Hail, all hail !

Our readers will perceive there is good stuff in this, " unconstrained by rules of art,” which the pathetic Trinitarius leaves ." to others of the brain," and for which he avows a most sublime contempt, at the same time not unfrequently reminding his “impassioned friends” that he also has his share of learned lore, and that no contemptible one.

We have already remarked that this singularly original production is divided into “six musings.” As they can speak infinitely better for themselves, than it is in our power to speak for them, we present our readers with some of the most favorable specimens, Musing the first” commences with an address to the

“ Attendant spirits of the poet's soul,
Who o'er his rovings sway with mild control,

Checking the fury of his ardent steed.Mounted on his “ardent steed," Trinitarius solicits the aid of their spiritships, on account of the sublimity of his theme, which is altogether amphisbenic, and averse to vulgar definition.

“ Be ye my friends--no common theme is mine,
Attune my verses to a chord divine ;-
Snatch me a portion of celestial fire,
To burn in inspiration on my lyre,
While thus I sing, (how ?) then let the flame arise,

To blaze immortal in its native skies." If the flame be a native of the skies, we should recommend it to remain there “ and blaze.” We suggest that it would be an egregious waste of time to descend from heaven merely to have the pleasure of burning for a few hours on the lyre of Trinitarius, to arise again burdened with the “pensive musings " of so undefinable a poet.

Our author proceeds by asking a question and answering it himself, which though considerate is anything but brachygraphical. He doubtless has in his eye this remark of Horace :

brevis esse laboro Obscurus fio," and prefers to be lengthy rather than caliginous—he has nevertheless succeeded in being both—to perfection. But to the interrogatory :

“Am I ambitious ?-I confess the charge ;

It is the passion of the world at large!!This is rather a sweeping assertion, but is explained by the author's peculiar arrangement of the “world at large.”

The King's ambitious of his people's love ;
And Loyal men their loyalty to prove ; (Lindley Murray)
A Miser to be rich ; while Others see
No charms in wealth.
The Wounded Hero will from groans forbear ;
The Lover deeper (ergo comparative ?) sighs with inward pain,
For one he ne'er seems likely to obtain ; (sublime !!)
While Pious Priests

'Tis all ambition, name it as we will, (what ?) * It is something new for a poet to possess a steed, unless it be Pegasus, which being a steed imaginary, is the general property of poets.

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Ambition is the source of good or ill,

The climax is terrific-is not this poetry? What are your
Shelleys, Byrons, Moores, Southeys, &c. &c. compared with this
tremendous genius.

" Que son merite est extrême
Que de graces, que

de grandeur
Combien Monseigneur

Doit être content de lui même !" Shall we not own his power?-shall we not bow down before the magnificent emanations of his soul? Why has he not fame ?why has he not profit?

Quid autem
Cæcilio Plauto-que dabit Romanus, ademtum

Trinitario-que. The classification of the “world at large” into a king-loyal men—a miser-others—a wounded hero-a lover and one he ne'er seems likely to obtain—pious priests, and W. J. Abington, or Habington, * Esq., is as amusing as it is unlike anything that has preceded it, or anything that is likely to come after it. We have only to complain of the grammar, which (according to Lindley Murray) is rather heterodox—mais ce n'est q'une bagatelle--une legere faute.

ubi plura nitent in carmine, non ego paucis

Offendar maculis. Besides, our author has doubtless been so absorbed by the sublimity of his subject, as to render impossible any, the slightest, attention to grammatical accuracy. Moreover, he has avowed himself

“ The poet of the heart,

Unconstrain'd by rules of art.
The following is a good specimen of some of his grandest flights :

My theme's divine ! again I make the boast,
Witness ye hierarchies ! Immortal host !
Listen ye mourning saints ;
What think ye, gave th' Incarnate God relief,
When man of sorrows and acquaint with grief ?
Had he of comfort aught, when numerous ways
The devil tempted forty nights and days ?
Or think ye any joy was there when He

With bloody sweat groan'd in Gethsemane ?" We should imagine the “Hierarchies "+ had something more profitable to attend to, than the ravings of a demented poet Isaaiah and Ezekiel are quite enough for them. With due submission, we think the calling such witnesses rather catachres

* See Notes to “ Pensive Musings."

+ We are inclined to doubt whether Trinitarius rightly comprehends the sig. nification of the term “ Hierarchies." Let our readers judge.



tical, to say nothing of “the mourning Saints,” of whom we never had the pleasure of hearing before, but presume to be some particular friends of Trinitarius. We sadly fear our poet loses himself in his sublimity

Professus grandia turget-The last line about Gethsemane is superb—but there are some obscurities in the passage extracted which exceed our capabilities of unravelling-par exemple-are we to understand, that the devil tempted numerous ways," or " forty nights and days?” We find no authority in the New Testament for asserting either of these paradoxes-according to the best of our memory, “ his sooty majesty” laid his diabolical snares for the virtue of our Saviour himself. He would have sadly mispent his time and labour by endeavouring to seduce " numerous ways” “ forty nights and days,” or “forty nights and days” "numerous ways.

” Either may be concluded from this passage of Trinitarius.

The remainder of “musing the first” is so crowded with quaint originalities, poetical errors of construction, misapplications of terms, and scattered sublimities, flying about like shooting stars, and going off at a tangent, that we scarcely know what to choose for the gratification of our readers. We give some of the most amusing specimens.

" Then learn, gay mortals, ye who ne'er have known,
The grief that rends the heart, nor Fortune's frown,
But spent your lives in one unceasing round
Of happiness, nor ever felt a wound
Rankle within your breasts, ye are as yet
Unfit to wear a holy coronet.
I mean not this unkindly, but t' acquire
The right to sing with the Immortal choir,
Ye must on earth be tried, to prove ye're holy,

And even pleasure find in melancholy," To say nothing of the clumsiness of construction, bad grammar, &c. &c.--there is here an expression as new as it is singular. We have heard of a round of beef, but never of a "round of happiness,After this comes rather an odd definition of friendship

“ Our trųest friends are those that quickest see
Our faults, and having seen, not tardily,
Point out our danger, but by force remove-(remove what?)

From ruin-this is friendship!-this is love !!" What a pity it was that Cicero did not know this ! had he had the advantage of the acquaintance of Trinitarius, he would not have penned such nonsense as his essay De Amicitia,nor would he have imagined such galimatias epouvantable as the following

« Est autem amicitia nihil aliud nisi omnium divinarum, humanarum que rerum cum benevolentiá, et caritate summâ consensio, " &c. &c. To illustrate his original and amusing definition, our "poet of

the heart” presents to our notice the well known anecdote of the Painter, whose friend threw a “humid brush " at his picture, in order to save his life

with frantic rush
The artist sprang towards the bespatter'd wall,
Then turn'd him round (!) and learnt the cause of all;
But for his friend he'd lain, a second more,

A mangI'd corse upon the marble floor.” And the still more common nursery tale of the soldier who saved his comrade's life by knocking him down with his musket butt-

What means the strange enigma? is the one

gave the blow the dying man alone ?
Yes, firm in friendship, thus he came to fall;
Standing behind his friend, a cannon ball
As nearly spent came bounding o'er the plain,
He (i. e. the cannon ball) saw the danger, and could not refrain

motives Accordingly he knocked his friend down in an amicable manner

with one step aside
He might have sav'd himself, --but 'twas his pride
His comrade to protect, for he had none
To mourn his loss-no parents, wife or son (or daughter ?).
The other had, this was enough-and he

Fell-a bright proof of true fidelity!!! May we ask, most erudite Trinitarius, what these anecdotes have to do with your definition of friendship?

“ Our truest friends are those that quickest see

Our faults," &c. &c. What fault is there in falling over a scaffold by accident? What fault is there in being saluted in a friendly manner by a cannon ball, unseen in its progress, unheard in its course? These illustrations are altogether esoterical.

“What means the strange enigma ?” Behold here follows something mystic

“ If here below we thus so often find
The strangest proofs of friendship in mankind-
Beings whose very nature is to err,

Yer good effects from grievous means occur." The yet is as grand as incomprehensible. But how singularly our author wanders from his subject.

What next occurs is impious from its audacity. Trinitarius, conversing as familiarly as though he were Moses, with a Being too awful to be lightly named, begs him to “bid his song in peaceful measure flow,” reminding him that he is under an obligation to him (Trinitarius) for a former work of “his poor mortal brain," a theme “ of such vast grandeur,” that according to our author, “angels exploring its depths, veild themselves, and adored,"--we cannot make out precisely whom, from the ob

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