We feel the justice of this remark as applicable to modern poetry. Much novelty cannot be expected. In submitting the following volume to the public, we attempt neither to prejudice them in its favour, or supplicate them in behalf of its faults.
The signature of Bion distinguishes the pieces of R. Southey;—Moschus, R. Lovell.
THE RETROSPECT.
.................... "On life's wide plain
Cast friendless, where unheard some sufferer cries
Hourly, and oft our road is lone and long,
Twere not a crime, should we awhile delay
Amid the sunny field; and happier they,
Who, as they wander, woo the charm of song
To cheer their path, 'till they forget to weep,
And the tired sense is husht and sinks to sleep."
BOWLES.
As on I journey through the vale of years,
Cheer'd by fond hopes, and chill'd by doubtful fears;
Allow me, Memory, in thy treasur'd store,
To view those days that will return no more:
Oh! let thy vivid pencil call to view
Each distant scene, each long-past hour anew,
Ere yet my bosom knew the touch of grief,
Ere yet my bosom lov'd the lyre's relief.
Yes, as thou dart'st thine intellectual ray,
The clouds of mental darkness melt away:
So when, at earliest day's awaking dawn,
The hovering mists obscure the dewy lawn,
O'er all the champain spread their influence chill,
Hang o'er the vale, and hide the lofty hill;
Anon, slow rising, beams the orb of day,
Slow melt the shadowy mists, and fade away;
The vapours vanish at the view of morn,
And hang in dew-drops on the glistening thorn;
The prospect opens on the pilgrim's sight,
And hills, and vales, and woods, reflect the beam of light.
O thou! the mistress of my future days,
Accept thy minstrel's retrospective lays;
To whom the minstrel and the lyre belong,
Accept, Ariste, Memory's pensive song!
For Memory on thine image loves to hang,
Heave the sad sigh, and point the piercing pang.
Of long-past days I sing, ere yet I knew
Or grief and care, or happiness and you;
Ere yet my infant bosom learnt to prove
The pangs of absence, and the hopes of love.