596 METHODIST POETS. 



Lo, foam-wreath'd swells the beach, how gently lave ! 



And while, far off, the storm's dark hues extend, 

 Prismatic beauty tints the nearer wave, 



Where sun -beam colours exquisitely blend, 

 As if the rainbows, when they fade in heav'n, 

 Were to the sea in liquid lustre given. 



But ah ! not always tranquil is the deep, 



Nor soothing his soft voice, as at this hour : 



Let but the furious wind his surface sweep, 

 Let but the tempest wake his mighty power, 



Then, where now breathes warm summer's gentlest breath, 



Terrors and dangers reign, and shipwreck calls on death. 



The third methodist candidate for poetical honours, Richard Furness, 

 makes his first appearance as Apollo, in the Rag-bag. I would give 

 my ears to be the author of this poem, a proof that I value it highly ; 

 for what is an ass, or my Lord Londonderry himself, without his "job- 

 bernoul-features ?" Richard commences with a sort of Greekish descrip- 

 tion of an English sunset; he then introduces his hero, a rag-gatherer, 

 on his return from a long day's perambulation, with his bag of all sorts. 

 Suddenly his ass stands still, and horrid sounds issue from the " Rag- 

 bag," in which the teapot attacks the tobacco-box, the lady's ruff assaults 

 the poor man's coat collar, the parson's wig wages war on all the other 

 contents of the bag, and the harrow tooth demolishes the parson's wig; 

 while the peace is kept externally by bold Richard himself, who, like 

 Lord Byron's Irishman in a row, seems to be any body's customer. 



The commencement is fine. But what does Richard mean by " foun- 

 tain nymphs ?" I never met with any of them in the vale of Derwent. 

 Perhaps the phrase is Latin for "otter." 



" Now had rich Ceres led her laughing train 

 Of sun-burnt reapers from her fields of grain^ 

 Day's golden wheels lagg'd on the sultry hours ; 

 Labour had left his task, and bees their flowers ; 

 And rural damsels, with replenish'd pails, - 

 Their dappled herds to pasture in the vales ; 

 While fountain nymphs retired to chrystal caves, 

 As day's bright orb hung o'er the western waves, 

 Shed o'er the world a faint departing ray, 

 And cast the mountain's shadow o'er my way : 

 Then placid Evening, Night's fair sister queen, 

 In silence held her solitary reign, 

 Save o'er the fold, and deep embowering grove, 

 Where birds, in dreams, renew'd their songs of love ; 

 Where sounds vEolian moan'd, through hollow rocks, 

 Soft music, soothing to the resting flocks ; 

 Or, where the cataract answer'd from the hills 

 The gentler murmurs of the valley rills ; 

 As rose the moon o'er orient realms afar, 

 In star-crown'd glory, on her silver car. 

 Threw from the mountain tops her modest light, 

 And bath'd her beauties in the dews of night." 



Not only is Richard a learned man and who knows what his learn- 

 ing may have cost him, what aches of head and heart, what pinchings 

 of back and belly? but also he is made of the right stuff, and hath 

 been baptized with fire. 



