1822.] 
ment without the voice, we then seem 
distinctly to hear the words; though 
it is pretty certain that without such 
previons knowledge, the music alone 
would never have the effect of making 
us acquainted with them. 
We might likewise remark that at- 
tempts of this kind have hitherto, at 
least, met with few admirers or follow- 
ers. The productions of Sidney, Dr. 
Watts, Southey and Stanihurst, in our 
own tongue: those of Pasquier and 
Todelle, among the French, and of the 
Spanish poet Villegas; though all men 
of acknowledged talent and genius, 
have failed to provoke any emulation 
to tread in their steps. And this utter 
want of imitators, when we reflect how 
much that “ serum pecus’’ has in every 
age abounded in the literary world, is 
of itself a strong argument for the 
little advantage that would result from 
adopting the measures of the antients 
into the languages we have mentioned. 
Having thus expressed our opinion 
upon this topic, we must, in justice 
state, that the sapphics in this volume 
are the best we remember to have seen. 
The following version of the 138th 
psalm certainly appears to us extremely 
harmonious. 
Fast by thy stream, O Babylon, reclining, 
Woc-begone exile, to the gale of evening 
- Only responsive, my forsaken harp I 
Hung on the willow. 
Gush’d the big tear-drops, as my soul re- 
member’d 
Zion, thy mountain paradise, my country! 
When the fierce bands Assyrian, who led us 
Captive from Salem, 
Claim’d, in our mournful bitterness of an- 
guish, 
Songs and unseason’d madrigals of joyance; 
“Sing the swect-tempered carol that ye 
wont to 
Warble in Zion.” 
Dumb be my tuneful eloquence, if ever 
Strange echoes answer toa song of Zion: 
Original Poetry. 
135 
Blasted this right hand if I should forget 
thee, 
Land of my fathers. 
The reproach under which our lan- 
guage labours of harsliness, arising 
from the frequent recurrence of hissing 
sounds, is well known. Mr. Thelwall 
has given us a curious specimen of *¢ an 
English song without a Sibilant,” as a 
proof that this fault might partly, at 
least, be avoided. As it contains but 
a few stanzas, and may be considered 
a kind of poetical novelty, we shall 
subjoin it. 
No—not the eye of tender blue, 
Tho’ Mary, ’twere the tint of thine ;— 
Or breathing lip of glowing hue 
Might bid the opening bud repine, 
Had long enthrall’d my mind: 
Nor tint with tint, alternate aiding 
That o’er the dimpled tablet flow, 
The vermile to the lily fading ; 
Nor ringlet bright with orient glow 
In many a tendril twin’d. 
The breathing tint, the beamy ray, 
The linear harmony divine, 
That o’er the form of beauty play, 
Might warm a colder heart than mine, 
But not for ever bind. 
But when to radiant form and feature, 
Internal worth and féeling join 
With temper mild and gay good nature, — 
Around the willing heart, they twine 
The empire of the mind. 
We had marked several other beau- 
tiful passages for extracting, but our 
limits will not admit of their insertion ; 
we must therefore refer our readers to 
the work itself for further entertain- 
ment. For ourselves, we can truly 
say, that this miscellany has much ex- 
ceeded our expectations, and that we 
should be glad indeed, could we always, 
in our moments of relaxation from the 
severer pursuits and occupations of 
life, ensure amusement equal to that 
which we have derived from the Poeti- 
cal Recreations of the Champion. 
ORIGINAL POETRY. 
i 
NAPOLEON’S VERSES to the PORTRAIT of 
his son Imitated.* 
ELIGHTFUL image of my much-lov’d 
boy! 
See there Beye, his looks, his beauteous 
smile ; 
But I shall him behold no more, no more. 
Ah, shall I never on some kindlier shore 
* See Monthly Magazine for February, 
1822. 
Receive and press him to my heart with 
joy? 
O, my son! my dear son! might thou 
beguile 
With converse sweet thy father’s gloomy 
hours ! 
Myself the guardian of thy growing 
powers, 
And thou, the prop of my declining years! 
With thee I could forget my wrongs, my 
cares, ; 
Imperial 
