548 
ney affectation, has the germ of poetry 
in it. 
** She is love’s idol—oh! the wanton boy 
On beauty’s breathing lilies pants to lie, 
To brush them with his wing, and wild with joy 
Through her dark waving tresses’ maze to fly. 
And he will bathe in beauty’s liquid eye, 
Wooing its silken fringe to fan the while, 
And on her ruby velvet lip will sigh, 
Till pleasure sparkles in her languid smile, 
Then waft her to the groves of Cytheréa’s isle.” 
And stanza viii, but for “ symphony glow- 
ing along chords,” and the “ adamantine 
chain of harmonizing life,” would be genuine 
poetic description— 
«« Hark! ’tis the tinkling of the village chime, 
The knell of labour, herald of repose; 
As weary shepherds up the mountain climb, 
Of song and pipe the blended music flows. 
Oftas the echo faint and fainter grows, 
The symphony of Philomela’s strain 
Along the chords of recollection glows, 
With sounds of joy and pleasure, that sustain 
Of harmonizing life, one adamantine chain.” 
A translation of the Twenty-second Ode 
of Horace, p. 96, might, one would have 
thought, have satisfied the author, even in 
his own example, that language may be- 
come most poetical when it emanates 
merely from the thought, and is most re- 
mote from strained conceit and meretricious 
affectation. 
Fashion, and other Poems. By Joun 
Buunt FREEMAN, Gent. Cr. 8vo.—The 
name is evidently assumed; and the title 
poems (by the way) is a sort of assumption. 
The author would haye been more correct if 
he had imitated “‘ An East Anglian’ (see 
M.M. p. 356, No. 409) and had used the 
word Rhymes. In other respects, however, 
the yolume before us is what it pretends to 
be ; for the author tells us very plainly that 
he only aims at a merry sort of mediocrity, 
because that brings present pence, while 
the higher flights of poetic inspiration are 
only rewarded by posthumous reputation. 
He gives us, therefore, (the very reverse of 
the preceding author !) good sound sense, in 
versification that generally (though not 
without exception) runs glibly enough off 
the tongue to give accordant tune to the 
thought ; but without much affectation of 
poetical ornament. _ The longest produc- 
tion (not often the case) is decidedly the 
best. From that, therefore, we will give 
our readers a taste or two of the “ blunt 
freeman’s quality— 
«© What makes Priscilla, with that grace and air, 
So near her heart Time’s gaudy symbol wear ? 
Is itan useful moral to impart,— 
* Time should be precious to a lady’s heart ?’ 
Or does her watch proclaim the general liking 
Of ‘ ladies fair’ to what is smart and striking? 
Or does it dare imply a common trick, 
With some, to take up baubles upon tick ? 
Or is it worn to teach the beaus, and say 
* Speak while ’tis-time, there’s danger in delay ?’ 
No thoughts like these inspire Priscilla’s breast, 
Unconscious she of satire or of jest; 
Fashion alone the brilliant toy applies 
To makc her look so fine, and seem so wise.” 
Monthly Review of Literdixre, 
[July 2, 
** Misled by Fashion, without voice or ear, 
Lucinda takes her harp, and makes you stare, 
Rolls her blue eyes, that all spectators charm; 
Then Phidias never formed so fine an arm, 
Or gave so lovely a bosom to the view, 
True to the touch, nor less to nature true. 
‘Oh, what a noble picture!’ exclaim some; 
‘I wish it were,’ cried others, ‘’twould be dumb.” 
Envy in vain the heart's warm praise denies, 
For few can boast an ear, but all have eyes.” 
«© Jack, with a visage which has no pretence 
By form or feature e’en to common sense ; 
Of stature short, and lumpish in his make, 
Yet Jack assumes the coxcomb and the rake; 
Buries in whiskers each pale hollow cheek, 
His chin in bristles, growth of many a week. 
In tones a pigmy, yet in language big, 
Jack struts at once a ruffian and a prig; 
But hopes that inso picturesque a face 
The ladies will excuse the want of grace. 
But all excess disgusts, some less, some more ; 
This we can smile at; but we all deplore, 
When, in pure Nature’s spite, ’tis Fashion’s plan 
Toshew that monstrous thing—a female man, 
With painted cheeks, tight stays, and mincing gait, 
And locks that imitate a lady’s téte : 
Warm indignation bids us then pursue, 
And drive these dandies from the public view; 
These master-misses, who no sex compose, 
Yet to the “* fairer” are the worst of foes. 
Though satire scorns, whatever she may feel, 
* To break these butterflies upon a wheel,’ 
Fears to disgrace the vengeance of her pen 
On those who.can’t be women, won’t be men.” 
We venture to prognosticate that of the 
two volumes we have thus contrasted, the 
less presuming will haye most readers ; 
we are sure it will have most understanders. 
To the Departed. Stanzas to the Me- 
mory of Lord Byron.—The author, in a 
lament of twenty-six stanzas (which should 
be Spencerian, but occasionally want a foot 
in the last line) spread through a whole 
sheet of beautiful white-wove 8vo., mingles 
some rather odd ideas with his eulogy; 
and, among the rest, seems tobe a little 
apprehensive about what has become of the 
poet’s soul. 7 
** Thou, too, art gone from earth—oh whither /—~ 
none can tell!!!” 
He is so anxious about his fame in this 
world, however (notwithstanding that he 
thinks that he has been ‘“‘ worshipped,”’ as 
well as reviled, ‘‘ perchance too much !””) 
that he hopes we never shall have so great 
a poet again— 
«© Never may it be— 
It is too painful to believe that e’er 
Another hand shall sweep so thrillingly,” 
Those mingled chords of beauty and of fear: 
Oh, never more! can any wish to hear 
The awful cadence of a Byron’s lyre— 
Snapt be the strings above their master’s bier! 
And burned the harp within his funeral pyre! 
And let the accents wild for ever there expire !” 
Now, for our part, we should have no ob- 
jection to see a pheenix rising from the poet’s 
ashes ; and as for the harp, whether it were 
within, or without the funeral pyte, or upon 
it (which would be rather more classical), 
we should certainly be glad to snatch it 
from the fame; though we nee 
that 
