#8 
pears, however, to have possessed an ex- 
céllent.ear for verse, a turn for observa- 
tion, and a taste for the beauties of na- 
ture; and had he not been a pedant in 
his yonth, and fanatic in his riper. age, 
might, we think, have become .a poet. 
Our readers shall judge. 
“The time so tranquil is, and still, 
That,no where shall ye find, 
Save on ahigh and barren hill, 
_ An air of passing, wind. 
«« All trees and simples, great and small, 
‘Fhat balmy leaf do bear ; 
ee ae 
‘* 
POETRY. 
. 7 ‘ a 
Nor they were painted onawall, 
No more they move or stir. M 
¥ +t 
** Calm is the deep and purpour seay 
Yea smoother nor the sand ; 
The wallis, that weltering wont to be, 
Are stable like the iat 
«* So silent is the cessile air, 
That every ery and call, 
The hills and dales, the forest fair, 
Again repeats them all.” 
Mr. Leyden’s notes are prolix and de- 
sultory ; we could have excused his Gaelie 
extracts, and their translations likewise. 
Arr. XXXVII.,. Poetical Register, and Repository for Fugitive Poetryy for 1802. Svo. 
ude. ** e9)27 pp- 450. 
IT is with pleasure that we see this Andisthis the poor exile at rest from his 
elegant collection increasing in value: _. Woe, ; . 
the present volume is much richer than No one we sport of misfortune and 
enance! 
the last in Original’ Poetry,” and the 
“ Fugitive Poetry” likewise appears to 
us betterselected ; indeed there is scarcely 
any absolute trash im the whole work, 
which, when the size of the book is 
considered---an- octavo of 450 pages--- 
must appear extraordinary, and highly 
creditable to the bards of the present 
day, as well as to the editor of the 
** Poetical Register.” 
We must allow, however, that we do 
not see the utility or the honesty of Jor- 
rowing so largely, and without acknow- 
ledgment, from periodical. works of 
great sale, and present popularity, which 
are not usually thrown aside by the 
purchasers, like old news-papers, but re- 
gularly bound upinto handsome volumes. 
We must further confess, that. we 
ourselves should prefer,-and we believe 
the sentiment extends to all who have 
drunk deep of the spring of the Muses--- 
to sip slightly of the Castalian dews, in 
the exalted form of distilled waters, in- 
stead of quafling full goblets of the 
common draft liquor of the fountain, 
“To speak without a metaphor,” we 
_ should have been better pleased to find 
such pieces as the following thrown to- 
gether in the form of a pamphlet of 
’ ewenty pages, than scattered at certain 
distances through a volume of some 
hundred. is 
« The Emigrant’s Grave, founded ona trxe 
Story, by W. Spencer, Esq. 
“Wx mourn ye, why strew ye theseilow’rets 
around, ; 
To yon new-sodded grave, as your slow 
steps advance ? 
Tn yon new-sudded grave (ever dear be the 
ground!) 
Lies the stranger we lovd, the poor ‘exile 
from France. 
? 
Mourn on, village’ mourners, my tears tow 
shall flow ] 
For the stranger ye lov'd, the poor exile of 
Frances ult 
Oh! kind was his nature, tho’ bitter his 
fate,” . 
And Bay was his converse, tho’ broken hie 
eart 5 ae 
No comfort; tio hope, his own heart could 
> 
elate, 
Tho’ comfort and hope he to alt could im- 
part. Wants 
Ever joyless ‘himself, in the joys of the 
Jain ee 
Still foremost was he, mirth and pledsure to 
raise, ; 
And sad was his) soul, yet how blithe was 
his strain, s 
When he sung the glad song of more fortus 
natesdays ! iT vain 
One pleasure he knew ; in his straw-co- 
verd shed 4 sitet 
Tor the snow-beaten beggar his faggot to 
trim: , 
One tear of delight he could drop on the 
bread ; a ees 
Which he: shard: with the poor,’ tho’ . still 
poorer than him!’ 40 2"! 
And when round his death-bed profusely 
: we cast { ’ : . 
Ev'ry gift, ev'ry solace our hamlet could bring, 
‘He blest us with sighs, which we thought 
were his last; 1h ae 
But he still had a pray’s for his. country and 
king. : 
Poor exile, adieu! undisturb’d be thy 
sleep! ‘ 
From the feast, from the wake, from the vil+ 
lage green dance, ,. ' 
How oft shall we wander by moonlight to 
weep + base 
O'er the stranger we loy'd, the poor exile of 
Vranee: 
