244 
At length, afcending o’er yon heath-clad hill, 
In fsiendonr thron’d, the beauteous Dion 
of Night 
Flings her foft luftre through the yielding 
gloom, 
And woods and yales repofe beneath her 
light, 
‘Tis filence all! fave on the liftening ear 
The drowfy murmurs of the ftreamlet die 5 
Or lonefome owl, flow gliding mid the fhade, 
Starts the dull echoes with her dreary cry. 
OGober 20, 1802. N. 
= ee 
CDE TO MUSIC. 
fPHOU lovely maid, whofe captivating fong 
Allures the foul “ag sha mazes of de- 
light, 
To join the chorus of the Elfin throng, 
That fweep with trenrbling notes the dews 
of night ; 
And whofe infpiring voice, and martial ftrain, 
Impels the warrior dauntlefs o’er the plain. 
Now, while the twilight gently fades away, 
-O | come, divine enchantrefs, tomy bower 3 
Awake thy lute to fome {weet plaintive lay, 
And o’er my heart diflufe thy foothing 
power: 
For thou canft harmonize the troubled breaft, 
And every tone difcordant lull to reft. 
Again thofe tender notes O let me hear ! 
That Laura wak’d from many a tuneful 
ftring 5 
Her charming yeice ftill vibrates on my ear, 
While Fancy fondly lifts to hear her fing. 
O come! and let thofe founds fo foft, fo 
fweet, 
Dance on the zephyr round this calm retreat, 
Ob, heaven-born Mufic ! love-infpiring maid ! 
To thee what various magic powers belong ! 
Early tothee my heart its homage paid, 
Enamour’d of thy fweet entrancing fong ; 
And fill enraptur’d withpthy charms, I raife, 
In artlefs firaine, a tribute to thy praife. 
Whene’er I join the focial mirthful train, 
May thy {weet fmiles enliven every heart; 
And when I figh, opprefs’d by grief or a 
O then may Laura fome foit notes impar 
Her lovely voice would foothe my mind to 
reft, 
Though Santow’s dart were rankling in my 
breaft. The BE. 
TRANSLATION 0f FRENCH VERSES on the 
RAGE for IMITATING the GREEKS and 
ROMANS 5—ddreffed to’ bis FRIEND, F. 
DELLESSERT, Gt PARIS, by R. LE. 
Al AS! my friends, how wretched is my 
doom ! 
Haunted through life by ghofts from Greece 
and Rome, 
Original Poetry. 
[April ts 
Scarce had I tried to lifp my mother tongues 
When I muft learn my grammar, right or 
wrong 5 
Six times a week, the pedagogue who raughe 
us, 
Flogged me for Terence, Xenophon, or Plau= 
tus. 
Homer and Horace, Tacitus and Livy, 
What for your fakes I fuffer’d, God forgive 
€4 ! 
Ye Greeks and Romans, dead a thoufand s 
years ! 
Each page you wrote is fullied by my*tears. 
At length, I finifhed all this claffic lore, 
But fifty other plagues remain’d in ftore. 
My rhetoric next I learn’d—each rule a name, 
Without one word of fenfe, cote Greece it 
came :— 
Profopopeia, Hypotopofis, 
Antonomafia, Epanorthofis, 
Paranomasia, and Syntherefis, 
With twenty other names that end in chrefis. 
Then came philof fophy—but {till my ear 
Of Greece and Rome alone was doomed te 
hear. 
The vileft fcribbler, with malicious joy, 
Lugg’d in Scamander, and the walls of Troy, 
Tir’d of the fchools, I hiedyme to the play, 
Eager to hear in French whet Frenchmen fay 3 
But fill they rav’d of nothing but of Greece, 
Frenchmen were never heroes of the piece: 
Horatius, Phaedra, Nero, Cleopatre 5 ; 
Some Roman. patricide, or Greek maratre, 
Roar’d like mad-bulls, with unextingulfh’d 
r2ge, 
And fill’d with iongoforeakten woes the ftage, 
Dido forlorn—Jocafta’s dire difgrace, 
And Agamemnon’s never-ending race ; 
To whom the gods in pity fhould beftow, 
For all their toils on earth, fome reft below. 
Now quite 4 man, and eager for variety, 
I hop’d to meet the French in French fociety. 
Alas! the Sans-culotr#s, a patriot band, 
Look’d back to Rome and Greece to aes the 
land. 
None copy’d liberty from Magna-charta, 
But fought for precedents to thieve—from 
Sparta. 
Struck with the paffion#or the true antique, 
Here ftabs a Romans and there fteals a Greek: 
Here {pouts Demofthenes, begrim’d with dirt, 
And Cicero deciaims without a fhirt! 
°T was right—** that all things fhould to all 
belong ;” 
ownets fhouid pofefs their own” —-—was 
wrong. ; 
Nobility degraded from_its ftation, 
Vice became virtue by a Greek quotation, 
But thou, great Conful, 
peace 
Let us repofe awhile from Rome and Greece ; 
Some other fceptre till you wifh to wrench, 
For pity’s fake, let Frenchmen talk in 
French !— : 
Does one in fifty care a fingle damn 
For metre, litre, killogramme, or gramme : 
¢¢That 
’ 
We f 
who haft given us 
