but, Mr. Bouverie, as you have found by, I fear, woful experience,

"Such terrible impression made my dream,"

that I determined to communicate it, together with my previous lucubrations to your notice; and the hope that they may suggest a single idea, or avert a possible prejudice, to your venerable self, will more than amply repay Your sincere admirer,

PHILOMYSTES.

LINES TO CONTEMPLATION.

Pensive Nymph, whose beaming eye
Gazeth on the tranquil sky,

You do love to while away,

With thoughts on Heaven the livelong day;

Or hear the carol of the brook,

Resting in some lonely nook,

Where the hermit once did dwell,

Tenant of the holy cell;

Or when the moon, pale eye of night,

Glimmers o'er the waters bright,
There to think on time gone by,
Lull'd by gentle Phantasy;
To see the fairy's mazy dance
Lightly o'er the green-sward glance;
Or by the ocean's waves to go,
That sweetly murmur as they flow,
And listen to the rising gale
That swells the bosom of the sail ;
Or when the angry billows moan,

When the seaworn caverns groan,
You catch the drowning seaman's cry,
His shriek of dying agony.
I've seen thee mid the deserts wild,
Weeping o'er thy well-lov'd child,

Pouring on thy Milton's bier,
The mournful tribute of a tear:
He was the voice of thunder, he
The eyeless light of Poesy.
And I've seen thee in the grove,
List'ning to the tale of love,
Which the turtle, mid the trees,
Warbles to the fragrant breeze,
Lovely mourner of the spray ;
Weeping joys now flown away,
Her plaintive notes thy feelings lull,
So musically sorrowful.

ON PATRONAGE.

Mankind, when they consider the poets and philoso phers who have flourished under the encouragement of a Patron, are induced to think, that any deficiency which one particular age or individual may bear with respect to another is rather owing to a difference of cultivation than any want of natural talent. This leads us to regret that more encouragement has not always been given to rising genius, and that more attempts have not been made to call forth the powers of the soul. Many, indeed, have been the tyrants who, though blessed with all the opulence which might qualify them for the office of patrons, have preferred spending their time in the false enjoyment of luxury, rather than in the endeavour to encourage genius, and to promote liberal knowledge. If, however, we consider the many advantages which must arise from such a patronage, the honour of the patron, who, by connecting his name with the works of the genius he has fostered, may be able to escape ob

livion; and the aggrandizement of his country; we shall perhaps be surprised that more have not been induced to cultivate the rising buds of genius. It must, indeed, be confessed, that, owing to the want of encouragement, many have perished in obscurity; while others have consumed their life in indolence.

Notwithstanding the acknowledged truth of this position, some have been found who, by dint of genius or perseverance, have overcome every obstacle, and burst the fetters, which poverty imposed on them. Nor, indeed, have the threats of a tyrant always been successful in preventing the exertion of mental capacities; and we see Juvenal neither over-awed by the unrelenting tyranny of Nero, nor the mean severity of Domitian. It is customary to instance the age of Augustus, as a specimen of the effects of patronage; but I am sure I need not recall to the memory of my readers the names of those illustrious poets who stand eternal monuments of the patronage of Macenas. But while we dwell with delight on those glorious times, we cannot but reflect on\ the different prospect which some ages present to us.. Who can help lamenting that the profligate Charles II. expended the revenues of the state for the gratification of base sensuality; but which, had it been directed to the more useful cultivation of talent, would have conferred some honour on his name?

In considering the long night of darkness, in which Europe was enveloped, when the human mind was so fettered with superstitious ignorance, that it dared not exert its capacities, and all learning was buried in the cloisters; it may, perhaps, not be an unreasonable con

jecture to suppose that there were many, even in those times, blessed with all the talents which might have qualified them to shine but little inferior to Homer or Virgil, lost, however, in undeserved oblivion, from want of the favouring smiles of a patron. But it is painful to dwell on those dark and uninteresting ages, though it must be confessed, that there were some illustrious characters, who were able to shed a temporary lustre over the ages in which they lived; but that dawn did not open into perfect day until Lorenzo and Leo roused the human soul from its lethargy, and, by their example and patronage, called its powers into action; when we remember the venerable names which adorned that period; when we recall to our memory Politian, Raphael, and Michael Angelo, all flourishing under the fostering care of a patron, we may, perhaps, be at a loss to determine whether the genius most demands our admiration, or the patron our gratitude.

In descending into later times, we still find many great and noble patrons; and the names of Anne and Louis XIV. must be for ever dear to every lover of science; whom we see surrounded by a group of immortals collected by their cares, excited by their genius, and encouraged by their goodness.

THE DEATH OF HOFFER.

No lip was mov'd; from the inmost soul
Rush'd forth that sound of ire,
When the death-bolt reach'd the fated goal
Launch'd on its wings of fire.

On the despot's hearing sternly fell
The echo's mountain breath,
Reviving, with a spirit's knell,
That groan for Hoffer's death.

Disdainfully his patriot soul

The tyrant's pow'r defied,

And scorn'd the death-peal's closing toll,
In virtue's latest pride.

When first our free-born gales gave birth
To the blast of a tyrant's horn,

The mountain spirits' bitter mirth
Threw back the notes in scorn.

Then, as the mountain voice leapt forth,
That blast was answer'd well;
Then on the foe, in crushing wrath,
The stony Lawine * fell.†

Prouder, when in the noon of night

He was led forth to die ;

Then prouder gleam'd that eye's dark light

In triumph's wildest cry.

As he had liv'd a hero's life,

He met a hero's doom:

The wreath that was won in Freedom's strife,

Shall wave o'er Freedom's tomb.

CONCLUSION.

"Mox, ubi lusit satis abstineto
Dixit-

MALEK.

I have been accused, and I' fear with too much foundation for the charge, of levity without wit, and of flippancy without spirit: while I plead guilty to the indictment, as regards the past, I venture to promise, at least, less of

The avalanche.

The Tyrolese hurled down rocks on the French who were below.