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ART. XXV. POEMS. By 8v0. 35. Dodsley.

N advertisement prefixed to this volume, informs the

public, that most of the following pieces having been published at different times, separately, haftily, and some of them incorrectly ; it is now thought proper to collect them together, revised and amended, with the addition of several others, by the same hand.

The greatest part of these poems are to be found in the the third volume of Dodfley's miscellanies; where they are said to be written by S. 7. esq; Among the principal of the pieces is, The art of dancing, an excellent poem, in two cantos; written in the year 1730. An essay on virtue ; to the hon. Philip Yorke, esq; The first epistle of the seventh book of Horace imitated; written in 1748, and address’d to the lord chancellor. Some humorous verses, entitled, The Squire and the Parfon, (see Review, vol. 2. p. 112.) are likewise in this collection. Mr. is also the author of a fatyrical piece, entitled, The modern fine Lady; publithed sepatate last winter, and now here join'd to another performance of the same kind, called, The modern fine Gentleman.

The public is already so well acquainted with the poetical abilities of this very ingenious gentleman, that it cannot be thought necessary for us to give any other than a short fpecimen of the present collection; and that only for the sake of such of our readers as have not seen Mr. Dodsey's three volumes. The fingle piece we shall select for this purpose, is a translation of some Latin verses on the camera obscura ; which we do not remember to have seen before.

The various powers of blended shade and light,
The skilful Žeuxis of the dusky night;
The lovely forms that paint the snowy plain
Free from the pencil's violating fain;
In tuneful lines, harmonious PHæf us sing,
At once of light, and verse, celestial king.

Divine APOLLO, let thy facred fire
Thy youthful bard's unskilful breast inspire;
Like the fair empty sheet he hangs to view,
Void, and unfurnish'd till inspir’d by you:
O let one beam, one kind enlight'ning ray
At once upon his mind and paper play!
Hence num'rous forms the silver field shall strew;
Hence shall his breast with bright ideas glow.

But now the muse's useful precepts view,
And with just care the pleasing work pursue,
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Firft

First chufe a window that convenient lies,
And to the north directs the wand'ring eyes,
Dark be the room, nor let a straggling ray
Intrude, to chase the shadowy forms away.
Except one bright, refulgent blaze, convey'd,
Thro' a strait passage in the shutter made,
In which the ingenious artist first must place
A little convex round transparent glass,
And just behind the extended paper lay,
On which his art shall all its power display :
There rays reflected from all parts shall meet,
And paint their objects on the filver sheet;
A thousand forms shall in a moment rise,
And magic landskips charm our wand'ring eyes :
'Tis thus from ev'ry object that we view,
If EPICURUS' doctrine teaches true,
The subtile parts upon our organs play,
And to our minds the external forms convey.

But from what causes all these wonders flow,
'Tis not permitted idle bards to know,
How thro’ the center of the convex glass,
The piercing rays together twisted pass,
Or why revers’d the lovely scenes appear,
Or why the sun's approaching light they fear,
Let grave philosophers the cause enquire,
Enough for us to see and to admire.

See then what forms with various colours stain
The painted surface of the paper plain!
Now bright and gay, as shines the heavenly bow,
So late a wide unpeopled waste of snow:
Here verdant groves, their golden crops of corn
The new uncultivated fields adorn;
Here gardens deckt with powers of various dies,
There slender tow'rs and little cities rise:
But all with tops inverted downward bend;
Earth mounts aloft, and skies and clouds descend :
Thus the wife vulgar on a pendant land
Imagine our antipodes to stand,
And

wonder much how they securely go, And not fall headlong on the heavens below.

The charms of motion here exalt each part
Above the reach of great APELLES'art;
Zephyrs the waving harvest gently blow,
The waters curl, and brooks incessant flow;
Men, beast, and birds in fair confusion ftray,
Some rise to light, whilst others pass away.

On

On all we seize that comes within our reach,
The rolling coach we stop, the horseman catch;
Compel the posting traveller to stay ;
But the short vifit causes no delay.

Again behold what lovely prospects rise !
Now with the loveliest feaft your longing eyes.
Nor let strict modesty be here afraid
To view upon her head a beauteous maid :
See in small folds her waving garments flow,
And all her slender limbs still fenderer grow;
Contracted in one little orb is found
The spacious hoop, once five vast ells around;
But think not to embrace the flying fair,
Soon will she quit your arms unseen as air,
In this resembling too a tender maid,
Coy to the lover's touch, and of his hard afraid,

Enough we've seen, now let the intruding day
Chace all the lovely magic scenes away ;
Again the unpeopled snowy waste returns,
And the lone plain its faded glories mourns.
The bright creation in a moment flies,
And all the pigmy generation dies.
Thus when still night her gloomy mantle spreads,
The fairies dance around the flow'ry meads;
But when the day returns they wing their fight
To distant lands, and fhun the unwelcome light.

ART. XXVI. MISCELLANIES in Prose and Verse. By

Mary Jones. 8vo. 55. Dodsley.
O the applauded names of the ingenious Molly Leapor,

and the truly admirable Mrs. Cockburn, (See Review, the preceding volumes we have now the pleasure to add that of Mrs. Jones ; whose name will not be less an honour to her country, and to the republic of letters, than her amiable life and manners are to her own sex: to that sex whose natural charms alone are found sufficient to attract our tenderest regards; but which, when joined to those unconimon accomplishments and virtues this lady is mistress of, fo justly command our highest admiration, and most ardent esteem.

An advertisement introduces this volume to the reader with a modest apology for its publication ; intimating that the pieces it contains being the produce of pure nature only, and most of them wrote at a very early age, fland so much

in need of apology for their appearance in the world, that the author allures her readers, they would scarce have been troubled with them upon any consideration of her own Her friends had often desired her to collect something of this sort for the press ; but the difficulties, or more properly, the dread of such an undertaking, together with the respect she had for them, the world, and herself, always kept such a thought at the greatest distance imaginable. Nor had the at length prevailed with herself to fet about so disagreeable a talk, but for the fake of a relation, grown old and helpless, thro' a series of misfortunes ; and whom she had no other method of effectually assisting. This, her numerous and generous subscribers, have put it in her power to do; and therefore she took this public opportunity of giving them their thare of the fatisfaction; as well as of acknowledging the favour done to herself.

The author dres not seem to be at all vain of her own performances. Her poetry she mentions with a very slight regard, as the mccrly accidental ramblings of her thoughts into rhyme. "As to the letters, fays she, the ladies to whom they are addressed having thought proper to prelerve them, is the best apology I can make for them.'-We must however do this lady's poetical abilities the justice to observe, that her compositions in verse are superior to those of any other female writer since the days of Mrs. Catherine Piila lips. She seems to have read Mr. Pope closely, to have peculiarly followed his manner, and indeed often to have prefer'd the using his very words and sentiments, to her own. In fine, the has evidently made great u'e of her reading, without appearing to have been under the least neceffity of borrowing from others, from any infertility of genius in herself. Whether this is to be attributed to her difregard of fame, or to an averfion to studious and laborious writing, or to whatever cause, we leave those to determine who have the happiness of a more intimate acquaintance with our author than we can boast,

Mrs. Jones's prose writings, particularly her letters, are perhaps fuperior to any pieces of the kind that our own country has produced, from the pen of a

She is mistress of a perpetual fund of wit, which she always expresses with a freedom and negligence peculiar to herfelf;

ever sprightly, good - humoured, gay, yet never trifing, afrected, nor injudicious; her reflcctions are fenfible, folid, and truly moral; her ftile clear, natural, animated and flowing; and her language enriched by an

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extensive reading, from whence it borrows the graces of learning, at the same time that she preferves all the freedom of her native humour, and easy elegance of expression.

Among this lady's poetical Works, the most considerable in point of length, is an ethic epistle on PATIENCE ; addressed to Lord Masam; which abounds with just and striking observations, and excellent moral conclufions: the rest of her pieces, of which the number is not small, are more considerable for their goodness than their length. It is remarkable that among them all, there is but one fong; and that is the well known Lass of the hill : the only specimen she has given us of her genius for pastoral poetry. Her epistle to lady Bowyer is an attempt in the Horatian ftile, and exbibits such a lively picture of the author's disposition and turn of sentiments, as cannot fail of entertaining such of our readers as are yet unacquainted with this lady's works.

An E PISTLE to Lady BOWYER.
How much of paper's spoild! what Aoods of ink!
And yet how few, how very few can think!
The knack of writing is an easy trade;
But to think well requires at least a Head.
Once in an age, one Genius may

arise,
With wit well cultur'd, and with learning wise.
Like some tall oak, behold his branches Thoot!
No tender scions springing at the root.
Whilst lofty Pope erects his laurell'd head,
No lays, like mine, can live beneath his shade.
Nothing but weeds, and mors, and shrubs are found.
Cut, cut them down, why cumber they the ground?

And yet you'd have me write! --- for what? for whom?
To curl a Fav'rite in a dresing-room?
To mend a candle when the snuff's too short?
Or fave rappee for chamber-maids at Court?
Glorious ambition ; noble thirst of fame!
No, but you'd have me write to get a name.
Alas! I'd live unknown, unenvy'd too;
'Tis more than Pope, with all his wit can do.
'Tis more than You, with wit and beauty join'd,
A pleasing form, and a discerning mind.
The world and I are no such cordial friends;
I have my purpose, they their various ends.
I say my prayers, and lead a fober life,
Nor laugh at Cornus, or at Cornus' wife.
What's fame to me, who pray, and pay my rent?
If my friends know me honest, I'm content.

Well

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