REGISTER.
REGISTER. 1784-5
Or idiot hope; for each his mind affails,
As LLOYD'S Court-light, or STOCKDALE's gloom prevails.
"Yet ftand I patient while but one declaims,
Or gives dull comments on the fpeech he maims;
But oh! ye Muses, keep your votary's feet
From tavern haunts where politicians meet;
Where Juftice, Rector, and Attorney paufe,
First on each parish, then each public caufe;
Indited roads, and rates that ftill increafe;
The murmuring poor, who will not faft in peace;
Election zeal and friendship, fince declin'd;
A tax commuted, or a tythe in kind;
The Dutch and Germans kindling into ftrife,
Dull port and poachers vile! the ferious ills of life.
"Here comes the neighbouring Squire, with gracious air, To ftamp opinions, and to take the chair;
In private business his commands prevail,
On public themes his reasoning turns the fcale;
Affenting filence foothes his happy ear,
And, in or out, his party triumphs here.
" Nor bere th' infectious rage for party stops,
But flits along from palaces to thops;
Our weekly journals o'er the land abound,
And spread their plagues and influenzas round;
The village too, the peaceful, pleasant plain,
Breeds the whig-farmer and the tory-fwain;
Brooks' and St. Alban's boasts not, but instead
Stares the Red Ram, and swings the RODNEY'S Head:
Hither, with all a patriot's care, comes he
Who owns the little hut that makes him free;
Whofe yearly forty fhillings buy the smile
Of mightier men, and never wafte the while;
Who feel his freehold's worth, and looks elate,
A little prop and pillar of the ftate.
"Here he delights the weekly News to con,
And mingle comments as he blunders on;
To swallow all their varying authors teach,
To spell a title, and confound a speech :
Till with a muddled mind he quits the News,
And claims his nation's licence to abufe;
Then joins the cry, "that all the courtly race
"Strive but for power, and parley but for place,"
Yet hopes, good man! “ that all may fill be well,"
And thanks the ftars that he's a vote to fell.
"While thus he reads or raves, around him wait A ruftic band, and join in each debate;
Partake his manly fpirit, and delight
To praife or blame, to judge of wrong or right;
Measures to mend, and minifters to make,
Till all go madding for their country's fake.'
On the Author of the BALLAD called The CHILDREN in the WOOD.
From the New Edition of Poems in Two Vols. by Mr. JERNINGHAM,
ET others praife the martial fong,
Which rufhes as a flood,
And round the harp attentive throng
That honours deeds of blood:
Let me that humble Bard revere,
Tho' artlefs be his theme,
Who fnatch'd the tale to Pity dear,
From dark Oblivion's ftream:
Say, little MARY*, prattling maid,
(Whole wit thine age excels).
Beneath what holy yew-tree's fhade
Thy favourite author dwells?
Ah! not on WESTMINSTER's proud ground
The fond enquiry wafte;
Go where the meek of heart are found,
And th' unambitious reft.
Where WALTON's limpid ftreamlet flows,
On NORFOLK's rich domain,
A gently-rifing hillock shews
The hamlet's ftraw-roof'd fane.
Hard by is feen a marble stone,,
By many a winter worn;
Forgetfulness around has thrown
The rude o'ermantling thorn:
Within this low obfcure abode
Fame fays the Bard is laid;
Oft have I left the beaten road
To greet the Poet's fhade:
Fame too reports, that when the bier
Receiv'd the Poet's frame.
The neighb'ring hamlets haften'd here,
And all the childhood came:
*The daughter of Sir Thomas Beauchamp, of Langley Park, in Norfolk. VOL. XXVII.
Attir'd in white, an infant band
Advanc'd in long array
With rosemary-leaves each little hand
O'erfpread the mournful way.
Encircling now the Poet's tomb,
Thrice on his name they call,
And thrice into the hallow'd gloom
Sweet fhow'rs of violets fall.
Compaffion's prieft! oh! feeling Bard,
Who melts the heart away,
Enduring praife fhall still reward
Thy fhort and fimple lay.
Thofe fhall thy praife be found among
Whom Nature's touch has grac'd,
The warm of heart applaud thy fong,
And all the pure of taste :
The child fhall leave his jocund dance,
Supprefs his frolic mood,
And bend to hear, in filent trance,
The ftory of the wood.
From HORACE, Book iv. Ode 3. By ANNA SEWARD,
NOT he, O Mufe! whom thy aufpicious eyes
Kind in his natal hour beheld,
Shall victor in the Ifthmian contest rife ;
Nor o'er the long-refounding field
The rapid horfe his kindling wheels fhall roll,
Gay in th' Olympic race, and foremost at the goal.
Nor in the Capitol, triumphant fhown,
The victor-laurel on his brow,
For the proud threats of vaunting kings o'erthrown;
But Tiber's ftreams, that warbling flow,
And groves of fragrant gloom, refound his ftrains,
Whofe fweet Eolian grace high celebration gains.
Now that his name, her nobleft bards among,
Th' imperial city loudly hails,
The proud diftinction guards his raifing fong,
When Envy's carping tongue affails;
In fullen filence now the hears his praife,-
Nor fheds her livid fpots upon his fpringing bays.
O Mufe! who rulest every dulcet lay
That floats along the gilded fhell;
That the mute tenant of the watery way
Canft teach, at pleasure, to excell
The fofteft notes harmonious forrow brings,
When the expiring fwan her own fad requiem fings,
Thine be the praife, that pointing Romans guide
The ftranger's eye, with proud defire,
That well he note the man whom crowds decide
Should boldly ftring the Latian lyre.→→
Ah! when I pleafe, if ftill to please be mine,
Nymph of th' Æolian fhell, be all the glory THINE.
An Emblem of the Shortness of Human Pleafure.
From CASIMIR, Book iv. Ode 23. By Mr. SAY.
Infcribed on his Monument in his own Chamber at Ferney, bis heart in
Puifque mon cœur eft au milieu de vous,
Son efprit eft par-tout,
Mais fon cœur eft ici!
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