That scorn the paths their dull forefathers trod, And that there may be something gay and new, The first a damsel, travell'd in romance; The1 t'other more refin'd; she comes from France: EPILOGUE TO THE BRITISH ENCHANTERS.& WHEN Orpheus tun'd his lyre with pleasing woe, Rivers forgot to run, and winds to blow, While list'ning forests cover'd, as he play'd, The soft musician in a moving shade. That this night's strains the same success may find, The birds to warble, and the springs to flow. It is strange that this use of t, so like the French euphonic ľ before on, should have escaped the grammatical eye of Hurd.—G. a A dramatic poem written by the Lord Lansdown. The same dull sights in the same landscape mixt, a But howsoe'er, to please your wand'ring eyes, There's none can make amends for lost delight, EPILOGUE TO THE 'DISTRESSED MOTHER.' A TRAGEDY.-TRANSLATED BY AMBROSE PHILIPS, FROM THE FRENCH OF RACINE. [THIS piece finds a place here upon the authority of Mr. Garrick, who learnt from Tonson's family that the morning on which it was originally printed, Addison came down in great haste, and had Budgell's name substituted for his own. This is supposed to have been done in order to give Budgell, whom Addison styled "the man who calls me cousin," better chances for a place which his friends were soliciting for him.-G.] I HOPE you'll own, that with becoming art, I've played my game, and topp'd the widow's part. a But HOWSOEʼER. A word, which nobody would now use in verse, and not many in good prose My spouse, poor man, could not live out the play, You, ladies, who protract a lover's pain, And hear your servants sigh whole years in vain; 'Twas a strange 'scape! Had Pyrrhus lived till now, I had been finely hampered in my vow. To die by one's own hand, and fly the charms That, when enrag'd, the Grecian camp he stormed; |