And lilies for the brows of faded age, Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald; Heav'n, earth, and ocean, plunder'd of their sweets, Sermons and city feasts, and fav'rite airs, At his own wonders, wond'ring for his bread! We shall only add one paragraph more, by which this masterly portrait will be completed: Tis pleasant, thro' the loop-holes of retreat, To peep at such a world, to see the stir Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd; To hear the roar she sends thro' all her gates, At a safe distance where the dying sound Falls a soft murmur on th' uninjured ear. Thus sitting and surveying, thus at case, The globe and its concerns, I seem advanc'd To some secure and more than mortal height, That lib'rates and exempts me from them all! We leave these specimens of a Winter Evening with our readers, persuaded that so faithful a delineation must yield grateful sensations of pleasure and delight. MR MEMOIRS THE LATE MRS. ROBINSON. (Concluded from page 234.) RS. ROBINSON had not thought of literature as a resource, either against the tedium of life, or for its wants, since the little attempt she had made when her husband was in prison. On her return to England, which was in 1788, she began those literary employments in which she continued to be engaged, till within a very few weeks before her death, with a constancy, a spirit of enterprize and a degree of success, that cannot fail respectively to excite our astonishment, when we contemplate the disadvantages of a life, at one time too rudely pressed with misfortune, at another too much enervated with the refinements of luxury. To the first edition of her poems, Mrs. Robinson had a subscription, that at once does honour to herself and the patronage she received. Six hundred persons of the highest rank or talents were her subscribers: many of whom, took several copies, and others assisted her greatly beyond the amount of their subscriptions. Mrs. Robinson's beauty was still admired; her engaging manners were still remembered; her talents had already gained her that name, which men of genius often confer by conversation in literary circles, long before the favoured subject of their praise is known through the medium of publication. Mrs. Robinson, at this period, was little less an object of attention, a theme of fashion, than in the moment of her entire ascendancy in the gay world; and for this distinction she was indebted solely to her fascinating charms and genius, since her power was fled, and she was even then falling into the disrepute of comparative adversity. There exists a literary anecdote that deserves to be noticed, as it marks most distinctly the adulation universally paid to Mrs. Robinson at the time we speak of. When the first edition of Mrs. Robinson's poems (those in two volumes) appeared, the Review bestowed on them a praise, not above their merits, but agreeing altogether with Mrs. Robinson's fashion and currency at that moment. When a subsequent edition appeared, their tone was lowered; but it had this consistency in it, that, though it was now below the merit of the work, it was on a level with the declining fortunes of Mrs. Robinson Let us review of some of the literary productions of Mrs. Robinson.-The Poems, in two 8vo volumes, which may justly be called Mrs. Robinson's first publication, are almost in every part characterized by the effusions of a rich genius; the sweetness. and elegance of a polished taste; and the genuine language of sensibility. Among the most vigorous poems in that collection, are the following:-Lines addressed to him who will understand them! replete with passion.-A poem beginning with Bounding billows cease thy motion; often named with admiration by a gentleman who is at once among the finest of our poets, and the greatest of our orators. -And that most beautiful poem The Maniac ; whose merit led the celebrated author of The Minstrel to seek an introduction to Mrs. Robinson, at Bath, where they both happened to be soon after its publication. The Legitimate Sonnets are remarkable for their tenderness, and the harmony of their versification; but have not the strength of most of Mrs. Robinson's other poems. The little volume containing the three poems entitled, Sight; the Cavern of Woe; and Solitude; has several passages of the purest fire, the boldest thought, and the richest imagery. But the Lyrical Tales are, perhaps, the most delightful of Mrs. Robinson's compositions. Almost every poem in that small volume is a treasure to the heart of the imagination. The Haunted Beach is to be distinguished for poetic imagery, and the excellence of the tale. After the cause of the beach being haunted is unfolded, in the murder of a shipwrecked sailor by a fisherman, tempted by the gold he had about his person, and a specter'd band (the drowned companions of the sailor) are described as surrounding the fisherman's cottage, or following him in his occupation, the poem con cludes with the following verses; which, for terror, and for the consequent moral, are not surpassed in the English language. "And since that hour the fisherman But destin'd mis'ry to sustain, A loathsome life away." ་ The Alien Boy is an instance of the sublime. It is impossible by description to do justice to the merits of that poem. One touch of the finest art we cannot forbear to give in the following lines 66 -Yet he lives, This is said of one abandoned to all extremities of wretchedness. And for the perfect insight into the human heart, with which it is said, we appeal to all who know its workings. The Deserted Cottage is a fine example of the simple and pathetic in writing; and the two conclud ing verses deserve to be quoted for the refinement of their feeling, and the delicacy of their moral taste. "And now behold yon little cot All dreary and forsaken! And know, that soon 'twill be thy lot Yet, if for truth and feeling known, For when thy parting sigh has flown, Then-smile, AND BE CONTENTED." The Poor singing Dame is also a pathetic tale; which, though equally true to nature, is the copy of nature in her plainer garb. The Trumpeter, an old English Tale, affords an example of another kind. It is a satire, expressed with all the acumen of its species; and it has beside the merit of being a well-told tale, whose images pass in vivid succession before the eyes. The Widow's Home, though possessing less of the fire of genius than some other poems in the volume," is an instance (to which we wish to refer our readers), of that most excellent moral feeling that peculiarly marked Mrs. Robinson's character. The prose compositions of Mrs. Robinson are greatly below her poetry. Not that her novels and romances (of which they chiefly consist) want invention; but that she wrote with a haste that did not permit her to be choice in the selection of ineidents, or to weave an artful web in the relation. She was accustomed to write from the impulse of the moment; and the facility with which she wrote her poems, spoiled her for the drudgery that belongs to every work of great extent. Of her facility we could relate examples that appear incredible. Many of the longest pieces in her Lyrical Tales, were written in one morning. The Lascar, con |