Peering high, and near the roof, The scourge of Justice, ah! what ills await; Has gain'd by chance a short-liv'd fame, Who fed the fire and fann'd the flame; And Weinholt too has veil'd his head *. The swarms that in the Statesman's beams were born The public taste has laugh'd to scorn, And all our efforts overwhelm; In easy sail their new-built vessel goes, Shakspeare the prow, and Kemble at the helm; Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, A rich repast prepare; While punishment and vengeance scowl Arm to arm, and force to force; And through all Bow Street's squadrons mow'd their way. These hours are gone, and gone our fame, And nearly sunk is O. P.'s name. GRAY'S BARD. Judgment suspended o'er their head, And o'er the plain our flying squadrons spread; 34% Deep stamp their vengeance strong, and dark'ning terros gloom. But stay, ah! stay, nor thus forlorn Leave me unbless'd, unaided here to mourn. Ye crowded houses, rush not on my soul: In the midst a form divine †, What sounds of acclamation fill the air! Fierce war and faithful love, And truth, in fairy fiction dress'd. In buskin'd measures move Pale grief and pleasing pain, With horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. And, hark, a cherub choir ‡ ; Gales of harmony that bear, Sounds that my very heart-strings tear; Their horrid warblings pain my startled ear, And warms the nation with redoubled ray. The different doom our fates assign; Sorrow and defeat are mine." She spoke, and headlong from the gall'ry's height, FALKLAND. EXTEMPORE ON OUR LATE CAPTURE OF ITHACA, THE KINGDOM OF ULYSSES. [From the Morning Chronicle.] OF yore did fam'd Ulysses' island yield SPELMAN. HO now shall fill the vacant chair of Sheldon? WH Shall Beaufort, god of wisdom, speak-or Eldon ? Says Phoebus, "Grenville;"-say the Muses, "Well done!" AN ( 343 ) AN ADDRESS FROM ALMA MATER TO THE FELLOWS OF OXFORD, ON HER EXISTING EMBARRASSMENTS. BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE JUBILEE, OR JOHN BULE IN HIS DOTAGE." WHI HEN death took Bentinck from his peers, (Yet mark me, I don't mean to say, And William Curtis fed less! I groan'd as much to lose His Grace, When the winds wafted here the dismal tale, And Pegasus unsaddled, stripp'd, and manger'd: All Souls pour'd rivers from their eyes, Forming a bath for Sorrow's race to swim in! Magdalen bade huge Erudition rise! Queens were aları'd ! The intriguers charm'd, And, clogg'd with mucus vile, each rhetorician snuffied! Yet ere my weeds have known decay, Or Kemble's arm can fell O. P. Alas! I find both night and day, More suitors than Penelope ! Two noble lords, both potent chiefs, Claim my regards, and breathe their griefs, Though each is married, each will woo! Yet Yet each his real penchant masks, Each gallant pompously advances, They raise their crests, and shake their lances, While the sweet Muses, from their forky hill, Again, If it were only to sustain my character! Should I let either have his will, May not the Baron use me ill, Or sulkily be dumb to me, And think, like many a chevalier, A maid may heedlessly become a wife; What will my sister Cantab say? Will not the nymph be clamorous, To find me, now my hairs are gray, Apparently so amorous? "Beware!" When ardent knights assail the fair, At London, Paris, or at Rome, Yet, should the nuptial rites take place, In the outworks of matrimonial manners, Ánd t'other with his speeches? But |