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single word or single phrase, but we must mention that the transaction of the postage beginning at ver. 46, &c. In verbis etiam tenuis, &c. appears greatly amended in this new edition. As also ver. 120, in which Mr. Colman has judiciously admitted Bentley's Homer cum into the text and version, instead of Hcnoratum:
"If Homer's hero you bring back to view,
Shew your Achilles such as Homer drew;
Active, warm, brave, impetuous, high of foul,
Calling to arms, and brooking no controul." The lines alto on the pipe, ver. 202 Tibia non ut nunc, &e. have received much additional force and polish from the lima labort which Mr. Colman appears to have applied very successfully. He seems, indeed, to have attended to the rule of his own Horace:
jfmbiiiosa recidtt Ornamenta; partita claris lucem dare coget.
"Ambitious ornaments he'll lop away;
On things obscure he'll make you let in day."
After the Notes on the Epijlie to the Pi/os we find some miscellaneous poems.
The Poet;, a Town Eclogue: a satirical dialogue between Kenrick and BickerstafF.—Some Epigrams.—The Laureat, an Ode, ta Mr. Warton ;—and the following Ode, which, on account of its humour, we (hall transcribe; as we shall the Imitation of the thirty-ninth Pi'.lm, which succeeds it: the latter f A the injlrut~ inn, and the former for the amusement of our Readers.
A Posthumous Work Of S. Johnson. An Ode.
St. Paul's deep bell, from stately tow'r
Blue burnt the midnight taper;
Printing the Morning Paper. .
Grim, horrible, and squallid?
And Devils ail grew pallid.
Trite Anecdotes and Stories!
Aud urnifii all his glories.
y 4. IV. First
That teazer of Apollo!
And calls the town to swallow.
Yelp OUt JoHNSONIANA!
Their nauseous praise but moves my bile,
With constitutional vivacity,
With sedulous loquacity.
Straining to draw my picture;
And who shall contradict her?
Adagio and Allegro!
I'd rather trust my Negro *.
Applause crown'd all my labours.
The scoff of friends and neighbours.
The child of Pride and Vanity;
And infantine inanity.
* His black servant.
The gath'rer proves a (corner.
To sleep in Poets' Corner.
IMITATED IN BLANK VERSE. MDCCLXXVI.'
I will take heed, I said, I will take heed,
Nor trespass with my tongue; will keep my mouth
As with a bridle, while the sinner's near.
—Silent I mus'd, and ev'n from good refrain'd;
But, full of pangs, my heart was hot within me,
The lab'ring fire burst forth, and loos'd my tongue.
Make me to know how weak, how frail I am!
My days are as a span, mine age as nothing,
And man is altogether Vanity.
Man walketh in an empty (hade; in vain
Disquieting his foul, he heaps up riches,
Knowing not who (hall gather them. And now
Where rests my Hope, O Lord? It rests in Thee.
Forgive me mine offences! Make me not
A scorn unto the foolish! I was dumb,
And open'd not my mouth, for 'twas Thy doing.
Oh take thy stroke away! Thy hand destroys me.
When with rebukes thou chast'nest man for fin,
Thou mak'st his beauty to consume away;
Distemper preys upon him, as a moth
Fretting a garment. Ah, what then is Man?
Every Man living is but Vanity! *
Hear, hear my pray'r, O Lord! oh, hear my Cry!
Pity my Tears! for I am in Thy fight
But as a stranger, and a sojourn er,
As all my fathers were. Oh, spare me then,
Though but a little, to regain my strength,
Ere I be taken hence, and seen no more 1' The volume concludes with Mr. Colman's Prologues and Epilogues, which are numerous; and as most of them must long live in the memories of our Readers in general, it is needless to recapitulate the title of the plays to which they were prefixed, or the occasions on which they were composed.
Such are the contents of these three volumes, from which we think the Public, "which doth seldom play the recanter*" will receive the same degree of pleasure, they have so frequently derived from the productions of Mr. Colman's pen, while the Author will add a new sprig of laurel to the wreath, with which his brows have long been decorated. T\
° .P i-«»y.
* Shakespeare, Timon of Athens.
Art. VI. Six Narrative Poems. By Eliza Knipe. ^to. 3s. 6d. Dilly. 1787. ,
ripHE Authoress, in her dedication to Sir Joshua Reynolds, £ fays—* 1 esteem myself highly honoured by the permission to dedicate the following poems to you; nor could I wish them a better fate than to be thought worthy of your acceptance: I fear they can have no pretensions to that honour, but as the early efforts of an unlettered Muse, who trembles at the severity ef criticism, and who does not hepe much even from candour.' This, however, is a language which a writer like Mrs. Knipe should never hold. Real merit, it should he remembered, is an ægis on which it is scarcely possible that'even (he (hafts of envy and tnalce should make an impression ;—what then is to beapprehendtxl from those Criticisms i It is no doubt highly necessary that Criticism should be at all times armed, and ready for attack; but then it should not be uncharitably ipiagined that she is willing to throw her darts at random, or that she would wantonly harass the merit which it is rather her duty to cherish and defend.
These poems are intitled— The Vizir —The Village Wake—Tht Return from the Crusade—The Prussian Ojfcer—Atomb ka and Omaza—Humanity. The ' Retura from the Crusa.de' and the ' Prussian Officer' are Tales in the manner of the legendary stories of old, of which there are numerous examples in the 'Reliquesof ancient Poetry;'—and they are related in that unaffected and artless flow of numbers which never fails to gain upon the heart; —that heart, we mean, of which Nature, and Nature only, has been the fashioner.
The following picture of the horrors and calamities of war is. \\\ our opinion, finely coloured:
The Prussian Officer *.
^F ^ W" ~ffc
* Light, from his couch, the warrior rose,
The Morning crirason'd o'er the iky.
As blushing to behold
By Pride or Av'rice sold!
The trumpet bade the troops prepare j
The steeds impatient neigh'd;
The hostile banners play'd.
^rfr sfT ^JT ^t?
* The principal circumstances, in this poem (fays the Author) are taken from the life of Jlwaid Christjah Vow Kuist, prefixed -to hu works.
Now Now clouds of smoke tumuh'ous blend,
The balls, loud whistling, fly;
The over-arching sky. <
Confusion flaps her raven wings,
And, from her dreary cell,
With all the brood of Hell.
A thousand screaming Spectres ride,
On ev'ry passing gale,
And steams of gore inhale. ■ ■
'On ev'ry side exulting Death
Stalk'd by, in hideous form;
Brav'd Danger's wildest storm.
Swift, to the batt'ry's smoky breast,
O'er heaps of flain he flew:
What foes un-number'd fell, Let Plauens' bloody vale record, And Austria's widows tell." The other poems have likewise considerable merit; but we have not room for farther extracts. We therefore take our leave of Mrs. Knipe, heartily recommending her unlettered Muse, as (he is pleased to call her, to the care and attention of the Public. _
. ! A*&. __ *
Art. VII. West-Indian Eclogues. 4W. zs. Lowndes. 1787.
THESE Eclogues describe, in not unpleasing numbers, the situation of the unfortunate Africans: who, torn from their native country, are doomed to pass their lives in slavery, and (as our Author would give us to understand) to suffer under the lash of the most cruel and tyrannical of human beings, the planters in the Western Isles,—or [which makes little difference J their overseers, and Negnt-drivers.
Much has been lately written on the subject of plantation slavery :—but that writers have greatly exaggerated in their account of the cruelties exercised towards the Negroes, we have every reason to believe. The African is undoubtedly ruled with a rod of iron,—but then it should be remembered that (as many contend) he is not to be worked on by affe£tiont but held in obedience by fear; and that the owner is driven to that mode of rule
a kind of political necessity: by the consideration that it is in