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Tir'd with unmeaning founds and painted fhows,
Which this vain theatre of life compofe;
Let peaceful thought to happier scenes remove,
And feek the lov'd retreat of K-- n Grove,
Where nature sheds her vernal sweets around,
And fancy wanders o'er' Elfian ground.
Ye flowers, that bright in living colours glow,
Ye gales, which fweet o'er new-blown roses blow,
Ye lawns enliven'd by the solar beam,

Ye groves that wave o'er contemplation's dream :
How aptly were your peaceful joys defign'd
To match the temper of Bethia's mind!

The following verses, which we may suppose to have been written in fome calm evening, on the fea fhore, present the imagination with a most folemnly pleasing scene.

How fweet the calm of this fequefter'd fhore,
Where ebbing waters mafically roll;

And folitude, and filent eve restore

The philofophic temper of the foul.

The fighing gale, whofe murmurs lull to reft
The bufy tumult of declining day,
To fympathetic quiet foothes the breast,
And every wild emotion dies away.

Farewell the objects of diurnal care,

Your talk be ended with the fetting fun :

Let all be undisturb'd vacation here,

While o'er yon wave afcends the peaceful moon.

We shall present our readers with the charming elegiac

epiftle addreft to Mrs.

-, and with that take leave of

our excellent Poetefs, whose works will be admired while tafte and learning exift in Britain.

Where are thofe hours, on rofy pinions borne,
Which brought to every guiltless with fuccefs?
When pleasure gladden'd each returning moru,
And every evening clos'd in calms of peace.
How fmil'd each object, when by friendship led,
Thro' flowery paths we wander'd unconfin'd;
Enjoy'd each airy hill, or folemn fhade,

And left the bustling empty world behind.

With philofophic, focial fenfe furvey'd,

The noon day fky in brighter colours fhone;
And fofter o'er the dewy landfcape play'd
The peaceful radiance of the filent moon.

Thofe hours are vanish'd with the changing year,
And dark December clouds the Summer fcene:

Perhaps, alas! for ever vanish'd, here

No more to blefs diftinguifh'd life again.

Yet

Yet not like thofe by thoughtlefs folly drown'd,
In blank oblivion's fullen ftagnant deep,
Where, never more to pafs their fated bound,
The ruins of neglected Being fleep.

But lafting traces mark the happier hours,
Which active zeal in life's great task employs :
Which science from the wafte of time fecures,
Or various fancy gratefully enjoys.

O ftill be ours to each improvement given,
Which Friendship doubly to the heart endears:
Those hours, when banish'd hence shall fly to Heaven,
And claim the promife of eternal years.

Amiable Moralift! what fublime fimplicity of fentiment, what melodious sweetness of expreffion do we find in this, and almost all her Poems! which, in fhort, may be styled the HARMONY of PHILOSOPHY.

La.

The Death of Abel. In five Books. Attempted from the German of Mr. Geffner.* 12mo. 3s. Dodfley.

A

MONG the many disadvantages to which Authors are exposed, there is none which more frequently injures their reputation, than a comparison between their productions and thofe of fome celebrated writer, who has highly diftinguished himself on fubjects of a fimilar nature. We are greatly mistaken, if the Death of Abel would not have been more pleafing to the English reader, did it not remind him of one of the nobleft efforts of genius, in Milton's Paradife Loftt. That the poem before us muft fuffer greatly by this. circumftance, will hardly be doubted: as we may rather wish than expect, ever to fee a production which would not be injured by fuch a comparison.

We mention not this, however, to detract from the merit of Mr. Geffner; being too fenfible of the talents neceffary to accomplish works of this fuperior kind, not to acknowlege the juftice of that applaufe which has been fo liberally beftowed on this performance by his own countrymen.

It has been objected to this poem, indeed, by fome foreign critics, that the last book is fuperfluous; the murder of Abel being perpetrated in the preceding one; and that the

* Of Zurich, in Switzerland.

+ A work which, it is easy to fee, Mr. Geffner has perused with attention and advantage.

poem should have ended with the ftory of its action. The Author has been alfo cenfured for having taken too great a liberty with facred hiftory, in reprefenting the death of Abel as the effect of fudden paffion in Cain, whereas it appears in reality to have been premeditated. We leave the Author himself, however, to obviate these criticisms; chufing rather to point out fome of the beauties in a work of merit, than to dwell on the cenfures which may have been paffed on its imperfections. From among the many ftriking and pathetic paffages, with which this work abounds, we fhall, therefore, felect that part of the fecond book, wherein Adam, at the requeft of his fon Abel, relates what had happened to him and Eve, from the time of their leaving Paradise.

Having defcribed, in this relation, the firft day of their departure from that feat of innocence and blifs, he proceeds.

"Sleep, the relief of the weary, at length came; but it was unaccompany'd with that foft eafe, that fweet delight which bleft our flumbers while innocent: our imagination then presented none but smiling aud agreeable images. Inquietude, fear, and remorfe did not then keep us waking the tedious hours of darkness, nor mingle in our dreams with fantastic phantoms. The heavens were however calm, and our reft was undisturb'd: but Oh how different from that delicious night when I led thee, my fpoufe, for the first time to the nuptial bower! The flowers and odoriferous fhrubs charm'd with new sweetness. Never was the warbling of the nightingale fo harmonious: never did the pale moon shine with fuch radiance: But why do I dwell on images that awaken my grief, now hufh'd to filence?

"We flept till the morning fun had exhal'd the limpid dew. When we awoke we found ourselves refrefh'd and fitted for labour, and enjoy'd with delight and gratitude the harmony of the birds, who were celebrating with their sweeteft notes the renewed light: their number was yet but small; for there were then no other animals on this earth but thofe, who, inftructed by divine instinct, had, after the fall, fled from Paradife, that the garden of the Lord might not be defil'd by death.

"We offered up our adorations at the entrance of the grotto, after which I faid to Eve, We will, my love, go farther and view this immenfe country: our all-merciful God has given us liberty of choice. We may fix our abode where the earth is moft fertile; where nature is most profufe of her

beauties.

beauties. Seeft thou, Eve, that river, which, like a huge ferpent, winds in bright flopes through the meadows. The hill on its bank, feems at this diftance like a garden full of trees, and its top is cover'd with verdure. My dear fpoufe, return'd Eve, preffing my hand to her bofom, I fhall follow with delight the fteps of thee, my conductor and guard. We will pursue our walk towards the hill.

"We were going on when we faw just above our heads a bird fly with feeble wing: its feathers were rough and diforder'd it caft forth plaintive cries, and having flutter'd a little in the air, funk down without ftrength among the bushes. Eve went to feek it, and beheld another lie without motion on the grafs, which that we had before seen seem'd to lament. My fpoufe ftooping over it, examin'd it with great attention, and in vain try'd to roufe it from what the believ'd to be fleep. It will not wake, faid fhe to me, in a fearful voice, laying the bird from her trembling hand,It will not wake.- -It will never wake more! She then burft ino tears, and fpeaking to the lifeless bird, faid, Alas! the poor bird who pierc'd my ears with his cries, was perhaps thy mate. It is me!-It is me! unhappy that I am, who have brought mifery and grief on every creature! For my fin these pretty harmless animals are punished. Her tears redoubled. What an event! faid the, turning to me. How ftiff and cold it is! It has neither voice nor motion. Its joints no longer bend. Its limbs refufe their office. Speak, Adam, is this death? Ah it is. How I tremble! An icy cold runs thro' my bones. If the death with which we are threaten'd is like this, how terrible!What, deareft Adam! would become of me, if, like the feather'd mate of this poor bird, I am left behind to mourn? Or what of thee, if death tear me from thy fond arms? Should God create another Eve to fill my forfeit place in thy lov'd bofom, she will not- -cannot love like me, thy partner in diftrefs and banishment. Unable to fay more, fhe wept, fhe fobb'd, and her expreffive eyes tenderly fix'd on mine, made my feeling heart partake her anguifh. I prefs'd her to my breaft: I kifs'd her cheek, and mix'd my tears with her's. Ceafe, deareft Eve, I cry'd, thefe fond complaints. Dry up thy tears. Dry up thy tears. Have confidence in the Supreme Being, who governs all his creatures by his infinite wisdom. Though we cannot penetrate into the defigns of his providence: though his majestic tribunal is furrounded by darknefs, we may reft affur'd, that mercy and love remain near his throne. Why, my love, fhould we articipate misfortunes? Why fhould we, guided by a gloomy

ima

imagination, seek for them in futurity? Was our reason given us only to make us wretched? Shall we ungratefully turn our eyes from the repeated inftances of his loving-kindness and tender mercy, at the hazard of plunging ourselves in mifery by our blindnefs. It is his wifdom, and his goodness, that regulate and appoint what shall befal us. Let us with humble confidence proceed under his direction, and devoutly acquiefce in his appointments, without seeking to know what he hath not condescended to reveal."

With respect to the merits of the tranflation, it is but juftice to acknowlege, that Mrs. Collyer, to whom the public are indebted for it, has acquitted herself extremely well of a very nice and difficult undertaking.— This work, as fhe obferves in her Preface, is the first of Mr. Geffner's productions that has been tranflated into English; the original is written in a kind of loose Poetry, unfhackled, as the expresses it, by the tagging of Rhymes, or counting of Syllables: a middle fpecies between Verse and Profe. K-n-k.

The Hiftory of the Travels and Adventures of the Chevalier John Taylor, Opthalmiater Pontifical, Imperial and Royal, &c. Written by himself. 8vo. 3 Vols. 7 s. 6d. Williams.

IN

N our Review for Auguft laft, we gave an account of a fpurious hiftory of this famous pontifical and imperial Opthalmiater, and now we have the genuine ftory, written by the Opthalmiater himself. This ftrange rambling mortal, always appeared to the world as a moft confummate coxcomb, but a coxcomb of parts; and he is still as much a coxcomb as ever: a rattling braggadocio, a conceited fop, an eternal chatter-box! Never, fure, had any tale fuch a hero; never was hero celebrated in fuch a tale! Indeed none but Taylor himfelf, was worthy of being the Hiftorian of Taylor. But we cannot apply to him what was faid of Cæfar, that he only poffeffed the happy art of fpeaking in a becoming manner, concerning himself; for never have we known, or heard of, fo egregious, fo furfeiting, fo naufeous an egotift and as to the truth of all his wonderful ftories,who ever doubted the veracity of a traveller or a mountebank? From his own moft unquestionable account, then, it appears, that this flying phyfician, this here-and-thereian oculift, has feen a thoufand times more towns, and more changes of manners, than ever the wandering fon of Anchifes faw; and has cured more blind Popes, Emperors, Kings,

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