My suit he even prevented, while he spoke,

• Manure your antient farm, and feed your former

flock.'

Mel. Happy old man! then shall your lands remain,
Extent sufficient for th' industrious swain 1
Though bleak and bare yon ridgy rocks arise,
And lost in lakes the neighbouring pasture lies,
Your herds on wonted grounds shall safely range,
And never feel the dire effects of change.
No foreign flock shall spread infecting bane
To hurt your pregnant dams, thrice happy swain!
You, by known streams and sacred fountains laid,
Shall taste the coolness of the fragrant shade.
Beneath yon fence, where willow-boughs unite,
And to their flowers the swarming bees invite,
Oft shall the lulling hum persuade to rest,
And balmy slumbers steal into your breast;
While warbled from this rock the pruner's lay
In deep repose dissolves your soul away,
High on yon elm the turtle wails alone,

And your lov'd ringdoves breathe a hoarser moan.
Tit. The nimble barts shall gaze in empty air,
And seas retreating leave their fishes bare,
The German dwell where rapid Tigris flows,
The Parthian, banish'd by invading foes,
Shall drink the Gallic Arar, from my breast
Ere his majestic image be effac'd.

Mel. But we must travel or a length of lands,
O'er Scythian snows, or Afric's burning sands;
Some wander where remote Oäxes laves

The Cretan meadows with his rapid waves;

In Britain some, from every comfort torn,

From all the world rem ov'd, are doom'd to mourn,

When long long years have tedious roll'd away,
Abl shall I yet at last, at last survey

My dear paternal lands, and dear abode,

Where once I reign'd in walls of humble sod!
These lands, these harvests must the soldier share
For rude barbarians lavish we our care!

How are our fields become the spoil of wars!
How are we ruin'd by intestine jars!
Now, Melibus, now ingraff the pear,
Now teach the vine its tender sprays to rear:-
Go then, my goats!-go, once an happy store!
Once happy!-happy now (alas!) no more!
No more shall I. beneath the bowery shade
In rural quiet indolently laid,

Behold you from afar the cliffs ascend,
And from the shrubby precipice depend;

No more to music wake my melting flute,

While on the thyme you feed, and willow's wholesome

shoot.

Tit. This night at least with me you may repose
On the green foliage, and forget your woes.
Apples and nuts mature our boughs afford,
And curdled milk in plenty crowns my board.
Now from yon hamlets clouds of smoke arise,
And slowly roll along the evening-skies;
And see projected from the mountain's brow
A lengthen'd shade obscures the plain below."

As a testimonial of the critical minuteness with which Dr. Beattie revised those productions that were by him designated for posterity, I subjoin the early printed copy of his Ode entitled "Retirement," accompanied by the variations which took place in the second edition, six years afterward. Those who compare both with the modern copies, will find it has since undergone numerous emendations.

RETIREMENT.

RETIREMENT.

*

"Shook from the evening's fragrant wings
When dews impearl the grove,
And round the listening valley rings
The languid voice of love;

Laid on a daisy-sprinkled green,'

Beside a plaintive stream,

A meek-eyed youth of serious mein
Indulg'd this solemn theme:

Ye cliffs, in savage grandeur pil'd
High o'er the darkening dale!
Ye groves, along whose windings wild
Soft steals & the murmuring gule;
Where oft lone Mela holy strays,
By wilder'd Fancy led, I

What time the wan moon's yellow rays
Stream through the chequer'd shade.

To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms
Ne'er drew Ambition's eye,

Scap'd the** tumultuous world's alarms,
To your retreats I fly.

Deep in your most sequester'd bower

Let me at tt last recline,

Where Solitude, meek ‡‡ modest power,

Leans on her ivy'd shrine.

How shall I woo thee, matchless fair!
Thy envy'd smile how win!

Thy smile, that smooths the brow of Care,
And stills each storm within!

O wilt thou to thy favourite grove

Thine ardent votary bring,

And bless his hours, and bid them move

Serene on silent wing!"

[Three new stanzas here inserted in the 2d. edition.]

"There* while to thee glad Nature pours

Her gently-warbling song,

And zephyr† from the waste of flowers
Wafts sweet perfumes along;
Let no rude sound invade from far,
No vagrant foot be nigh,

No ray from Grandeur's gilded car
Flash on thy startled eye."

[One new stanza here introduced.]

"For me, no more the path invites
Ambition loves to tread;

No more I climb life's|| panting heights,
By guileful Hope misled:

Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more
To Joy's enlivening lays-

Soon are the glittering moments o'er,

Soon each gay form decays."

• O while to thee the woodland pours
Its wildly, &c.

+Fragrant. The zephyr breathes. $ The.
**To Mirth's enlivening strain,

For present pleasure soon is o'er,
And all the past is vain.

T. P.

Those toilsome.

ART.

ART. X. A most excellent Treatise of the begynnyng of Heresyes in oure tyme, compyled by the Reuerend Father in God, Stanislavs Hosivs, Byshop of Wormes in Prussia. To the moste renomed Prynce, Lorde Sigismund, myghtie Kyng of Poole, greate Duke of Luten and Russia, Lorde and Heyre of all Prussia, Masouia, Samogitia, &c. Translated out of Laten in to Englyshe by Richard Shacklock, M. of Arte and Student of the Ciuil Lawes, and intituled by hym, "The Hatchet of Heresies." "Hæreses ad suam originem revocasse, est refutasse} Of heresies to shewe the spryng

Is them vnto an end to bryng."

Imprinted at Antwerp by Æg. Diest, Anno 1565, the 10 of August. Cum privilegio. Small 8vo. 95 folios, without Epistles Dedicatory, Table, &c. b. l. [See Ames, 532; Herbert, 1612.]

At the back of the title eighteen lines, "The Translatoure upon the figure following," which describe Sathan, "wery of whipping Luther and Calvine," peeps out of the infernal regions, and sees big trees sprung from his seed, but fixing his eye on Prussian ground, observes Hosius making his book:

which boke so sone as he spyde,

An hachet, an hachet, oh me! he cryde:

An hachet I see in Hosius hand,

Which felleth my trees, which ells myght have stand:
Then having so sayde, byting his lypp,

He ran agayne, Luther and Calvine to whypp."

Then follows a wood cut, size of the page, on the left in a body of flames "Sathan," on the right "Hosius"