INTRODUCTORY RHYMES.

Diferent Attitudes in which Authors compose. - Bayes, Henry Stephens, Herodotus, &c. Writing in Bed in the Fields.Plato and Sir Richard Blackmore. Fiddling with Gloves and Twgs.- Madame de Stall.- Rhyming on the Road, in an old Caniche.

WHAT various attitudes, and ways,

And tricks, we authors have in writing! While some write sitting, some, like BAYES, Usually stand, while they're inditing. Poets there are, who wear the floor out, Measuring a line at every stride;

While some, like HENRY STEPHENS, pour out Rhymes by the dozen, while they ride.' HERODOTUS Wrote most in bed;

And RICHERAND, a French physician,
Declares the clock-work of the head

Goes best in that reclin'd position.
If you consult MONTAIGNE and PLINY on
The subject, 'tis their joint opinion
That Thought its richest harvest yields
Abroad, among the woods and fields;
That bards, who deal in small retail,

At home may, at their counters, stop;

! Pleraque sua carmina equitans composuit. - PARAVICIN. Singular.

7" Mes pensées dorment, si je les assis."- MONTAIGNE. Animus eorum qui in aperto aere ambulant, attollitur.

But that the grove, the hill, the vale, Are Poesy's true wholesale shop. And, verily, I think they're right

For, many a time, on summer eves, Just at that closing hour of light,

When, like an Eastern Prince, who leaves For distant war his Haram bow'rs, The Sun bids farewell to the flow'rs, Whose heads are sunk, whose tears are flowing Mid all the glory of his going!

Ev'n I have felt, beneath those beams,

When wand'ring through the fields alone, Thoughts, fancies, intellectual gleams, Which, far too bright to be my own, Seem'd lent me by the Sunny Pow'r, That was abroad at that still hour.

If thus I've felt, how must they feel,

The few, whom genuine Genius warms;
Upon whose souls he stamps his seal,

Graven with Beauty's countless forms;-
The few upon this earth, who seem
Born to give truth to PLATO's dream,
Since in their thoughts, as in a glass.

Shadows of heavenly things appear,
Reflections of bright shapes that pass
Through other worlds, above our sphere!

But this reminds me I digress;

For PLATO, too, produc'd, 'tis said, (As one, indeed, might almost guess,) His glorious visions all in bed.3 'Twas in his carriage the sublime Sir RICHARD BLACKMORE used to rhyme; And (if the wits don't do him wrong) "Twixt death and epics pass'd his time, Scribbling and killing all day long— Like Phoebus in his car, at ease,

Now warbling forth a lofty song, Now murd'ring the young Niobes.

and Herodotus, is a Latin Poem by M. de Valois on his Bed, in which he says:

PLINY.

The only authority I know for imputing this practice to Plato

4

Lucifer Herodotum vidit Vesperque cubantem,

Desedit totos heic Plato sæpe dies.

Sir Richard Blackmore was a physician, as well as a bad poet.

There was a hero 'mong the Danes,
Who wrote, we're told, 'mid all the pains
And horrors of exenteration,
Nine charming odes, which, if you'll look,
You'll find preserv'd, with a translation,
By BARTHOLINUS in his book.'

In short, 'twere endless to recite

The various modes in which men write.
Some wits are only in the mind,

When beaus and belles are round them prating;
Some, when they dress for dinner, find
Their muse and valet both in waiting;
And manage, at the self-same time,
To' adjust a neckcloth and a rhyme.

Some bards there are who cannot scribble
Without a glove to tear or nibble;
Or a small twig to whisk about

As if the hidden founts of Fancy, Like wells of old, were thus found out By mystic tricks of rhabdomancy. Such was the little feathery wand, 2 That, held for ever in the hand

Of her who won and wore the crown
Of female genius in this age,
Seem'd the conductor, that drew down
Those words of lightning to her page.
As for myself-to come, at last,

To the odd way in which I write -
Having employ'd these few months past
Chiefly in travelling, day and night,
I've got into the easy mode,
Of rhyming thus along the road
Making a way-bill of my pages,
Counting my stanzas by my stages
"Twixt lays and re-lays no time lost-
In short, in two words, writing post.

"Twas distant yet, and, as I ran,
Full often was my wistful gaze
Turn'd to the sun, who now began
To call in all his out-post rays,
And form a denser march of light,
Such as beseems a hero's flight..
Oh, how I wished for JOSHUA's pow'r,
To stay the brightness of that hour!
But no-the sun still less became,

Diminish'd to a speck, as splendid
And small as were those tongues of flame,
That on the' Apostles' heads descended!

"Twas at this instant-while there glow'd
This last, intensest gleam of light-
Suddenly, through the opening road,
The valley burst upon my sight!
That glorious valley, with its Lake,
And Alps on Alps in clusters swelling,
Mighty, and pure, and fit to make

The ramparts of a Godhead's dwelling.

I stood entranc'd- —as Rabbins say This whole assembled, gazing world Will stand, upon that awful day,

When the Ark's Light, aloft unfurl'd, Among the opening clouds shall shine, Divinity's own radiant sign!

Mighty MONT BLANC, thou wert to me,
That minute, with thy brow in heaven,
As sure a sign of Deity

As e'er to mortal gaze was given.
Not ever, were I destin'd yet

To live my life twice o'er again, Can I the deep-felt awe forget,

The dream, the trance that rapt me then!

'Twas all that consciousness of power
And life beyond, this mortal hour;—
Those mountings of the soul within
At thoughts of Heav'n-as birds begin
By instinct in the cage to rise,

When near their time for change of skies; -
That proud assurance of our claim

To rank among the Sons of Light, Mingled with shame-oh bitter shame!At having risk'd that splendid right, For aught that earth through all its range Of glories, offers in exchange! "Twas all this, at that instant brought, Like breaking sunshine, e'er my thought"Twas all this, kindled to a glow

Of sacred zeal, which, could it shine

2 Made of paper, twisted up like a fan or feather.

3 Madame de Staël.

4 Between Vattay and Gex.

Thus purely ever, man might grow,
Ev'n upon earth a thing divine,
And be, once more, the creature made
To walk unstain'd the' Elysian shade!

No, never shall I lose the trace

Of what I've felt in this bright place.
And, should my spirit's hope grow weak,
Should I, oh God, e'er doubt thy pow'r,
This mighty scene again I'll seek,

At the same calm and glowing hour,
And here, at the sublimest shrine
That Nature ever rear'd to Thee,
Rekindle all that hope divine,
And feel my immortality!

Geneva.

Their gates, that they had sworn should be The gates of Death, that very dawn, Gave passage widely, bloodlessly,

To the proud foe-nor sword was drawn, Nor ev'n one martyr'd body cast To stain their footsteps, as they pass'd; But, of the many sworn at night To do or die, some fled the sight, Some stood to look, with sullen frown, While some, in impotent despair, Broke their bright armour and lay down, Weeping, upon the fragments there!If those, I say, who brought that shame, That blast upon GENEVA's name, Be living still-though crime so dark Shall hang up, fix'd and unforgiv'n, In History's page, the' eternal mark

For Scorn to pierce-so help me, Heav'n, I wish the traitorous slaves no worse, No deeper, deadlier disaster, From all earth's ills no fouler curse Than to have ***

*** their master!

EXTRACT II.

FATE OF GENEVA IN THE YEAR 1782.

A FRAGMENT.

YES-if there yet live some of those,
Who, when this small Republic rose,
Quick as a startled hive of bees,
Against her leaguering enemies'
When, as the Royal Satrap shook

His well-known fetters at her gates,
Ev'n wives and mothers arm'd, and took
Their stations by their sons and mates;
And on these walls there stood - yet, no,
Shame to the traitors- would have stood
As firm a band as e'er let flow

At Freedom's base their sacred blood; If those yet live, who on that night, When all were watching, girt for fight, Stole, like the creeping of a pest,

From rank to rank, from breast to breast,
Filling the weak, the old with fears,
Turning the heroine's zeal to tears,
Betraying Honour to that brink,
Where, one step more, and he must sink—.
And quenching hopes, which, though the last,
Like meteors on a drowning mast,
Would yet have led to death more bright,
Than life e'er look'd, in all its light!
Till soon, too soon, distrust, alarms

Throughout the' embattled thousands ran, And the high spirit, late in arms,

The zeal, that might have work'd such charms, Fell, like a broken talisman

In the year 1782, when the forces of Berne, Sardinia, and France laid siege to Geneva, and when, after a demonstration of heroism and self-devotion, which promised to rival the feats of their ancestors in 1602 against Savoy, the Genevans, either panicrock or betrayed, to the surprise of all Europe, opened their gates to the besiegers, and submitted without a struggle to the extinction

EXTRACT III.

Geneva.

Fancy and Truth. - Hippomenes and Atalanta. - Mont Blanc. —
Clouds.

EVEN here, in this region of wonders, I find
That light-footed Fancy leaves truth far behind;
Or, at least, like Hippomenes, turns her astray
By the golden illusions he flings in her way.2

What a glory it seem'd the first ev'ning I gaz'd!
MONT BLANC, like a vision, then suddenly rais'd
On the wreck of the sunset-and all his array

Of high-towering Alps, touch'd still with a light Far holier, purer than that of the Day,

As if nearness to Heaven had made them so bright!

Then the dying, at last, of these splendours away
From peak after peak, till they left but a ray,
One roseate ray, that, too precious to fly,

O'er the Mighty of Mountains still glowingly hung,

Like the last sunny step of ASTREA, when nigh From the summit of earth to Elysium she sprung! And those infinite Alps, stretching out from the sight

Till they mingled with Heaven, now shorn of their light,

Stood lofty, and lifeless, and pale in the sky, Like the ghosts of a Giant Creation gone by!

That scene-I have view'd it this evening again,
By the same brilliant light that hung over it then-
The valley, the lake in their tenderest charms-
MONT BLANC in his awfullest pomp-and the
whole

A bright picture of Beauty, reclin'd in the arms
Of Sublimity, bridegroom elect of her soul!
But where are the mountains, that round me at
first,

One dazzling horizon of miracles, burst?
Those Alps beyond Alps, without end swelling on
Like the waves of eternity- where are they gone?
Clouds-clouds-they were nothing but clouds,

after all!!

That chain of MONT BLANCS, which my fancy flew o'er,

With a wonder that nought on this earth can recall, Were but clouds of the evening, and now are

no more.

What a picture of Life's young illusions! Oh, Night,

Drop thy curtain, at once, and hide all from my sight.

Well might the Loves rejoice-and well did they,
Who wove these fables, picture, in their weaving,
That blessed truth, (which, in a darker day,
ORIGEN lost his saintship for believing.)
That Love, eternal Love, whose fadeless ray
Nor time, nor death, nor sin can overcast,
Ev'n to the depths of hell will find his way,
And soothe, and heal, and triumph there at last!

GUERCINO'S Agar-where the bond-maid hears From Abram's lips that he and she must part; And looks at him with eyes all full of tears,

That seem the very last drops from her heart. Exquisite picture!-let me not be told If thus to conjure up a face so fair, Of minor faults, of colouring tame and cold

Of all that woman suffers, when the stay
So full of sorrow; with the story there
Her trusting heart hath lean'd on falls away-
If thus to touch the bosom's tend'rest spring,
By calling into life such eyes, as bring
Back to our sad remembrance some of those
We've smil'd and wept with, in their joys and woes,
Thus filling them with tears, like tears we've known,
Till all the pictur'd grief becomes our own-
If this be deem'd the victory of Art-

If thus, by pen or pencil, to lay bare
The deep, fresh, living fountains of the heart
Before all eyes, be Genius-it is there!

EXTRACT IV.

Milan.

The Picture Gallery - Albano's Rape of Proserpine. - Reflections. - Universal Salvation. - Abraham sending away Agar, by Guercino. Genius.

WENT to the Brera-saw a Dance of Loves

By smooth ALBANO;2 him, whose pencil teams With Cupids, numerous as in summer groves

The leaflets are, or motes in summer beams.

"Tis for the theft of Enna's flow'r 3 from earth, These urchins celebrate their dance of mirth Round the green tree, like fays upon a heathThose, that are nearest, link'd in order bright. Cheek after cheek, like rose-buds in a wreath ; And those, more distant, showing from beneath

The others' wings their little eyes of light. While see, among the clouds, their eldest brother, But just flown up, tells with a smile of bliss This prank of Pluto to his charmed mother,

Who turns to greet the tidings with a kiss!

1 It is often very difficult to distinguish between clouds and Alps; and on the evening when I first saw this magnificent scene, the clouds were so disposed along the whole horizon as to deceive me into an idea of the stupendous extent of these mountains, which my subsequent observation was very far, of course, from confirming. 2 This picture, the Agar of Guercino, and the Apostles of Guido (the two latter of which are now the chief ornaments of the Brera), were formerly in the Palazzo Zampieri, at Bologna.

EXTRACT V.

Padus.

Fancy and Reality.— Rain-drops and Lakes. - Plan of a Story – Where to place the Scene of it. — In some unknoten Region. — Paimanazar's Imposture with respect to the Island of Formosa.

THE more I've view'd this world, the more I've found,

That fill'd as 'tis with scenes and creatures rare, Fancy commands, within her own bright roure, A world of scenes and creatures far more fair. Nor is it that her power can call up there

A single charm, that's not from Nature won. No more than rainbows, in their pride, can wear A single hue unborrow'd from the sunBut 'tis the mental medium it shines through, That lends to Beauty all its charm and hue;

As the same light, that o'er the level lake
One dull monotony of lustre flings,
Will, entering in the rounded rain-drop, make
Colours as gay as those on Peris' wings;

And such, I deem, the difference between real,
Existing Beauty and that form ideal,
Which she assumes, when seen by poets' eyes,
Like sunshine in the drop-with all those dyes,
Which Fancy's variegating prism supplies.

I have a story of two lovers, fill'd

With all the pure romance, the blissful sadness, And the sad, doubtful bliss, that ever thrill'd

Two young and longing hearts in that sweet madness.

But where to choose the region of my vision
In this wide vulgar world-what real spot
Can be found out sufficiently Elysian

For two such perfect lovers, I know not.
Oh for some fair FORMOSA, such as he
The young Jew fabled of, in the' Indian Sea,
By nothing, but its name of Beauty, known,
And which Queen Fancy might make all her own,
Her fairy kingdom-take its people, lands,
And tenements into her own bright hands,
And make, at least, one earthly corner fit
For love to live in, pure and exquisite !

EXTRACT VI.

Venice.

The Fall of Venice not to be lamented.-Former Glory. - Expedifion against Constantinople. - Giustinianis. - Republic.-Characteristics of the old Government.— Golden Book.-Brazen Mouths.-Spies.- Dungeons.- Present Desolation.

MOURN not for VENICE - let her rest
In ruin, 'mong those States unblest,
Beneath whose gilded hoofs of pride,
Where'er they trampled, Freedom died.

1 Under the Doge Michaeli, in 1171.

"La famille entière des Justiniani, l'une des plus illustres de Venise, voulut marcher toute entière dans cette expédition; elle fournit cent combattans; c'était renouveler l'exemple d'une illustre famille de Rome; le même malheur les attendait."-Histoire de Venise, par Danu.

The celebrated Fra Paolo. The collection of maxims which this bold monk drew up at the request of the Venetian Government, for the guidance of the Secret Inquisition of State, are so atrocious as to seem rather an over-charged satire upon despotism, than a system of policy, seriously inculcated, and but too readily and constantly pursued.

The spirit, in which these maxims of Father Paul are conceived, may be judged from the instructions which he gives for the management of the Venetian colonies and provinces. Of the former he says: “Il faut les traiter comme des animaux féroces, les rogner

Vanish'd are all her pomps, 'tis true,
But mourn them not-for vanish'd, too,
(Thanks to that Pow'r, who, soon or late,
Hurls to the dust the guilty Great,)
Are all the outrage, falsehood, fraud,

The chains, the rapine, and the blood,
That fill'd each spot at home, abroad,
Where the Republic's standard stood.
Desolate VENICE! when I track
Thy haughty course through cent❜ries back;
Thy ruthless pow'r, obey'd but curst-

The stern machinery of thy State, Which hatred would, like steam, have burst, Had stronger fear not chill'd even hate ;Thy perfidy, still worse than aught Thy own unblushing SARPI taught; Thy friendship, which, o'er all beneath Its shadow, rain'd down dews of death 4

;

les dents, et les griffes, les humilier souvent, surtout leur ôter les occasions de s'aguerrir. Du pain et le bâton, voilà ce qu'il leur faut; gardons l'humanité pour une meilleure occasion."

For the treatment of the provinces he advises thus: "Tendre à dépouiller les villes de leurs privilèges, faire que les habitans s'appauvrissent, et que leurs biens soient achetés par les Vénitiens. Ceux qui, dans les conseils municipaux, se montreront ou plus audacieux ou plus dévoués aux intérêts de la population, il faut les perdre ou les gagner à quelque prix que ce soit; enfin, s'il se trouve dans les provinces quelques chefs de parti, il faut les exterminer sous un prétexte quelconque, mais en évitant de recourir à là justice ordinaire. Que le poison fasse l'office de bourreau, cela est moins odieux et beaucoup plus profitable."

+ Conduct of Venice towards her allies and dependencies, particularly to unfortunate Padua.- Fate of Francesco Carrarn, for which see Daru, vol. ii. p. 141.