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THE DREAM.

FROM THE LATIN OF J. LEOCH *.

Lov'n of the Muse to Venus dear,
My Drummond! lend thy partial ear;

*John Leoch, the correspondent of Drummond the poet, published his Musa Priores at London, in 1620, on his return from his travels. He appears to have been born in Mar, and to have been the son of a clergyman. In one of his eclogues, he complains of having been deprived of part of his patrimony by the Duke of Leven. He studied philosophy at Aberdeen; and, when at Poictiers, applied to civil law. After his return to Britain, he lived in habits of familiarity with all the Scotish wits of the age, as Scot of Scotstarvet, Drummond of Hawthornden, whom he sometimes terms 66 Spinifer Damon," Alexander, Earl of Stirling; Seton, Earl of Dumfermline; and Hamilton, Earl of Melrose. He dedicates his Love poems to William Earl of Pembroke, nephew of Sir Philip Sidney. His Musæ Priores, the verses of which sometimes possess considerable elegance and fluency of stile, consist of his Eroticon, or love verses, written in imitation of the ancient models; his Idyllia, and his Epigrammata. He defends the freedom of some of his love verses by the old apology of Catullus, that his life was chaste, though his verse was wanton; or, as Goldsmith expresses it, "His conduct still right, and his argument wrong." In the preface to his Idyllia he claims some degree of merit for the variety, as well as for the originality of his stile. "Quotus enim quisque est, qui tam varia in hoc genere aggressus? namque, ut Bucolica excipias, in quibus non pauci; quis oro, præter Sanazarium, Piscatorias Eclogas; quis præter Hugonem Grotium, Nauticas tentavit? et illius, quod dolori maximo esse possit, equid præter unicum Nauticum exstat Idyllium? In Ampelicis, nullus, quod sciam. Hactenus primus ego illas agressus, nondum tamen ingressus." The Ampelic clogue, or Song of the Vintagers, was probably attempted in imi

Thou, gifted Bard, canst best explain
The dreams which haunt a poet's brain.
Ere night's bright wain her course had run,
Venus to me, and Venus' son,

Descending in a radiant car,

Rapt from earth, and bore me far;
Sparrow's billing, twittering clear,
Drew us on our swift career;
The lovely goddess, all the while,
Glow'd with pleasure's wanton smile;
O'er her hover'd all the Graces,
Sighs and Kisses, and Embraces:
Around her son, in vesture bright,
Hopes and Murmurs flutter'd light;
With every form of melting bliss,
That breathes or sucks the humid kiss.
Swimming on the moon-beams pale,
Soon we reach'd sweet Tempe's vale:
Zephyrs fluttering o'er the strand,
Bade every glowing flower expand:
While the nightingale on high,
Pour'd her liquid melody.

O'er the level lawn we flew ;

The grove's deep shadow round us grew;

Deep within a soft retreat,

Flow'd a spring with murmur sweet.

"Here be all thine offerings done,”

Softly whisper'd Venus' son:

tation of the Italians. A long poem in this stile was composed by Tansillo, and denominated Il Vendemiatore.

On the departure of our author from Paris, in 1620, the following Poetical Address was published, and inscribed to him. "Sylva, Leochæo suo, Sacra, sive Lycida Desiderium," a Georg. Camerario, Scoto, Paris 1620.

"Here let clouds of incense rise,"
Venus whisper'd, "to the skies."
From the chariot light I sprung,
Shrill the golden axle rung.
Kneeling by the crystal spring,
Every Naiad's charms I sing;
Echo wafts their praises wide,
But chief the Naiads of the tide.
Goddess of the stream attend!
O'er thy wave I suppliant bend;
Grant thy spring may ever be,
Dear to Venus, and to me.

As I bent the waves to kiss,
Murmurs rise of softer bliss ;
For the fountain's liquid face,
I feel the timid nymph's embrace;
Glow and pant my labouring veins,
As her ivory arms she strains;
While the melting kiss she sips,
The soul sits quivering on my lips.
Sudden from our watery bed,
Venus slily smiling fled;

With her sought the shady grove,
The smiling, dimpling God of Love:
Loud through all its dusky bounds,

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Hylas! a second Hylas," sounds;
While the vision fled in air,

And left the Bard to lone despair.
By every smiling God above,
By the maid you dearest love:
Drummond! to all the Muses dear,
Lend, to thy friend, thy partial ear;
Thou gifted Bard, canst best explain,
Each dream that haunts the poet's brain.

D.

RURAL INSCRIPTION.

BY MR. R. A. DAVENPORT.

O THOU! with soul to Nature dead,
Who lov'st in Folly's court to tread ;
To mingle with her worthless train,
The light, the dissolute, the vain ;
To hear the darkly-whisper'd tale,
That turns the cheek of Candour pale;
The flimsy talk, the clumsy jest,
By wit or sense alike unblest;
Or join the drunkard's frantic rite,
That shocks the sober ear of Night;
Far hence! nor dare with footsteps rude
Within my sacred bounds intrude!
Retire! nor idly linger here,

Where nought can please thine eye or ear.
In vain, for thee a thousand blooms
Breathe more than Araby's perfumes;
In vain, the wildly warbling throng
Awake of love and

peace the song;

In vain, the limpid current flows,

The life-reviving zephyr blows,

The swain his toil with mirth beguiles,

And earth and heaven are drest in smiles!

All, all by thee are coldly past:

Thou hear'st no music in the blast;

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Seest nought in all the landscape yields,
The pomp of groves and fertile fields!
Nor even can other's bliss impart
A charm to glad thy callous heart.
Go then, and join the madding croud,
Bless none, think little, and talk loud:
There may'st thou reign and revel’* free,
But Peace and Virtue dwell with me!

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FROM THE SPANISH OF BARTOLOME LEONARDO.

FABIUS, to think that God hath in the lines
Of the right hand disclos'd the things to come,
And in the wrinkles of the skin pourtray'd,
As in a map, the way of human life;
This is to follow with the multitude
Error or Ignorance, their common guides;
Yet surely I allow that God has plac'd
Our fate in our own hands, or evil or good,
Even as we make it: tell me, Fabius,
Art not a king thyself? when envying not
The lot of kings, no idle wish disturbs
Thy quiet life; when, a self-govern'd man,
No laws exist to thee; and when no change,
With which the will of Heaven may visit thee,
Can break the even calmness of thy soul."

Reigns here and revels.' MILTON.

T. Y.

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