262 EPISTLE TO A LADY IN FRANCE. In pity to the souls his grace design'd To rescue from the ruins of mankind, Call'd for a cloud to darken all their years, And said, "Go, spend them in the vale of tears.” O balmy gales of soul-reviving air! O salutary streams, that murmur there! These flowing from the fount of grace above, Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast TO THE REV. W. CAWTHORNE UNWIN UNWIN, I should but ill repay The kindness of a friend, As ever friendship penn'd, Thy name omitted in a page, That would reclaim a vicious age. A union form'd, as mine with thee, And may as rich in comfort prove, The bud inserted in the rind, The bud of peach or rose, Not rich, I render what I may, Lest this should prove the last. The poet's lyre, to fix his fame, ADVERTISEMENT. THE history of the following production is briefly this: A lady, fond of blank verse, demanded a poem of that kind from the Author, and gave him the Sofa for a subject. He obeyed; and having much leisure, connected another subject with it; and, pursuing the train of thought to which his situation and turn of mind led him, brought forth at length, instead of the trifle which he at first intended, a serious affair - a Volume. In the Poem on the subject of Education he would be very sorry to stand suspected of having aimed his censure at any particular school. His objections are such as naturally apply themselves to schools in general. If there were not, as for the most part there is, wilful neglect in those who manage them, and an omission even of such discipline as they are susceptible of, the objects are yet too numerous for minute attention; and the aching hearts of ten thousand parents, mourning under the bitterest of all disappointments, attest the truth of the allegation. His quarrel therefore is with the mischief at large, and not with any particular instance of it. |