land* weavers boast Pindaric skill, or poems—when they pay for coats. famed throng now paid the tribute due, - Genius! let me turn to you. 780 h, oh CAMPBELL!t give thy talents scope; es aspire if thou must cease to hope? Recollections of a Weaver in the Moorlands of Stafford be superfluous to recal to the mind of the reader the au › Pleasures of Memory" and the Pleasures of Hope," the 1 Didactic poems in our language, if we except Pope's n: but so many poetasters have started up, that even the IPBELL and ROGERS are become strange. Eternal b hath marked the spurious brood, e from folly, or for food; ine sons 'tis her's to boast, still affect the most; and write but as they feelRD, SOTHEBY, MACNEIL*. ⇒ Baviad and Mæviad, the first satires of the enal. SOTHEBY, and author MACNEIL LAND's Scai sold in one *Mr. G not be his Dracones. no fools whose backs demand the scourge? no sins for Satire's Bard to greet? gigantic Vice in every street? s or Princes tread pollution's path, e alike the Law's and Muse's wrath? with guilty glare through future time, cacons of cousummate crime? ranslator of WIELAND'S Oberon, and VIRGIL's Georgics, Saul, an epic poem. 66 whose poems are deservedly popular: particularly "Scoror the Waes of War," of which ten thousand copies were onth. RD promised publicly that the Baviad and Mæviad should original works: let him remember; "Mox in reluctantes - just waved her joyous wing, nd all thy promise fair , to sleep for ever there. art was here undone, lestroyed her favourite son! ndulged thy fond pursuit, but death has reaped the fruit. ius gave the final blow he wound that laid thee low: 820 lied at Cambridge in October 1806, in conon in the pursuit of studies that would have se and poverty could not impair, and which er than subdued. His poems abound in such Keen were He nursed While the Drank the There That splo That stra Alone im "Tis true Shrink f Yet Tru reader with the liveliest regret that so short ents, which would have dignified even the ined to assume. And de e his pangs, but keener far to feel e same plumage that had warmed his nest last life-drop of his bleeding breast. be, who say in these enlightened days ndid lies are all the poets praise; 830 ned invention, ever on the wing, Dels the modern Bard to sing : that all who rhyme, nay, all who write, om that fatal word to Genius-Trite; 1 sometimes will lend her noblest fires, rate the verse herself inspires: |