TO THE REV. EDMUND HINDE, THIS BOOK, WITH EVERY FEELING OF FRATERNAL AFFECTION, IS INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR. POETRY. "UT PICTURA POËSIS." Do not think that I could better open my subject for this evening, viz.-" Poetry," than by a slight recitation from the old, quaint, but staunch adherent of the Muses - GEORGE WITHERS- who, with a degree of feeling approximating somewhat to fanaticism, thus writes, 66 Poesy, thou sweet'st content That ever Heaven to mortals lent; Though they as a trifle leave thee, Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive thee; Though thou be to them a scorn, That to naught but earth are born! May my life no longer be, Than I am in love with thee." Such is the deeply enthusiastic tone, the very spirit, with which to approach and cultivate Poetry, - the language of the Imagination and the Passions,-the oldest B |