free with others, and who scarcely consi ders himself as having finished his own studies in poetry; but as it is,—he haș subjoined to the Feast of the Poets a few little pieces of a graver description, in order that those, who in return for being lightly regarded, are eager to make accusations of levity, may see that he has at least a taste for more serious enjoyment. Should a state of health, not very ac commodating, continue to allow him in his imprisonment the use of his pen, it is his intention, by the beginning of next year, to bring out a piece of some length, with which he is varying less agreeable studies, and in which he would attempt to reduce to practice his own ideas of what is natural in style, and of the various and legitimate harmony of the English heroic. THE FEAST OF THE POETS. T'OTHER day, as Apollo sat pitching his darts That since Dryden's fine verses and Milton's sublime, B There was Collins, 'tis true, had a good deal to say; And Thomson, though best in his indolent fits, And as nothing's done there now-a-days without eating, So saying, the God bade his horses walk for'ard, And leaving them, took a long dive to the nor❜ard; ini. |