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“A good character should not be rested in as an end, but en.. ployed as a means of doing still further good.”
Atterb. “ I have read of an author of this taste that compares a ragged coin to a tatter'd colours."
Addison. Upon which Dr. Lowth asks, ought it not to be a mean ? &c. “ Means," is not the plural of the noun “ mean," but, (notwithstanding etymological alliance) a different word. “Mean," is simply “medium ;" “ means” is the instrument or agency for a particular purpose. In like manner, if we withdraw the "s" from colours, we leave the word incapable of expressing the sense : for “colours” (ensign) was never called “colour.” 395. “ Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so.”
This is one, among many, of those delicate touches of nature that abound in Shakespear, and which I believe we shall in vain seek for in the works of any other poet; where an incident is introduced wholly immaterial to the plot or conduct of the scene, yet perfectly congenial to the character of the agent, and illustrative of it. Thus the impetuous Hotspur forgets the map, though no inconvenience is propos’d from the want of it ; and here the sedate and philosophic Brutus, discomposed a little by the stupendous cares upon his mind, forgets where he had left his book of recreation.
10.-" Fearful bravery."
* Fearful," (as Mr. Malone observes) in these works, as often relates to the action as to the passion of fear; but in this place I think Anthony means, not a bravery that is to excite dread, but an exterior or boastful bravery, that is to hide fear. “ By this face,” (he says) i. e. this outside, they think
“To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage ;
• “ But 'tis not so."
The tenderness of Brutus here, and throughout his conduct, is no less admirable than his magnanimity.
BY THE AUTHOR OF THE PRECEDING SERIES. On Recollection of an Inscription-Post in a Cross Road near Ely.
ALTHOUGH no consecrated Earth contains,
Pillow'd beneath the green' Turf's soothing hue,
Where Sympathy sheds tears like morning dew,
Repugnant to the generous feeling few,
And source of triumph to the scornful view,
Each nobler feeling by the Good possest,
Yet might he joy to see another blest;
TO MR. PRATT,
HIS POEM OF " THE POOR,” &c.
Hail'd be thy Muse ! for O whene'er she sings,
And while it moves our nature mends our heart, • No one, it is trusted, will think this Sonnet a viodication or an apology for suicide. But the best writers, among whom may be ranked Montesquieu, Beccaria dei Delitti e delli Pene, and Eder on the Principles of Penal Law, have thought this mode of pointing out to scorn and contempt the Remains of the Delinquent, neither suitable to the dignity of Law, the feelings of Humanity, nor the interest of Society, To leave to the behests of Heaven, an Act like this is to leave it with an impression sufficiently aweful. If this does not deter from suicide, vain and useless will be the stake and the Burial in a cross Road.
The generous heart-but for those breasts of steel
And mind to melancholy turn'd, now roves
Thy path-worn meadows and dark mantling groves, (Where oft at eve the maid and peasant meet)
Delighted ; - for congenial to his breast,
Thy landscape richly spreading o'er the sight;
Rearing toward Heaven sublime their daring height
Mingle thy temple's turrets in the view,
Upon whose burnish'd fane of golden hue The sun of evening darts his parting gleam.How pleas'd the world's vain coil could I resign, Were thy sequestred shades and peaceful vale but mine.
THE WANDERING SAVOYARD'S SONG.
BY MR. DIMOND, JUNR.
WITHIN a silent, shelter'd spot,
Here, crown'd with pine, and there with snow :
With thymy dales (where browse the fock)
Just bounded by some granite rock, Whence water-falls in murmurs gush.
Ah! how I sorrow'd when “ Farewell !"
The wild-bee there gallanting roves,
And murmurs o'er her young at rest ;
With shining wings and trilling airs, O'ersweep the woods, in love-link'd pairs, And warble all the live-long day.
Ah! faint of phrase is tongue to tell.
The pleasures of my native dell!
And as the cates and cup pass round,
With mazy dance and merry song
They charm the early night along,
Ah! how with joy my heart would swell,
WOMAN of weeping eye, ah ! for thy wretched lot,
Famine and fell disease shortly will wear thee down,
Soon thou wilt sink into death's silent slumbering,
Now be perhaps is reclin'd on a bed of down,
HENRY KIRKE WHITE..