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Liberty's friends thus all learn to amalgamate,
Reason, philosophy,“ fiddledum diddledum,”
Et cætera, et cætera, et cælera.
SONNET TO LIBERTY.
Just Guardian of man's social bliss ! for thee
The paths of danger gladly would I tread :
For thee! contented, join the glorious dead, Who nobly scorn'd a life that was not free!
But worse than death it pains my soul, to see
The Lord of Ruin, by wild Uproar led,
Hell's first-born, ANARCHY, exalt his head, And seize thy throne, and bid us bow the knee !
What though his iron sceptre, blood-imbrued,
Crush half the nations with resistless might; Never shall this firm spirit be subdued :
In chains, in exile, still the chanted right, 0, LIBERTY! to thee shall be renew'd :
O still be sea-girt ALBION thy delight!
Decemb. 18. We cannotenough congratulate ourselves, on having been so fortunate as to fall upon the curious specimens of classical metre and correct sentiment, which we have made the subjects of our late Jacobinical Imitations.
The fashion of admiring and imitating these productions has spread in a surprising degree. Even those who synupathize with the principles of the writer selected as our model, seem to have been struck with the ridicule of his poetry.
There appeared in the Morning Chronicle of Monday a Sapphic Ode, apparently written by a friend and associate of our Author, in which he is however travestied most unmercifully. And to make the joke the more pointed, the learned and judicious Editor contrived to print the ode en masse, without any order of lines, or division of stanza ; so that it was not discovered to be verse till the next day, when it was explained in a hobling erratum.
We hardly know which to consider as the greater object of compassion in this case-the original Odist thus parodied by his friend, or the mortified Parodist thus mutilated by his Printer. “ Et tu Brute !" has probably been echoed from each of these worthies to his murderer, in a tone that might melt the hardest heart to pity.
We cordially wish them joy of each other, and we resign the modern Lesbian lyre into their hands without envy or repining.
Our Author's Dactylics have produced a second imitation, (conveyed to us from an unknown hand) with which we take our leave of this species of poetry also.
THE SOLDIER's WIFE.
Weārỳ way-wānděrěr, &c. &c.
Being the quintessence of all the Dactylics that ever
were, or ever will be written.
HUMBLY ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR OF THE
WEARISOME Sonnetteer, feeble and querulous,
+ Ne’er talk of ears again! look at thy spelling-hook; Dilworth and Dyche are both mad at thy quantitiesDactylics, call'st thou 'em :-“ God help thee, silly
The Verses, which we here present to the Public, were
written immediately after the Revolution of the Fourth of September. We should be much obliged to any of our Classical and Loyal Correspondents, for an English Translation of them.
IPSA mali Hortatrix scelerumque uberrima Mater
+ My worthy friend the Bellman, had promised to supply an additional stanza; but the business of assisting the Lamplighter, Chimney sweeper, &c. with Complimentary Verses for their worthy Masters and Mistresses, pressing on him at this season, he was obliged to decline it.
Mox tamen ipsius rursum violentia morbi
Aspicis ! Ipsa sui bacchatur sanguine Regis, Barbaraque ostentans feralis signa triumphi, Mole giganteâ campis prorumpit apertis, Successu scelerum, atque insanis viribus audax.
At quà Pestis atrox rapido se turbine vertit,
Nec spes Pacis adhúcnecdum exsaturata rapinis
Una etenim in mediis Gens intemerata ruinis Libertate probâ, et justo libramine rerum, Securum faustis degit sub legibus ævum; Antiquosque colit mores, et jura Parentum Ordine firma suo, sanoque intacta vigore,