They shall drop a tear for you

They, upon this mound, shall stand,
And, whilst their labouring hearts

expand,

And faultering cry-" sweet bards adieu.'"'

ART. XVII. Kathleen, a Ballad; from an ancient Irish Tradition in the Valley of Glandilough, Coun'y of Wicklow. By JOHN EDWARDS, Esq. of Oldcourt in the sume County. 4:0. pp. 20.

THIRTY-FIVE stanzas remarkable only for their violation of all accent and quantity: for example, "Her innocent spirit loosed from its frail dwelling,

Swift winged its pure flight to the high throne of grace,

Where mercy and goodness beyond mortal telling

Yields endless delight in that wonderful place."

ART. XVIII. Alphonso and Clementina, or the Triumph of Reason: together with a Variety of other entertaining Tales and Bullads. By JAMES TEMPLEMAN. Author of Alcander and Lavinia, &c. 12mo. pp. 136.

ART. XIX. Alcander and Lavinia, or the Mysterious, Shriek; a metrical Romancę. To which are added two new Translations from the Greek Poet Alornice Æornifice, never before published. By JAMES TEMPLEMAN, Author of Alphonso and Clementina, c. 12mo. pp. 130.

THIS Mr. Templeman takes a most extraordinary tone with his readers. He announces his own tales as entertaining, and in the preface to his other work he speaks thus:

"But for the general construction of the matter contained in this volume, I must confess, that, after having examined the whole deliberately, the little time I had to spare from my proper employment (which, by the bye, is that of a British lace manufacturer,) being considered, I am much better satisfied with my performance than I ever expected I should have been."

After this he tells us that he submits the whole with much diffidence to the candour of a discerning public." Originality is his boast, and justly-we have not observed a single line or half line of Mr. Templeman's which reminds us of any writer of merit; but let him beware how he takes this concession for a compliment. The tales, ballads, and metrical romance, (so called, we know not why) are the strangest stuff that can be conceived, and the pretended translations deserve to be regarded as one of the most presumptuous and foolish at

tempts at literary imposture ever hazarded, whether in jest or earnest. Absurd blunders in the use of words, in the quantity of proper names, in mythology, and in costume, occur perpetually; and there is a truly barbarous clumsiness in the whole. We shall furnish our readers with a sufficient sample of the article fabricated by this enterprising inanufacturer; he ought by all means to receive a patent, that the public may not be imposed upon by imitations. from the translation of Pluto and Our extract is his privy council. Proserpine; the god is addressing

« Ah! who's not heard Opertus oft deHis fate, tho' sov'reign of hell's boundplore

less shore?

A thousand shadowy forms his orders wait,
O'er these he reigns in solitar y state
Ceres' young daughter claims his pe
breast,

From Enna's vale the maid but lately
And proves a tyrant to his will express'd.

came,

Yet scorns the proffer of our diadem ; Delights in fields, and flowers, and verdure gay,

And spurns the pomp our royal realms display.

ART. XX. Gilbert, or the Young Currier.
Ornamented with Plates.

THERE is something extremely amusing about this poem. A young carrier, called Gilbert, having very naturally fallen in love with the lass at the turnpike, brings her some gifts from the fair. The coy damsel, after treating them with much seeming disdain, turns abruptly from the swain, and runs into the garden; the sentimental car rier never dreaming, sweet bashful youth, that he was expected to follow, and beg a kiss, instantly concludes, that he is scorned and hated, and turning his back on the beloved turnpike, sets out upon the lovelorn expedition recorded in these four books, His looks are so

An amatory rural Poem, in Four Books, Foolscap. pp. 143. woe-begone, that every ploughboy, or woodman, or shepherd, that he meets, enquires what is the mat ter with him? he constantly answers, that he is in love: one laughs at him; one reasons with him; one tries to comfort him; but Gilbert remains disconsolate; even Carew, king of the beggars, with whom he has the fortune to meet, fails of persuading him to shake off his cares, and join his gay fraternity. After rambling up and down for a week, maintaining himself the while by doing odd jobs of work, he returns, and by a marvellous piece of fortune, is made rich and happy.---` The epic "pomp and circum

stance," attending this notable performance, are somewhat diverting; it is adorned with plates, worthy of the subject: a map is prefixed of part of Nottinghamshire, and some adjacent counties, through which the hero is supposed to wander, and at the beginning of each book the time employed in it is punctually marked, being, in two instances, "about seventeen hours." With all this, the verse, like its theme, "sounds the very base string of humility."

grieves?

a labourer him

While in this state We have only internal evidence for our conjecture, of the To learn the cause, he asks him why he perceives; writer, but we really can suspect nobody but the author of Alcander and Lavinia, &c. of such lines as these, which the preface announces as "smooth and easy."

"Say, Muse! the cause made GILBERT sore distress'd,

Or rack'd with pangs his agonizing breast;

Constrain❜d the youth o'er hills and dales

The mournful stranger hears the query kind,

Returns due answers,and explains his mind;

Without disguise his source of grief confess'd:

Till much concern the curious hind express'd;

Grief such as Gilbert's seem'd too great to bear,

And thus he tries to sooth the youth's despair:

"Hear me, young man...how sad's the
doleful tale!

Love over your discretion does prevail.
Were I but single, same as you are now,
No anxious cares should e'er affect my

brow;

Gay pleasure o'er my joyous hours should tend;

To crown my bliss, good ale, a pipe, a

friend.

Such bliss I knew, but still dissatisfied,
I courted Ruth, ah me! and wedlock
tried:

A simple thing!-I sacrific'd my peace,
And for a wife exchang'd regretted ease."

By J. B. FISHER, Author of the Hermit-
Foolscap 8vo. pp. 155.
invidious that can be imposed. Of
the poems of Mr. Fisher, it may
suffice to say, that they are all pure
in their moral tendency, and that
they who find amusement in ordi-
nary novels and romances, may also
derive entertainment from some of
his tales.

ART. XXII. Poetical Tales, founded on Facts. By M. SAVORY. Foolscap 8vo. pp. 148.

WE do not object either to the rhymes or the morality of the author; but the tendencies of a poem may be unexceptionable, and the language very smooth, and still the sentence of Horace will apply:

"Mediocribus esse poetis

Non homines, non dii, non concessere columnæ."

It is admitted, in the preface,

that the author has neither the ad

vantage of a superior education, nor the experience of many years. This is certainly no reason for appearing before the public, but we will not act the part of a harsh judge, and condemn without hearing the, defence.

The following is a fair specimen of the whole volume; and certainly

not an unfavourable one.

"Hail, thou dread tempestuous ocean,
Hail, ye roåring winds from far!
Well ye suit my soul's commotion,
Well ye paint my bosom's war.
O'er the seas, mine eyes still straining,
Seek to catch that shore in vain,
Where my ELLA mourns complaining,
We shall never meet again.
Cruel men! how could ye force nie
From the home I lov'd so well?
From my wife, my babes divorce me,
In chains and agony to dwell?
Had ye seen her eye of anguish,
When these tidings rent the air ;
Could ye now behold her languish,
Could ye mark her deep despair;
Pity, surely would awaken,

In those hearts more hard than stone,
To think how she is left forsaken,

To hear her sadly-piercing moan. I view that lovely bosom sighing,

I mark her wild, disorder'd air;

I see her babes cling round her crying,
Oh agony, too great to bear!
Dread ORISSA, wilt thou suffer

Barbarities and wrongs so great?
Didst thou make our natures rougher,
Or bid our colour tinge our fate?
Are we not thy children, Father?"

Sense and reason made to share,

But their chains now gall no longer,
I have rent them far away:
O, this nervous arm was stronger,
Than all their man-oppressing sway.
Scarcely did their chains surround me,
Scarcely from the mart convey'd,

E'er this daring hand unbound me,

And left me free as Heav'n had made.

Yes, this nervous arm did free me,

Nor shall it ever fetter'd be ;-
Ah, my ELLA, canst thou see me?
O, that I could swim to thee!

Forget thy nature, rolling ocean;
While with throbs of wild emotion,
Be firm, and bear me safely o'er ;

This heart shall hail its native shore.

Oh that some angel would protect me!
Wait, my ELLA, I am free;
Bid our lisping babes expect me,

For sure I will come back to thee.
Shall I not some means discover?
Love can ev'ry danger dare;
The smallest boat would bear me over,
The lightest breeze would waft me
there.

Wait, my ELLA, I will wander,
Some yet hidden friend to find,
Some slave, whose groaning land lies
yonder,

Will surely to a slave be kind.
Hark! whence is that noise approach-
ing?

How it chills my heart with fear!
Still upon mine ear encroaching,
Chains and mis'ry hover near.
Men they are, and they pursue me,
But never, never shall they bind;
I swear to Heav'n, if once they view

me,

This steel the seat of life shall find.
In flight my footsteps have betray'd me,
But never will I yield to shame;
Deign then, O friendly rock, to shade

me,

And support my trembling frame.
Here I must await my sentence,

Still be firm my suff'ring heart;
Let not nature wake repentance,
Or shrink at death's approaching dart.