We do not know any thing it has to recommend it, but the
good intention, and we wish we could add the candid spirit, with which
it is written.
Of his poetry however we think very differently. Though deficient in
nerve, it is at once sweet and flowing, simple and amiable. We are happy
to find the author returning to a line in which he appears so truly
respectable. The present performance is by no means capable to detract
from his character as a poet. This well known tale is related in a
manner highly pathetic and interesting. As we are not at all desirous of
palling the curiosity of the reader for the poem itself, we shall make
our extract at random. The following stanzas, as they are taken from a
part perfectly cool and introductory, are by no means the best in this
agreeable piece. They are prefaced by some general reflexions on the
mischiefs occasioned by the _sacra fames auri_. The reader will perceive
that Dr. Beattie, according to the precept of Horace, has rushed into
the midst of things, and not taken up the narrative in chronological
order.
"Where genial Phoebus darts his fiercest rays,
Parching with heat intense the torrid zone:
No fanning western breeze his rage allays;
No passing cloud, with kindly shade o'erthrown,
His place usurps; but Phoebus reigns alone,
In this unfriendly clime a woodland shade,
Gloomy and dark with woven boughs o'ergrown,
Shed chearful verdure on the neighbouring glade,
And to th' o'er-labour'd hind a cool retreat display'd.
Pages:
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198