Mythology tells us that, in days of yore, the man who slept on the top of Parnassus became a poet: —he slept, he waked, And lisp’d in numbers, for the numbers came.² space between stanzasNow whether this part of the mountain has been swallowed up by an earthquake, or worn out by continual usage; whether the identical spot, the once favoured soil of inspiration, be so overgrown by weeds as to be rendered impervious; or whether the would-be Bard—now anticipates his nap, and falls into his trance in the middle or at the bottom of the hill;—may be matter worthy of the investigation of the speculative inquirer, who feels himself anxiously solicitous to account for the degeneracy of the race of poets. To us these desultory ideas have occurred from venerable recollection of the sublime worthies of antient days: but we are ready to pay the due tribute of praise to all our modern Bards, whose merits we would not appreciate by the rules of invidious comparison; and we shall readily allow that, if the poems before us do not rank in the first class of excellence, they are yet far above mediocrity.

The poetical oglio³ here presented to us supplies a variety that may suit every taste; and the author tells us, in his preface, that his subjects have been produced under the very different impressions of joy and sorrow. Hence flow Lamentations, Elegies, Pastorals, Songs, and Sonnets.—The volume opens with the poem which, as being most considerable in size, gives title to the publication. Here we travel through the most dreary and gloomy paths of human life. The muse addresses an invocation to melancholy; and the pensive mind, obedient to the summons, accompanies her to the end of the journey. This poem, however, is correctly moral and religious, and will meet the approbation of the reflecting reader. The destructive vice of gaming is reprobated with a virtuous indignation:

In page 42, we have a pleasing illustration of the superior state of happiness resulting from the retired life of virtuous innocence,when contrasted with the scenes of vice and pampered luxury:

From the miscellaneous compositions, were it not that our boundary is circumscribed, we could select more than one poem which pleases us:—the following, on Lelia, obtains a preference:

Among the Songs, we find several that are sprightly and convivial; and the poet seems to celebrate the juice of the grape and the charms of his mistress equally con amore. His devotion to both is pleasantly manifested in the following lines; though here the little blind Deity is a more principal object of worship that the jolly God:

We are glad to leave the author merrier at the conclusion of his volume than we find him at the beginning: but, before we part, we must comply with our usual custom of adding a few mild strictures, where they are requisite. In his blank verse, he is too frequently prosaic: e. g.

In his rhyme, the poet’s ear has often failed to perceive the effect that the simple transposition of a word produces, in the harmony of numbers: while his alliterations are still more obviously harsh and unpleasing; as in the line, page 189, in a poem on sleep:

It may be said that such faults are trifles: but, with respect to a writer’s reputation,