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hats, half full of powder-servants quite sure they belonged to us. We demurred until we saw old Mordaunt descending the stairs, when we mounted our three-cornered coverings and brushed; took a coach in Cheapside, and laughed heartily at one another.

TO THE GREEKS.

I.

ARISE to the strife of the sword!
Advance like the wave of the flood!
Nor e'er be one brand to its scabbard restored,
Till the tyrants have bath'd it in blood!
Your chains have been galling and keen;
Ye have slept the dull sleep of despair;
Yet awake for the glories of days that have been,
For a spell that may rouse you is there!

II.

Long ages of sorrow and shame

Have roll'd o'er the land of your birth!

Though once without peer in the proud scroll of Fame,
'Tis the taunt and the by-word of earth!

The wrongs which your fathers have borne,

The wrongs

which your

children must bear;

ye have worn,

Oh! your souls are subdued by the bonds

Or a spell that must rouse you is there.

III.

The lion is tame and debased

While chain'd in the dwellings of men,

Yet send the wood-king to his own native waste,

And his fury will waken again;

And thus, though degraded are ye,

The sway of your tyrants but spurn,

And the faith and the courage that dwell with the free
To you shall with freedom return.

IV.

Then awake to the strife of the sword!
Advance like the wave of the flood!
Nor e'er be one brand to its scabbard restored,
Till the tyrants have bath'd it in blood.
Oh think on the days that have been,
Till they rouse you to do and to dare;
Oh think on your bondage so heavy and keen→
A spell that must wake you is there.

QUIZ.

SACRED MELODIES, preceded by an ADMONITORY APPEAL to the RIGHT HON. LORD BYRON; with other small Poems, by Mrs. I. H. R. Mott. London. 8vo. Francis Westley. 1824.

66

WE always were admirers of "the towering effulgency" of Lord Byron's mind, and of that genius which could soar into the "Heaven of Heavens" for subjects for decantation; but we have often laid our harp upon the willow" and wept, after hearing its sound vibrate music, adapted to his Lordship's words, and repeatedly, when the harmony of his metre, beauty of his poetry, and energy of his language, have rapt our souls in a momentary elysium, we have literally seceded from the enjoyment of this rapture, and wept at the bitter reflection, that talents of the most exalted kind, ideas of the highest order, and an imagination that one might have thought belonged to other spheres, should become so debased and depraved, as to ramble with infinite pleasure in scenes the most voluptuous, in paths the most seductive, and actions the most detestable and revolting.

Mrs. Mott most nobly appeals to his Lordship's honourable feelings, in the spirit of a tender "mother beloved," beseeches him to leave the presentation "ad libitum" to the young and inexperienced of the "poisoned chalice of his intellectual faculties," and with all "imaginable beseechments," that a female only could dictate, invites him to appear in a more pure and innocent, but not less fascinating character.

Come forth, * *

* * in unshaded array,

And shew to the world what thy Maker designed

In framing thy vast intellectual mind;

Yes, be THOU as daring on Virtue's right side,

As thou hast been prone her fair laws to deride,

And Mrs. Mott's reference to the daughter of Lord Byron is most truly affecting :

Oh think of thy daughter! If she live to rise

To maidenly womanhood, should she despise,—

Or should she revere thee?

We believe this is the first appeal on the principle of religion, from a lady, and a mother, that has been addressed to the noble Lord. We sincerely hope it may be effective. But we fear that he who resists and

retorts against the many "lashes,' ," "sarcasms," and "criticisms," from higher and more authoritative quarters, will not easily bend to the more mild solicitation of a female petitioner. Although instances there are where the soft soothing rhetoric, the tender cravings, the earnest beseechings, of a lovely female, have been more influential, than the stern energy of man.

k.

Mrs. Mott's "Sacred Melodies" possess some symphony, poetry, and beauty, and one of our daughters has this moment ceased playing the air Jephthah's Daughter," on a harp now in our study. Mrs. Mott's metre accords with the music, but we feel it requires more vigour and poetic fire.

Among the shorter Poems, which conclude the volume, the following we think is pretty :

ELI! ELAH!*

Air-"Where shall the lover rest?"

Where is the foeman's friend?
High on yon mountain—
Thither your footsteps bend;
Clear flows the fountain;
His breast is open'd wide,
Free to receive you;
And in his hands and side

Balm to relieve you.
Eli, Elah! Eli, Elah!
Balm to relieve you.

Such a pure stream of love,
Such a rich treasure,
Seems to the blest above,
Source of sweet pleasure.
Man only, blindly runs
Wildly in error;
Warn'd, yet he scarcely shuns
Death's stinging terror.
Eli, Elah! Eli, Elah!

Death's stinging terror.

VALENS ACIDALIUS.

ACIDALIUS was born at Witstock, in Brandenburg, and flourished towards the end of the sixteenth century. He would, in all probability, have been one of the greatest critics of modern times, had he lived-he died in his twenty-ninth year-to perfect those splendid talents with which he was endowed. He wrote a commentary on Quintus Curtius, also notes on Tacitus, on the Twelve Panegyrics; besides speeches, letters, and poems. His poetical pieces are inserted in the Delicia of the German poets, and consist of epic verses, odes, and epigrams. A little piece, printed in 1595, under the title of Mulieres non esse homines, "That women were not of the human species," was falsely ascribed to him. But the fact was, that Acidalius happening to meet with the manuscript, and thinking it very whimsical, transcribed it, aud gave it to a bookseller, who printed it. The publication gave such general offence, that the publisher was seized, and to save himself, discovered the person who had sent him the manuscript; upon which a terrible outcry was raised against Acidalius. Soon after, he went to dine at a friend's house, where there happened to be several ladies at table; they, supposing him to be the author, viewed him with so much indignation, that they threatened to throw their plates at his head. Acidalius, however, was fortunate enough to divert their wrath, by ingeniously saying, that in his opinion the author of the piece was a very judicious person, since the ladies certainly belonged more to the species of angels than of men.

* Eli the offering or lifting up. Elah, the curse.

LA DOUCE INDIFFERENCE.

SAY, can the lily of the vale
Refuse its fragrance to the gale?
Or can the rose in op'ning spring
Forbear perfuming Zephyr's wing?
Can the bright dew-drop on the bower
Deny its freshness to the flower?

Or can the stream flow through the plain
And not enrich the growing grain ?
Say, does the seed in bed profound
Conceal its virtues under ground?
Or do the blossoms as they blow
Belie the parent seed below?
Does the gay lark refuse to sing
And usher in the bashful spring?
And does not bashful spring improve
The universal soul of love?

Search nature round,-Sophia, fair!
Say can you find Indifference there?
'Tis sympathy's wide reign I see
Where all obey, yet all are free,—
The sweetest part of her domain—
Must she then claim your heart in vain ?
Shall beauty's richest blossoms shoot
And overpow'r the embryo fruit ?
To you fond Nature has been kind,
And lagging Art you've left behind :
Then conquer in fair Nature's cause,
And oh! forbear to wound her laws.

Indifference is only sweet,
When lips like yours the word repeat:
But when the sense they would impart,
The lips are strangers to the heart.
Then substitute a word more dear,
More just to you, to us more clear:
Of that dark annulet beware,
It ill becomes a hand so fair:
A circlet of a richer hue-

Enchanting maid! is formed for you.
Then hail sweet sympathy at once!
Avaunt! LA DOUCE INDIFFERENCE!

P. R.

HISTORICAL QUESTIONS TO HUME AND SMOLLETT'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. By Robert Horner, LL. B.

THE real utility of these Questions will recommend them to every one wishing to be firmly grounded in the history of our own country. As such we draw attention to them; they are connected with an edition of Hume and Smollett's History of England, which is decorated with a series of wood vignettes, and will ornament the cabinet of the student and the traveller, the former for its economy in price, the latter for its portability; although the more opulent will doubtless prefer the genuine standard editions of the London trade.

66

SIR,

TO THE EDITOR OF THE LITERARY MAGNET.

Who steals my purse steals trash, 'tis something, nothing,
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
But he that filches from me my good name,
Robs me of that which not enriches him
And makes me poor indeed.

SHAKSPEARE.

AMIDST the prevailing distresses of the times, so much talked about by every body," and so much sympathized in by "all the world;" I cannot help conceiving that, whatever may be the distresses and misfortunes of others, I have the greatest of all possible reasons to complain of continued, incessant, and everlasting, as well as unmerited injustice; and notwithstanding my frequent public appeals for redress, I am sorry to say they have hitherto remained unheeded, a circumstance at which I cannot but feel surprised, seeing that few appeals to public justice, in this happy country, fail to engage attention, and to meet with consolation, if not with redress.

The liberality and intelligence, however, which I understand pervade your pages, will I trust afford me another opportunity of laying my grievances before the humane and enlightened, and at all events, if I can but excite your sympathy for one who is so truly unfortunate, I shall at least consider that my labour in this application has not been in vain, since the consolations of enlightened friendship have power to soothe the rigours of endurance, and smooth the pillow of affliction.

With a desire to occupy as little of your valuable time as possible, I shall proceed, without prolixity, to a relation of my distresses. At a period of the year when all nature is budding into beauty,-when general festivity is prevailing, and all features are smiling at the prospective introduction of May, with all her alluring attractions,-I alone appear to be overshadowed with gloom and despondency, in consequence of the frequent, and I may say, the general odium with which I am every where -by every body-and all the world, treated, without being able to form any reasonable conjecture why or wherefore.

I allude to the unwarrantable liberties taken with my name upon all occasions at all times-in all places—and under all circumstances; from which it would appear that I am

Every thing by turns,
And nothing long.

I am continually and everlastingly charged with misdemeanours and delinquencies, from, which I have not even a chance of obtaining acquittal; I am accused of every impropriety of conduct which can attach to the character of a human being. The public-all the world—and every body, though undefinable by any body, are my accusers, and every day brings some additional charge against me, the sum and accumulation of which it would be utterly impossible for me to enumerate.

To bear calamity with resignation, and to draw cheerful inferences from adverse circumstances, is said to form a very important feature in moral philosophy; and forbearance to be a great virtue, which I am very willing to acknowledge; but there are cases in which forbearance may almost be considered criminal; it is not in nature to be continually subjected

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