than Nicea now exhibits ;-streets without a passenger, houses without an inhabitant, and ruins of every age, fill the precincts of this once celebrated city. The deserted mosque, whose minaret we ascended in order to obtain a general notion of the plan of the place, bore evident marks of having been erected from the remains of a Christian church, and many of these remains, upon a closer inspection, shewed clearly that they had formerly belonged to a Pagan temple: our Mohammedan mosque was falling to decay, and like its predecessors in splendour, must soon become a heap of rubbish-what a generation of ruins was here!

The walls of the city are still pretty entire-they embrace a circuit of nearly three miles; but the spot enclosed by them is mostly taken up with gardens and mulberry grounds;-there are not more than four hun dred houses standing within the whole circumference, and out of these only one hundred and fifty are tenanted.

The Greeks possess but one place of worship in the city-the cathedral-and this is without a roof. The Archbishop resides at an adjoining village. Such is the state of the cathedral of Nicæa-so often thronged with princes and prelates-so often echoing with controversy and contention; it is now reduced to a mossy, untrod pavement, surrounded by four bare walls!' Journal of a route through Asia-Minor, Feb. 1800.

NICEA bail! renown'd for fierce debate,
For synods bustling o'er yon silent spot,
For zealous ardour-for polemic hate-
For truth preserv'd, and charity forgot.-

Those scenes are fled-those domcs are swept away-
Succeeding domes now totter to their fall,

And mouldering mosques on moulder'd fanes decay
While desolation bends to grasp them all-

Those scenes are fled yet, solitary dale,

The genuine charms of nature still remain-
The rising mountain-the retiring vale-
The lake's broad bosom, and the shelter'd plain.
Delightful visions! Raptur'd let me gaze

And catch each charm that dawns upon the sight,
As, gushing from yon fount, the orient rays
Roll off the floating glooms diffus'd by night-
Towering Olympus first receives the beams-

His snow now crimson'd with the crimson glare,
Now swept by floods of fire, more bright he gleams
Shoots from the sea of shade and swims in air-
The sun bursts forth-th' expanding plains grow green-
Each jutting eminence, in radiance drest,
Rushes to day, while the deep glens between

Still viewless sleep beneath their cloudy vest-
Now the full beams their broadest blaze unfold;
No hovering mists the vale's gay tints destroy,
The lake's blue surface kindles into gold,

And nature wakes to light and life and joy. pp. 13–18.

The following Stanzas, from a view of Athens, by the light of a waning moon,' are natural and pathetic. They are introduced by a recollection of the names that made Attica great and illustrious. Every one however would have made similar reflections in the same situation-would have recollected the happiness of his youth-and the joyous society who shared it with him: although it is not the talent of all who feel, to describe their feelings, with so much truth and tenderness. There is such an amiable strain of solemnity and resignation in the suc ceeding verses, one of which was awfully prophetic, that we shall transcribe them all without fear of censure.

'Ye glorious names-long honour'd-long caress'd-
Ye seats oft thought on, that at length appear-
With what sensations do ye heave my breast-
What kindling fervours wake, unfelt but here?
Whence is it that those names, these seats should yield
A thrilling throb no other scenes e'er gave?
Britain can boast full many a sweeter field,
Sages as wise, and combatants as brave.

Some fond remembrance-some connected thought
Hovers around each antiquated stone-

Each scene retraced with conscious pleasures fraught,
And Athens' youth recall'd recalls my own.

While history tells the deeds that grac'd yon vale,
The spot where oft I've mark'd them memory shews-
The rising picture hides the fleeting tale-

Ilyssus vanishes and Granta flows.

Again I see life's renovated spring

With every opening hour and every smile,

Unnipt by care-unbrush'd by sorrow's wing,

That welcom'd pleasure when they welcom'd toil.

Again I see that gay, that busy band,

With whom I wander'd by the willowy stream,
Where nature's truths or history's page we scann'd,

And deem'd we reason'd on the various theme.

Where are they now? some struggling in the waves
Of care or trouble, anguish, want or fear-
Some sunk in death, and mould'ring in their graves
Like the once busy throngs that bustled here.

Dim waning Planet! that behind yon hill
Hast'nest to lose in shades thy glimmering light,
A few short days thy changing orb shall fill
Again to sparkle in the locks of night:

And thou, fall'n city, where barbarians tread,
Whose sculptur'd arches form the foxes den,
In circling time perhaps may (may'st) lift thy head
The queen of arts and elegance again.

But oh! lov'd youths, departed from the day,
What time, what change shall dissipate your gloom?
Nor change, nor time, till time has roll'd away,
Recalls to light the tenants of the tomb :

Ye're set in death-and soon this fragile frame,
That weeps your transit, shall your path pursue-
Each toil forego-renounce each favourite aim-
Glide from the fading world, and sink with you.
Father of spirits! ere that awful hour,

While life yet lingers let it feel thy ray,
Teach it some beams of scatter'd good to pour
Some useful light, as it flits on, display!

I ask no following, radiance to appear

To mark its track, for praise or fame to see,
But oh, may Hope its last faint glimmerings cheer,
And Faith waft on the spark unquench'd to Thee !'

pp. 58-61.

It is difficult to read the Professor's description of Ida, and of the sourse of the Scamander, without feeling as much envy as pleasure. Yet it would be unpardonable to omit the following account of a mountain consecrated so long ago by visitors from Olympus.

'That we now trod the summit of Ida, cannot, I think, admit of one one doubt; the snowy head of Khasdag is the grand feature that bounds the prospert throughout the whole of this part of Asia-Minor.— It is from hence, that I believe, all the great rivers take their origin, whether they flow into the Hellespont, the Adramyttium gulph, or the Ægean sea.

It is the only spot in the neighhourhood, that a poet could ever think of fixing upon, for the seat of the Immortals. And whether Homer is perfectly accurate in many other circumstances of his divine poem, or not, we had an opportunity (by the intervention of a friendly blast, which swept away the surrounding mist, and left the atmosphere in a clearer state than even if the sun had shined the whole day) of testifying that most of those he attributes to Ida, are perfectly appropriate.-Its top is ever covered with snow, except for a month or two at the end of autumn;-its sides are clothed with forests, which, we were assured, afford a constant shelter for various wild beasts;-the tracts of wolves, and wild boars, we were ourselves shewn by our guide, in the snow ;its vallies stream with rivulets, which water, under different designations, almost all the plains of the north-east of Asia-Minor,―The prospect exhibited from its top is at least as comprehensive as the one mentioned by the poet;-it embraces Mysia,-the Propontis,-the Hellespont,— nearly the whole of the Ægean, and a number of the islands with which that sea is studded;-it extends to Lydia, Bythinia, and Macedonia;and is only bounded by the Olympic range the Thracian mountains,Athos, and the Euxine.' 34-36.

Journal of a Route through the Troad, March,-1801.

4

From the specimens we have already given of the poetry contained in this elegant volume, the reader will be able to judge how far Mr. C. duly estimated his talents. In a poem, chiefly addressed to his Muse, he observes,

She did not breathe a strain of fire
To roll in flames along;

To kindle the extatic lyre,

And wrap each thought in song;

She deign'd a mild but constant beam,
That every gloom beguiles,
That sheds on life a cheering gleam,
And gilds each hour with smiles.

This is really the most desirable qualification. Let those who envy that transcendant genius which has been graciously denied them, consider whether they would envy the victims of melancholy and the slaves of licentiousness. Many, however, will wish they possessed the Professor's abilities, or his mode of employing them, that they might join him in singing,

'Ne'er ne'er since youth's unconscious spring

First drank the vivid ray,

Ne'er have I chid time's lagging wing,
Or known the listless day.'

Such have been the employments of an Arabic Professor travelling, with a public embassy, among the shores and islands. of the Archipelago, and visiting the sacred and classic regions of Asia-Minor. Hence it appears, that he had no ostentatious views of settling literary controversy, and elucidating the records of antiquity. He brings home no scrolls or inscriptions to puzzle Europe; no uncouth, mutilated block, which he calls a god or goddess, and no broken marble to impose on his credulous countrymen as the work of Phidias or Praxiteles. He travels with piety, classical taste, and playful imagination in company; and he returns, admiring the wonders of nature and the dispensations of Providence, with increased attachment to his native land, where he dies; and where his piety, as well as learning, will not suffer him to be forgotten.

The translations from the Arabic, we presume, are like all the translations from oriental poetry that have come under our ob servation, very much indebted to the translator for embellishment. As we have not seen the works from which these versions are made, we cannot decide on their accuracy, but, such as they are, we present two short specimens to our readers.

THE MIRACLES OF BEAUTY.

From Motanebbi.

Thro' midnight glooms my Leila stray'd,
Her ebon locks around her play'd—
So dark they wav'd-so black they curl'd,
Another night o'erspread the world-
The moon arose-and Leila's face
Resplendent shone with every grace-
It gleam'd so fair-it beam'd so bright,
Another moon illum'd the night. p. 97.

ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND,

(In the tale of Zoheir and Amkettoom.)
friend away,

When death had snatched my

I would not breathe a last adieu,
Some dream I hop'd might still display
The dear departed to my view-

?

Vain were my hopes, and vain my sighs;
How could I dream without repose
And how could slumber seal my eyes,

When tears forbad their lids to close? p. 109.

The professor employed some of his cheerful moments in a lighter style of composition. The Salted Cherry is intended as a satire on the Rights of Women, &c &c,; and relates the story of Bertha, who was persuaded by King Oberon, of fairy notoriety, that Greek and Mathematics were as unsuitable to the female character as salt to the flavour of a cherry. To an argument which they appear to have thought very convincing, we shall not venture to make any objections.

Another elfin, knight, Sir Hobbernob, with the same generous intention corrects three Cantabs, Hopus, Tropus, and Mopus, a petit maitre lawyer, a sporting parson, and a boxing physician, by conducting them one dark night to Fairy hall, where his chambermaids groom their horses, his grooms cook their supper, and his cooks holding bloody knives conduct them to bed, where they are terrified with the groans of expiring pigs. This diverting tale is ingeniously contrived, and neatly told. The other original compositions, among which are hymn for public worship, and a paraphrase on the Lord's Prayer, are, like the poems we have quoted, less remarkable for genius, than for elegance and feeling.

-

a

There are several passages in the work which the author would doubtless have altered, had his valuable life been protracted; but it is scarcely necessary for us to say, that this publication will furnish a leisure hour with a very pleasing and innocent employment.