Her song, for she sings as well as plays, is prolonged at every close, and the soft responsive voice, at which " Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden "hair" is conceived in the happiest spirit of allegorical fancy. The break in the next line has a fine effect; it seems to show Revenge entering like a stern conqueror through a breach: the doubling drum, the sword thrown in thunder down, and the strained eyeball bursting from the head, mark the character with its proper strength; and we have already observed how well it is contrasted with that of Pity. Jealousy is more feebly drawn, but Melancholy is in his softest, mellowest style of colouring. She is placed apart from the rest, surrounded with such appropriate scenery as a pensive mind naturally delights in;

"With eyes uprais'd, as one inspir'd,

"Pale Melancholy sat retir❜d."

And her notes die away into silence, by soft and imperceptible gradations, in a cadence much finer than the dying dying fall of Pope executed in the

same key. Cheerfulness is exhibited with a lively group about her, the action is animated, and gives much of the dramatic to the piece. The Satyrs are peeping from their alleys green; brown Exercise rejoices; and Sport leaps up and seizes his beechen spear. Is it because the nature of man is less formed for rapture, than for moderate exhilaration, that when the Poet endeavours to rise from Cheerfulness to Joy, the images are less distinct, and the effect less forcible? The unaccountable exclusion of Love from the trial has already been noticed; but surely, if he was mentioned at all, it should have been as a principal, and not introduced dancing like a Bacchanal in the train of Joy. This is what could hardly have been expected from the delicate and sentimental COLLINS. But whether from the shyness of his disposition, or some early disgust, or from whatever cause, certain it is that he has shown himself rather unfriendly to the passion to which the greater part of Poets have largely sacrificed. In his Pastorals there is as little of it as is

well consistent with the nature of the composition,

and in another place he refers to it only in the way of complaint.

"Love, only love, her forceless numbers mean."

It is a test of merit, and not a symptom of defect in this Ode, as has been surmised by some critic, that its beauties are brought out by recitation. No composition in the language is more admirably adapted to display with effect the different modulations of impassioned sentiment and imitative harmony, and it is remarkable that this is effected not by a studious adaptation of particular measures to the expression of different passions, for the same measure is often used for opposite passions; but by that skilful mixture of them, by those graceful cadences and judicious breaks, and sounds conveying the tone of feeling to which the ear of a Poet is his best guide. The allegory is simply this, that the art of music supplies the instruments, but that the Passions alone can make them speak to the heart; and the piece concludes with lamenting the

dissolution of that union which is said to have subsisted in ancient times between Poetry and Music. Of the wonderful effects of this union, every one perhaps is not prepared to affirm with our Author, “"Tis said, and I believe the tale;" but every person of taste must lament its divorce from sense, and regret, that while the English language offers to the composers of music such productions as the preceding for the basis of their exertions, the degradation of the public taste obliges them to prefer, for their charming structure of sweet sounds, the slang of Newgate, the vulgarisms of the province, or the lisping prattle of the nursery.

This

ODE ON THE DEATH OF THOMSON. piece is tender and plaintive; the allusion to the Eolian harp, the dashing oar suspended to bid his gentle spirit rest, the gradual fading of the scenery as night approaches, are pleasing and picturesque circumstances. But there is no propriety in calling THOMSON a Druid or a pilgrim, characters totally foreign to his own. To the sanguinary and super

stitious Druid, whose rites were wrapped up in mystery, it was peculiarly improper to compare a Poet whose religion was simple as truth, sublime as nature, and liberal as the spirit of philosophy. Nature's child is a proper epithet, but why meek Nature's child. In short there is nothing characteristic of the Author he wished to commemorate, nor does there seem to be any local acquaintance with the scenery, for the church of Richmond is not white, nor a spire, nor can it be seen from the river; and as to the monument, erected in the last verse to this great Poet, it must be looked upon in the light of a prophecy which is not yet fulfilled.

There remain two or three smaller Poems, among which the dirge in Cymbeline deserves to be noticed, as perfectly corresponding with the delicacy and sweetness of the play for which it was written. as an accompaniment.

To the Poems which have usually been published as the works of Collins, is now first added, AN ODE ON THE POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS OF THE