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inherent in the physical or moral When riches are centered in a few constitution of the people, in their hands, these have a great superclimate or form of government, is fuity; and this superfluity may be evident. That it does not arise applied to their pleasures, and to from their poverty is no less clear, favour the agreeable and frivolous for where can be found a more flour- arts.. When riches are equally diishing and prosperous nation? vided in society, there is very little
The following anecdote occurs in superfuity, and consequently little Brissot's Travels. Twenty years, means of encouraging the agreeable as is well known, have made no ma arts. But which of the two counterial alteration with respect to our tries is the rich, and which is the encouragement of the arts.
poor? According to the European The arts, says he, except those ideas, and in the sense of Mr. Pope, that respect navigation, do not re- it is the first that is rich ; but, to ceive much encouragement here. the eye of reason, it is not, for the The history of the planetarium of other is the happiest. So far Bris, Mr. Pope is a proof of it. Mr. Pope sot. is a very ingenious artist, occupied A people must secure a provision in clock-making. The machine of absolute necessaries, before they which he has constructed to explain think of conveniences; and must the movement of the heavenly bo- enjoy conveniences before they can dies would astonish you, especially indulge in the agreeable arts of life. when you consider that he has re. Long exercise of the indispensible ceived no succour from Europe, and arts will stock them with useful very little from books. He owes things ; which, if their institutions the whole to himself; he is, like the be wholesome, will make them in painter Trumbull, the child of na- general easy, and even rich as a ture. Ten years of his life have people, without supposing enormous been occupied in perfecting this pla- possessions in individual hands, and netarium. He had opened a sub- the attendant misery of others. The scription to recompense his trouble; Americans began with log-houses, but the subscription was never full. and are now in the progress to brick
This discouraged artist told me and stone, convenience and ele. one day, that he was going to Eu- gance ; their attentions observe the rope to sell this machine, and to like progress, and expand with the construct others. This country, said ability of attainment. When agri. he, is too poor to encourage the culture, with its attendant arts, and arts. These words, this country is commerce, have rendered them too poor, struck me. I reflected comfortable in all respects, they will that, if they were pronounced in then naturally aspire to and encourEurope, they might lead to wrong age works of ingenuity and polite ideas of America ; for the idea of arts; which, though as yet unsuitapoverty carries that of rags, of ble and beyond their views, will hunger; and no country is more then evince their prosperity instead distant from that sad condition of their decay.
For the Literary Magazine.
O'er all those shores where oft his lyre
heard From the Greek of Moschus on the death When on your plains he fed his herd. of Bion.
Sicilian muses join the mournful cry,
And sing with me his plaintive elegy! The author of the following poetical
effusion introduced it to his readers For to his flocks no more he plays, with these remarks:
No more he weaves his witching lays;
But under Pluto's gloomy power The following is a humble attempt at His pipe beguiles the lazy hour; a translation of part of the celebrated His Hocks in grief refuse to feed, elegy of Moschus on the death of Bion. Another master tunes the reed! I am sensible, that, in transplanting the Sicilian muses join the mournful cry, odorous flowers of Asia into our unge. And sing with me his plaintive elegy! nial soil, many a leaf has been despoiled of its luxuriance by the rude hand of an Phæbus, and all the Sylvan crew, unskilful gardener. You will also ob- For him their ceaseless sorrow shew; serve that much has been omitted. In Pan hears no more his wonted lays, fact, the original is so perfumed with When through his groves he fondly the fragrance of Asiatic scents, that a strays; modern reader would be in danger of “ To pleasure now adieu!" he foudly dying“ in aromatic pain," had the trans. cries, lation been more faithful. Our style And Echo, list’ning sad, “ Adieu” rewill not bear the exuberance of the ori plies. ental diction.
Sicilian muses join the mournful cry,
And sing with me his plaintive elegy! OH! all ye groves and gurgling waters
So too the drooping naiads mourn, And ye small streams that gently roam, Their tears bedew his hällow'd urn; Lend me your tears to weep o'er Bion's They weep that now no more they'll urn;
hear He's gone, and never will to us return. His cadence melting on the ear;
Their frolic games they lay aside,
Sicilian muses join the mournful cry,
For the Literary Magazine. Ye nightingales that cheer the woody throng,
ELEGY TO AMANDA. When on the breeze ye waft your tune
WHAT sounds are those, expressive Tell all the nymphs that lightly lave, deep of woe, In Arethusa's limpid wave,
To which the heart responsive beats? That all our pleasing hours are fled,
But soft, Since Bion's number'd with the dead. They die away, nor more are heard. Sicilian muses join the mournful cry, And sing with me his plaintive elegy! Most sure, resemblance much was borne
To Resignation's groan. Now silence Strymonian swans, begin and sing, Reigns, so let enquiry sleep; though And let his doleful dirges ring
The source would gladly ascertain, that To go was loth, 'till resignation bent
Her will to Heaven. Yet even then, alas, With tear might mingle; yet would the Would moments fond return, when fain eye
she Not seek to pierce the veil or secret Would have liv’d, not for herself; ah, shade,
no! Where pale-fac'd Sorrow may delight But for her infant babes, fast clinging to dwell
round With avaricious fondness o'er her Her heart. Not that she doubted the Treasur'd hoard. But, hark! again they paternal Aow.
Love of him, so long her bosom's dearest Solemnity indeed !- Alas, 'tis death!
friend, Affection fond repeats the heavy groan Not that she fear'd to trust those tender From yonder grove. Amanda's gentle ties form,
Cemented to her soul, to heaven's and his Which the admiring eye has oft pursu'd, Kind fostering care; ah, no! in each her Is nothing now but dust. The dire
Her highest confidence was seal'd. But That on her bosom prey'd has mock'd
Fled her youthful cheek, ere yet the Of art, and rent in twain the brittle damask thread
Rose had quit its mantling there, her Of life. But, oh! could none the ty
heart a hope rant's grasp
Had cherish'd, not willing now to leave Suffice, but her whose every look dis its fost’ring pensed
Home, of moulding the young ductile Sunshine around, with prospects fair in mind by her's, view
Whose elegance of thought she had her. Of long continued bliss? Man, simple
self Man, to look from bliss for ought beneath Imbib'd in early youth. So firm the The skies: so transitory is all that
hope Bears the face of joy, as each succeeding Was tied around her heart, that nought Day more plainly proves. Most gloomy
Cold icy hand could it erase from thence. Seem the adjacent rural seat, late by her Foe inexorable! Cruel, cruel Death! Presence grac'd, where harmony divine Can eye behold the chasm made, and Was wont to dwell, alluring all to love,
not weep And unison of soul. Despotic pow'r! Tears of salt, that furrows deep the Could tears, nor sighs, nor groans thy
cheek? Ah! pity move?
View all lonely now, the partner of her Nor couldst thou stay nor wait 'till Na. Youth! Disconsolate he droops, his little ture's wheel
Babes around, unconscious of their loss, Had somewhat passed down the vale of And wond'ring why the tears thus years?
trickling fall, But no! permission given, gloomily As each in turn is folded to his heart. He smild, and bore his prize away. But hark! whose voice is that more Such oft
mild than spring? The wayward fate of man. The wretch How mournful, yet how sweet! what forlorn,
mingled notes Long, long estrang'd from peace, on Of sorrow and of love! Alas, heart. troubled
rending Billows toss'd, grown weary of his bark, Truth, no fabled, fancied scenes are here Which scarcely rides the storm, is doom'd Pourtray'd; a mother mourns her daughto wait
ter gone, Impatiently for his approach, destin'd, Whose features ever wore a smi'e of love Alas, for future woes, if other woes Unutterable at her approach, and such The bosom yet can feel ; while mourn’d The look, no doubt, they wore, when Amanda,
welcom'd home Solterm the fair, 'mid sweet enjoyments Tothebright realms of never-ending day, Plac’d, imparting bliss that angels must To bliss supreme. But, oh! while here approve,
Must have prov'd to the maternal heart For the Literary Magazine. Cheering as springs in Afric's burning
THE POPLAR sands To travellers' parched lips. Alas, what has
By 7. E. Harwood. The interesting mourner done, thus to
WHAT means the quick averted eye, provoke
The nimble footsteps apt to fly, The ruthless hand of Fat Death's
Whene'er my form appears? venom'd dart
The cruel torture misapplied, Hath agoniz'd her breast time after Experiments more cruel tried time,
By vain and idle fears? When sons in manhood's prime twin'd round her heart
You who my humble form surround, By more than Nature's tie, by virtues As slowly creeping on the ground, like
Know I resemble you : Her own, were hurried to the chambers With toil I gain what Heaven grants, Of the mould'ring dead. Tyrannic
I live in labour and in pain, power!
Obscure and hid from view. But Heaven the mandate gave, and And you whose gilded chariots fly, therefore
Like meteors in the azure sky, Right. Religion bids her not its will
Your fate resembles mine: Arraign; submissive low she bends, yet Soon rais'd from dirt on zephyr's wingi
I sail in many an airy ring, She must; for minds soform'd as her's
And in rich lustre shine. can prove No sudden cure. Still Hope, descending One diff'rence us there is between,
My loathsome figure forms no screen mild, Sheds o'er her aching mind its balmy Whilst you to vice, to folly given,
Where poison lurks behind : sweets;
Debase the fairest form of heaven, Ere long she looks to join, in neverfading
Degrade the godlike mind, Bliss, the darling children of her heart Non usitarâ nec tenui ferar again.
The Editor holds himself very much indebted to the author of Reflections on the French Revolution, published in his last number. Any new communications from the same hand will be gratefully received. Several pieces of poetry have come to hand, which, from the nature of their sub, jects, or from defects in composition, are not admissible. The editor will spare their authors and himself the pain of being more particular.
paze. On the Arabian Nights, &c. 83 || Shylock vindicated
125 The seasons at Petersburg 87 || Folly of human wishes
126 Value of general rules
89 || Sketch of the Brasilian Portuguese 139 Marigny 91 || Adversaria, No. XVI
ibid. Anecdotes of Milton and his family 93 | Turkish chess
132 Milton's Lycidas and smaller poems 95 On the templars
ibid. Reason in poetry
97 On the prevailing mode of transla. Tom Thumb 98 tion
136 Boswell parodied
99 On the Tatler, Spectator, &c. 141 On the different kinds of prints 103 || Soame Jenyns
143 State of the fine arts in England 106 || Foote
144 British colony at Bulam 108 || Oliver Goldsmith
145 New species of horn music 114 || Johnson
149 A modern knight errant
115 La Tiranna, a Spanish actress 152 Jersey
117 || Sketch of a joumey in Spain 153 Military state of France
POETRY. Anecdote of Louis XV 121 My father
159 Anecdote of Clermont Tonnerre ibid. | The Colubriad
ibid. On translations of Horace ibid. || The invocation
160 Use of water in landscape 123|| Lines to her who may understand Chess, m anecdote ibid. them
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