པས པ་་བ་བ་བ་ in ne mat appearance it started the woria as something new. Its humour is quiet and droll; the treatment of so rude a subject in the lofty Miltonic style and measure, was a bold attempt; but as the writer was then totally unknown, the risk of failure which he incurred was very slight. We cannot find in it the talent that others have found; while his poem of Cider, which has been generally regarded as of far less merit, to us appears a production of the highest and rarest order. It is at once "a book of entertainment and of science." It communicates a vast quantity of knowledge in a form the most agreeable and impressive; there is, indeed, no point or circumstance connected with the subject upon which the author has not offered some comment, and given some explanation; passing from essays on the nature and culture of the soil, to rural sports, when labour is over,-from the seasons, their changes and effects, to the industry of the husbandman and the skill of the mechanic,-from the growth of the tree to the treatment of the varied fruit it bears,—and always with a grace, easy, unforced, and natural. The poem is, like the subject of it, essentially English-the style is nervous, clear and comprehensive; the writer, if rarely enthusiastic, is always satisfactory; and the reader derives exceeding pleasure as well as ample information from its perusal.

THUS naught is useless made; nor is there land But what or of itself or else compell'd

Affords advantage. On the barren heath
The shepherd tends his flock, that daily crop
Their verdant dinner from the mossy turf
Sufficient; after them the cackling goose,
Close grazer, finds wherewith to ease her want.
What should I more? Ev'n on the cliffy height
Of Penmenmaur, and that cloud-piercing hill
Plinlimmon, from afar the traveller kens
Astonish'd how the goats their shrubby browse
Gnaw pendent; nor untrembling canst thou see

How from a scraggy rock whose prominence
Half overshades the ocean hardy men,

Fearless of rending winds and dashing waves,
Cut samphire, to excite the squeamish gust
Of pamper'd luxury. Then let thy ground
Not lie unlabour'd; if the richest stem
Refuse to thrive, yet who would doubt to plant
Somewhat that may to human use redound,
And penury the worst of ills remove?

*

*

*

*

*

The farmer's toil is done; his cades mature
Now call for vent; his lands exhaust permit
T' indulge awhile. Now solemn rites he pays
To Bacchus, author of heart-cheering mirth.
His honest friends at thirsty hour of dusk
Come uninvited; he with bounteous hand
Imparts his smoking vintage, sweet reward
Of his own industry; the well-fraught bowl,
Circles incessant, whilst the humble cell
With quav'ring laugh and rural jests resounds.
Ease and content, and undissembled love,
Shine in each face; the thoughts of labour past
Increase their joy: as, from retentive cage,
When sullen Philomel escapes, her notes
She varies, and of past imprisonment
Sweetly complains; her liberty retriev'd

Cheers her sad soul, improves her pleasing song:
Gladsome they quaff, yet not exceed the bounds
Of healthy temp'rance, nor encroach on night,
Season of rest, but well bedew'd repair
Each to his home with unsupplanted feet.
Ere heav'n 's emblazon'd by the rosy dawn,
Domestic cares awake them; brisk they rise,
Refresh'd, and lively with the joys that flow
From amicable talk and mod'rate cups
Sweetly interchang'd.

*

*

Sturdy swains

In clean array for rustic dance prepare,

Mixt with the buxom damsels; hand in hand They frisk and bound, and various mazes weave, Shaking their brawny limbs, with uncouth mien Transported, and sometimes an oblique leer Dart on their loves, sometimes an hasty kiss

Steal from unwary lasses; they with scorn
And neck reclin'd resent the ravish'd bliss:

Mean-while blind British bards with volant touch
Traverse loquacious strings, whose solemn notes
Provoke to harmless revels.

THE SPLENDID SHILLING.

HAPPY the man who, void of cares and strife,
In silken or in leathern purse retains
A Splendid Shilling! he nor hears with pain
New oysters cry'd, nor sighs for cheerful ale;
But with his friends, when nightly mists arise,
To Juniper's Magpie, or Town-Hall, repairs,
Where, mindful of the nymph whose wanton eye
Transfix'd his soul and kindled amorous flames,
Cloe or Phillis, he each circling glass

Wisheth her health, and joy and equal love;
Mean-while he smokes and laughs at merry tale
Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint:
But I, whom griping penury surrounds
And hunger, sure attendant upon want,
With scanty offals and small acid tiff
(Wretched repast!) my meagre corpse sustain :
Then solitary walk, or doze at home
In garret vile, and with a warming puff
Regale chill'd fingers; or from tube as black
As winter chimney, or well-polish'd jet
Exhale mundungus, ill perfuming scent!
Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size,
Smokes Cambro-Briton (vers'd in pedigree
Sprung from Cadwallador and Arthur, kings
Full famous in romantic tale) when he
O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff
Upon a cargo of fam'd Cestrian cheese
High over-shadowing rides, with a design
To vend his wares, or at th' Arvonian mart
Or Maridunum, or the ancient town
Yclep'd Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream
Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil!

Whence flow nectareous wines that well may vie
With Massic, Setin, or renown'd Falern.

Thus while my joyless minutes tedious flow,
With looks demure, and silent pace, a Dun,
Horrible monster! hated by gods and men,
To my aerial citadel ascends;

With vocal heel thrice thund'ring at my gate
With hideous accent thrice he calls. I know
The voice ill-boding, and the solemn sound.
What should I do, or whither turn? Amaz’d,
Confounded, to the dark recess I fly
Of woodhole: straight my bristling hairs erect
Thro' sudden fear; a chilly sweat bedews
My shudd'ring limbs, and (wonderful to tell!)
My tongue forgets her faculty of speech;
So horrible he seems! His faded brow,
Intrench'd with many a frown, and conic beard,
And spreading band, admir'd by modern saints,
Disastrous acts forebode: in his right hand
Long scrolls of paper solemnly he waves,
With characters and figures dire inscrib'd,
Grievous to mortal eyes; (ye Gods! avert

Such plagues from righteous men!) Behind him stalks
Another monster, not unlike himself,

Sullen of aspect, by the vulgar call'd

A Catchpole, whose polluted hands the gods
With force incredible and magic charms
First have endu'd: if he his ample palm
Should haply on ill-fated shoulder lay
Of debtor, straight his body, to the touch
Obsequious, (as whilom knights were wont)
To some enchanted castle is convey'd,
Where gates impregnable and coercive chains
In durance strict detain him, till, in form
Of money, Pallas sets the captive free.

Beware, ye Debtors! when ye walk beware,
Be circumspect; oft' with insidious ken
This caitiff eyes your steps aloof, and oft'
Lies perdue in a nook or gloomy cave,
Prompt to enchant some inadvertent wretch
With his unhallowed touch. So, (poets sing,)
Grimalkin, to domestic vermin sworn
An everlasting foe, with watchful eye
Lies nightly brooding o'er a chinky gap,
Protending her fell claws, to thoughtless mice
Sure ruin; so her disembowell'd web