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in an ode lately submitted to our To stay thy car upon the Latmos hill,
Touch with a clouded hand thy look of light; perusal by an ingenious and modest Nor elemental blight young man, in which, about half way Mar the rich beauties of thy hyacinthine hair. down, he exclaims, as if prophetically, to us who seek and praise thee here
Queen of the tumbling floods! oh lend thine ear READER AWAKE!” There is much --- Fright not the Halcyon from her watery nest, smartness in the idea of “ two dead When on the scarcely-moving waves she sits
Listening-sore distrest eternities." An eternity especially, Lest that the winds, in sullen fits, past with whales, is enough to make
Should come, and lift the curling seas on high :
-Yet, if the storm must come-then Dian! then the stoutest reader blubber. Do not let Scatter the billows from the Delphic shore,
And bid the monsters of the deep go roar
In those far foreign caves
For ever, (dug, 'tis said, by giant men but at present he has not more than
Beneath Pelorus' rugged proinontory.) about a dozen admirers,-Mr Leigh On thy white altar we Hunt whom he feeds on the oil-cakes Lavish in fond idolatry.
Herbs and sweet flowers such as the summer uses: of flattery till he becomes flatulent
Some that in wheaton fields of praise, -Mr Benjamin Haydon, Lift their red bells amidst the golden grain :
Some that the moist earth yields, who used to laugh at him till that fa
Beneath the shadows of those pine trees high, mous sonnet-three engrossing clerks Which, branching, shield the far Thessalian -and six or seven medical students, From the fierce anger of A pollo's eye
plains who chaunt portions of Endymion as
And some that Delphie swains
Pluck by the silver springs of Castaly they walk the hospitals, because the (Yet, there-thus it is said—the wanton Muses, author was once an apothecary. We
Their dark and tangled locks adorning,
Lie stretch'd on green slopes 'neath the laurel alone like him and laugh at him.
boughs, He is at present a very amiable, silly,
Or weave sad garlands for their brows;
And tho' they shun thee thro' the livelong night, lisping, and pragmatical young gentle. Bend their blue eyes before the God of morning, man—but we hope to cure him of all
And hail with shouts his first return of light.-) that—and should have much pleasure Now and for ever hail, great Dian !—Thou, in introducing him to our readers in a The rolling planets die, or lose their fires, year or two speaking the language of And all the bravery of Heaven retires
-There, Saturn dimly turns within his ring, this country, counting his fingers cor And Jove looks pale upon his burning throne; rectly, and condescending to a neckcloth.
There, the great hunter-king,
Orion, mourns with watery glare,
Thou only through the blue and starry air,
In unabated beauty ridst along, selves, than Barry Cornwall? One Companion'd by our song " dramatic scene"-even the
Tum hither, then, thy clear an stedfast smile,
To grace our humble welcoming,
From all but that so famous pain,
midnight, nities” of the Cockneys.
Stirs his creative fancyings, while,
(Charm'd by thy silver light) charge Barry Cornwall, coram popu He strives, noi vainly then, his sweetest song to lo, with the following hymn to Diana.
sing. It is classical, without being pedantic. It would greatly amuse us, to meet HYMN TO DIANA.
in company together Johnny Keates Dian !-We seek thee in this tranquil hour; and Percy Bysshe Shelly, -and as they We call thee by thy names of power; Lucina ! first-(that tender namne divine,
are both friends of Mr Leigh Hunt, Which young and travail'd dames adore and fear;) we do not despair of witnessing the Child of the dark-brow'd Proserpine ! Star-crowned Dian! Daughter of Jove
conjunction of these planets on HampOlympian ! Mother of blind Love !
stead Hill, when we visit London in Fair Cynthia! Towered Cybele ! Lady of stainless chastity!
spring. A bird of paradise and a Bend low thy listening ear,
Friezeland fowl would not look more And smile upon us, now
the long day's toil, absurdly, on the same perch. Hear Beautiful queen! is done, And from the withering sun
with what a deep voice of inspiration
A pale dream came to a Lady fair,
Ånd said, a boon, a boon, I pray!
I know the secrets of the air,
And thirgs are lost in the glare of day,
Which I can make the sleeping see,
If they will put their trust in me.
And thou shalt know of things unknown,
If thou will let me rest between When cam he slumbers on the mountain's brow: The veiny lids, whose fringe is thrown And may no doubt, not care,
Over thine eyes so dark and sheen: When thou shalt wish, on nights serene and And half in hope, and half in fright, still
The lady closed her eyes so bright.
At first, all deadly shapes were driven
The plank whereon that Lady sate Tumultuously across her sleep,
Was driven thro' the chasms about and about, And o'er the vast cope of bending heaven
Between the peaks so desolate All ghastly-visaged clouds did sweep;
Of the drowning mountains in and out And the Lady ever looked to spý
As the thistle beard on a whirlwind sails If the golden sun shone forth on high.
While the flood was filling those hollow vales. And as towards the east she turned,
At last her plank an eddy crost, She saw aloft in the morning air,
And bore her to the city's wall, Which now with hues of sunrise burned,
Which now the flood had reached almost; A great black anchor rising there;
It might the stoutest heart appal And wherever the lady turned her eyes.
To hear the fire roar and hiss It hung before her in the skies.
Thro' the domes of those mighty palaces. The sky was as blue as the summer sea,
The eddy whirld her round and round The depths were cloudless over head,
Before a gorgeous gate, which stood The air was calm as it could be,
Piercing the cloud of smoke, which bound There was no sight or sound of dread,
Its aery arch with light like blood; But that black anchor floating still
She look'd on that gate of marble clear Over the piny eastern hill.
With wonder that extinguish'd fear. The lady grew sick with a weight of fear,
For it was filled with sculptures rarest To see that Anchor ever hanging,
Of forms most beautiful and strange, And veiled her eyes ; she then did hear
Like nothing human, but the fairest The sound as of a din low clanging,
shapes, whose legions range And looked abroad if she might know
Throughout the sleep of those that are, Was it aught else, or but the flow
Like this same Lady, good and fair.
And as she looked, still lovelier grew
Those marble forms ;--the sculptor sure
Was a strong spirit, and the hue shock,
Of his own mind did there endure
After the touch, whose power had braided
Such grace, was in some sad change faded.
She looked, the flames were dim, the flood
Grew tranquil as a woodland river
Winding thro' hills in solitude ;
Those marble shapes then seemed to quiver,
And their fair limbs to float in motion,
Like weeds unfolding in the ocean.
And their lips moved ;--one seemed to speak,
When suddenly the mountains crackt,
And thro' the chasm the flood did break
With an earth-uplifting cataract:
The statues gave a joyous scream,
And on its wings, the pale thin dream
Lifted the Lady from the stream.
The dizzy flight of that phantom pale, And columns framed of marble white,
Waked the fair Lady from her sleep. And giant fanes dome over dome
And she arose, while from the veil Piled, and triumphant gates, all bright
Of her dark eyes the dream did creep,
And she walked about as one who knew
That sleep has sights as clear and true
As any waking eyes can view.
So much for the “ Literary Pocket-
Book” 1819. The earth has perform-
ed its revolution round the sun, and Among the mountains shook alway, So that the Lady's heart beat fast
that number is no more. What would As half in joy, and half aghast,
we not give for a reading of Mr On those high domes her look she cast.
Leigh Hunt's Literary Pocket-Book Sudden from out that city sprung
for 1819! Could Messrs Olliers get A light that made the earth grow red ; Two flames, that each with quivering tongue together a few dozen from villatic
Lick'd its high domes, and over head Among those mighty towers and fanes
and rural manuscribes, they would be Dropped fire, as a volcano rains
very diverting. Put down our names, Its sulphurous ruin on the plains.
at random, for a dozen copies. And hark! a rush, as if the deep
Literary Pocket-Book" for
1820 is just published. The lists are A raging flood descend, and wind
pretty much the same as formerly— Thro' that wide vale; she felt no fear, But said within herself, 'tis clear
but we believe, both fuller and more These towers are Nature's own, and she To save them has sent forth the sea.
correct. In place of the “ Callendar
of Nature," we have from the pen of And now those raging billows came Where that fair Lady sate, and she
Mr Hunt, “ a Callendar of Observers," Was borne towards the show'ring flame
or specimens of the greater or less By the wild waves heaped tumultuously, And on a little plank, the flow
enjoyment which people derive from Of the whirlpool bore her to and fro.
the world they live in, according to The waves were fiercely vomited
the number and healthiness of their From every tower and ev'ry dome, And dreary light did widely shed
perceptions!” The Observers are six O'er that vast flood's suspended foam,
The Mere Lounger-
The Mere Man of Business-The Bi
got—The Mere Sportsman-TheMere forth with new strength and sprightliness, Sedentary Liver, and the Observer of the dog scampering about his master in Nature. Mr Hunt tells us, with his hopes he is going towards the fields, and usual cleverness, what each of these hyacinths, narcissuses, and violets in the
green markets : and seeing these, he cancharacters sees in each of the seasons.
not but hasten the faster to see the country.
Instead of reading his book at home, he “The mere Lounger.-Sees his face in the takes it with him, and sees what the poets glass, and yawns. Sees his tailor, who in describe. He sees the returning blue of forms him that it is spring. Sees several the sky, the birds all in motion, the glanpersons, horses, and suits of clothes in Bond cing showers, the after-laughing sun, the Street.” Sees some pretty faces. Sees a maiden blossoms in the gardens, the thick. great deal of green and white in the milli. ening leafiness of the hedges, the perfect ner's shops, and thinks the country must be young green of the meadows, the bustling getting pretty. Takes a ride round the farm-yards, the far prospects, the near and Regent's Park, and sees Jones.
odorous bowers, the bee bounding forth « The Mere Man of Business.-Sees his with his deep song through the lightsome clerks or apprentices up. Sees his custom- atmosphere, the kids leaping, the cattle ers come in all day. Sees their money. placidly grazing, the rainbow spanning the Sees faces occasionally go by. Sees shelves hills in its beauty and power, the showers and bundles all about him. Sees his law. again, the blue sky again, the sun triumph. yer and broker.
Sees dinner with brief ing over the moisture like bright eyes above transport, just time enough to get an in- dewy lips, the perfumed evening, the gentle digestion. Sees to his accounts in the even and the virgin moon. Going home, he sees ing, and endeavours to think himself a every thing again with the united transport happy man. Sees his goods adulterated. of health and imagination, and in his dreams Goes to bed, and sees in his dreams a great
sees his friend and his mistress as happy as pale multitude looking at him, whom he himself. sets down for people he has cheated. Sees himself exposed, and wakes in a trepida “The Mere Lounger.-Goes into the countion. N. B. It is the fumes of indigestion, try to see Jones. Sees Jones. Sees somo which in these and other cases inspire a horses. Sees little else in the country but man's dreams with a certain Delphic hor. the absence of town. Is shown a prospect, ror.
and sees in it a considerable resemblance to “ The Bigot.-Sees the sunshine, and
a scene at the Opera. Sees a storm, and thinks how happy he and his friends will hopes it won't rain next Wednesday. be in heaven exclusively.
The Mere Man of Business.Is sorry to going towards the country laughing, and see the town so empty. Sees some flowers gaily dressed.
Sees in them only so at the door, but declines buying any, bemany devoted victims to eternal fire ; calls cause he will not give the price asked by a the world a vile world; and sees his debtor half-penny. Sees some new dishes on his sent to prison. Sees the building of his table at dinner, and has a remote notion chapel going on, and counts up his profits, that he enjoys himself. Feels himself half monied and eternal. Sees his servant bring- stifled with the weather, the dust, the close ing in a green goose for dinner ; and says, shop, and repletion ; and sees the pavewith an air of delighted regret, that he ment before his door watered with a tin fears his friend the gun-maker is too late. canister, in liquid lines of refreshment a quill
“ The Mere Sportsman-Sees a fox. Sees thick. him several times over. Sees a girl's com
“The Bigot.-Sees the beauty of the coun. plexion and ancles. Sees his friends all try, but thinksit wrong to be moved by earth drunk after dinner.
ly delights, and hastens home to his roast pig. “ The Mere Sedentary Liver.-Sees his Sees nothing in the world after dinner but a tongue in the glass. Sees the fine weather, fleeting shew. Finds it very hot ; sees a fiery and calls to mind all that the poets have kind of horrid look in the sunshine; and is not said about it. Takes his first walk this quite easy in thinking that ninety-nine hunyear, and sees numberless things, but all dredths of his fellow creatures are to be discoloured and half pleasant. Gocs home burnt for ever ; thinks it impious however and sees with delight a new packet of to suppose his Maker too kind to suffer it, books. Reads an account of a man who and comforts himself with callousness. saw a spectre, and almost sees it himself, “ The Mere Sportsman.-Sees a hare, Goes to bed, and sees in his sleep a vision Sees a friend in a ditch. Does not see him shockingly mixed up of oddity and horror. out. Sees, in a transport of rage, the
“ The observer of Nature. Sees the first hounds at fault. Goes to angle, to settle fine spring day and leaps up with transport. his spirits ; and with considerable relief, Sees a world full of beauty and pleasure sees several fish drawn gasping out of the even in towns. Sees the young and fair water with a hook in their jaws, and a abroad, and sees their lovely countenances salmon crimped alive. and minds. Sees the white pigeons career “The Mere Sedentary Liver.-Sees with ing round the steeple, the horses issuing delight the flowers in his window, and vows
Sees a party
every day that he will go out the next. your intercourse! He becomes as mute as
There can be no doubt that this is
much to carry their character about
are not fitting contemplations for a
mere Sedentary Liver is something
from the list of living authors to that
* Divine Nature ! And thou, when the why did not Mr Hunt include our
name in the list of living authors. diviner human nature ! how is he stricken We find there “Hunt, Leigh, Poetry dumb who would attempt to record the Criticism, Politics, and Miscellanies smallest part of the innumerable joys of Now, why not also “ North, Christ VOL. VI.
By the way
pher, Poetry, Politics, Metaphysics, We will hook a fish for you—and Mathematics, Criticism, Travels, Bon back him for his life against the ExMots, and Cookery.” We expect to aminer. It is four miles from Loch see this in the Literary Pocket-Book Awe to the Salt Sea of Loch Ericht.for 1821, and thenceforth evermore.
The banks of the river Awe are pretty But we had almost forgotten Mr precipitous—and ere you, Mr Leigh Hunt's account of the mere Sportsman. Hunt, have been dancing five minutes It is plain that he knows nothing of over the crags, you will have bitter Nimrod. A tallyho would break the occasion for all your virility, and detympanum of his ear. Were we to voutly wish that the salmon were imagine one thing more ridiculous than crimped, so that he were but off the all the other ridiculous things in this end of your line. What do you think world, it would be the Examiner a of swimming arms of lakes—and fordsteeple-hunting John Gilpin musting foamy torrents neck high-and have looked a Castor in comparison crossing wide moors up to the middle with the author of Rimini. Pray, in heather—and scaling mountains who ever heard of following a pack of girdled with granite—and driving your hounds in Summer? Mr Leigh Hunt solitary way through blind mists, or might as well go a butterfly-hunting roaring blasts, or rain deluges--of rein the dead of winter. For shame, ye turning at midnight to a sheeling on Cockneys ! to pursue, unto the death, the hill laden with spoil, and bowed poor puss and her infant family during down with the weary weight of many the dog-days. And is it, indeed, cus savage and dreary leagues? This is tomary, as Mr Leigh Hunt asserts in the nature of Scottish angling-inthis his Literary Pocket-Book, for deed, of all angling that deserves the Cockney sportsmen “ to fly into a name. 'As to old Isaac Walton, hotransport of rage” when the hounds nest man, he used to be a most partiare at fault? a mere sportsman is the cular favourite with Mr Leigh Hunt last man in the world to do that—he —but now he is "a pike in a doublet." is quite cool on such occasions, and The secret cause of all this raving uses the whip with alacrity but discri- against angling and anglers is, that we mination. Then, ye gentlemen of are anglers. Several admirable angEngland, what think you of anglingling articles have appeared in this Mafor salmon in the middle of summer, gazine, and, therefore, Mr Leigh on a sultry afternoon, by way of re- Hunt cannot endure angling. This is freshing yourselves after harriers ? quite pitiful. But it is true. and what think ye of crimping on the Enough of Mr Hunt for the prespot the salmon you thus miraculous- sent, so let us turn to “ Walks round lý ensnare? Oh'! Leigh, Leigh, thy London, No I." a very easy, graceful, lips utter a vain thing, and thy heart and amiable little composition, which conceiveth foolishness! You and o-' we could almost suspect to be from ther literary men—poets, critics, and the pen of Mr Cornwall. politicians-it is who are, in verity, the crimpers of salmon. The mere sportsman does none of these things. He despiseth the fish, and eateth him “ If we were to judge by the number of not. Thou art the crimper. You handsome country residences, which, within say that angling is not a manly amuse
a few years, have “ risen like exhalations" ment. Why, there is no virility in on the different roads, the south side of London sitting in a punt, with your head would be pronounced the favourite quarter
for the citizens to retire to. But here, as in bobbing over the side, and your nose many other matters of taste, they do not in the water, laying plots against seem to have “ chosen the better part.” On perches, and revelling in the massacre the north of the great city, and at no greater of minnows. Angling is but a sorry distance, there are more situations which pastime in the New River. But come partake of the true country aspect. A few down to Scotland next autumn, when
at random may be mentioned--and let a we pitch our tent on Loch Awe side, road from Hampstead to Hendon ; the rural
“ Suthron” match them if he can. The and you will then know whether or
district all round the feet of Hampstead and not angling be a manly amusement. We will put a twenty-foot-rod into Muswell-hill, Crouch-end, Colney-hatch,
Highgate ; the neighbourhood of Hornsey, vour hand, with fifty fathom of line, Southgate ; – the region about Waltham.
ad a reel as large as a five gallon cask. stow, Wanstead, Highbeach, and Seward
WALKS ROUND LONDOX.