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ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 ENGLISH RHYTHMUS 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN THELWALL, ESQ. 
 
 PROFESSOR OF THE SCIENCE AND PRACTICE OF 
 ELOCUTION, 
 
"Milton and Shakespeare have restored the antient Poetick 
 Liberty, and happily broken the Ice for those who are to fol- 
 low them; who, treading in their Footsteps, may, at leisure, 
 polish our Language, lead our Ear to finer Pleasure, and find 
 out the true Rhythmus, and harmonious Numbers, which alone 
 can satisfy a just Judgment, and Music-like Apprehension." 
 
 Shaftesbury 
 
SELECTIONS 
 
 for the Illustration of a Course of In- 
 structions on the Rhythrnus and Utter- 
 ance of the English Language : with an 
 
 INTRODUCTORY ESSAY 
 
 on the application of Rhythmical Science to 
 the Treatment of Impediments, and the Im- 
 provement of our National Oratory; and an 
 
 ELEMENTARY ANALYSIS 
 
 of the Science and Practice of Elocution, 
 Composition, &c. 
 
 LONDON, 1812. - PRINTED BY J. M'CREERY, BLACK-HORSE-COURT ; 
 AND SOLD BY MESSRS. ARCH, CORNHILL; RIDGEWAY, PICCADILLY; 
 KENT, HOLBORN; AND HARWOOD, GREAT RUSSEL-STREET. 
 
 Price 10s. 6d. in boards. — Bound, with duplicates, fyc. for the 
 use of the Pupils of Mr. ThelwalVs Institution, One Guinea. — 
 With MS. notations for the use of persons with Impediments, 
 Twenty Guineas. 
 

CONTENTS. 
 
 Introductory Essay on the study of English Rhythmus, p. i. 
 
 Praxis, xxi* 
 
 Elements of the science and practice of Elocution, 
 
 fyc. Analysis, Axioms, and Definitions. 
 Series I. Physiology of Elocution, .... xxvii. 
 
 II. Principles of Metrical Proportion, . xliv. 
 
 — III. Impediments of Speeeh, .... Iviii. 
 
 IV. Education of the Voice, .... lxiv. 
 
 V. Enunciation, or Verbal delivery, . . lxviii. 
 
 • VI. Harmonics, or the Laws of Musical 
 
 inflection, lxix. 
 
 Emphases, Pronunciation, fyc. . Ixx. 
 
 . VII. Incidental Accomplishments, and 
 
 a Oratorical requisites, .... lxxi. 
 
 SELECTIONS. 
 
 Page 
 John Gilpin Cowper, 1 
 
 The Passions Collins, 9 
 
 The Song of Eros Thelwall, 12 
 
 The Stammerer, altered from Allan Ramsay . . 14 
 
 Anthony's Oration, Shakspeare, 17 
 
 The Country Visit, Jenyns, 21 
 
SELECTIONS. 
 
 Pcge 
 
 Dirge in Cymbeline, . ' Collins, 25 
 
 Dissolution and Renovation of Nature, . Darwin, 26 
 
 Speech of Cassius, Shakspeare,Q7 
 
 Satan's Soliloquy, Milton, 29 
 
 Hohculinden, Campbell, 31 
 
 Eulogium on the Duchess of Devonshire, Roscoe, 33 
 
 Death of Palmer, Roscoe, 34 
 
 Phenomena of the Seasons (from Delille,) Thelwall, *36 
 
 The Morning Hymn in Paradise, . . . Milton, 39 
 
 The Seasons, a hymn, Thomson, 41 
 
 Apostrophe to Light Milton, 44 
 
 Ancient and Modern Manchester, . . . Thelwall, 46 
 
 The Accomplished Preacher, .... Roscoe, 48 
 
 The Fanatic, Roscoe, 49 
 
 Nathan's Parable, Bible, 50 
 
 An Argument for a future state, . . . Anon, 5 I 
 
 Hymn, " When all thy mercies." . . . Addison^ 52 
 
 Speech of Lord Chatham, 54 
 
 St. Paul before Agrippa, Acts, 57 
 
 The Age of Chivalry, . Gibbon, 60 
 
 The Disabled Soldier, Goldsm. 62 
 
 The Six-Foot Suckling, Churchill, 67 
 
 Nerval's Account of the Hermit, . . . Home, 69 
 
 The Incurious Bencher, Somerville,70 
 
 The Hermit, Beattie, 13 
 
 On Visiting a Scene in Argyleshire, . . Campbell, 75 
 
 The Exile of Erin, . ... . . . Campbell, 77 
 
 The Chevalier's Lament, Bums. 78 
 
SELECTIONS. 
 
 Page 
 
 The Song of Constance, W. Scott, 79 
 
 The Speech of Achithophel, .... Dryden, 81 
 
 Candour, (Essay on Criticism,) . . . Pope, 84 
 
 The Thames, (Cooper's Hill,) . . . Denham, 87 
 
 The Sea-Fight, Dryden, 89 
 
 Truth, (Britannia's Pastorals,) . . . W.Browne, 95 
 
 Panegyric of Queen Elizabeth, . . . W. Browne, 97 
 
 The Patten, Gay, 98 
 
 Knowledge, (Solomon,) Prior, 100 
 
 Pleasure, (Solomon,) Prior, 102 
 
 Elegy in a Country Church-yard, . . Gray, 106 
 
 Fox-Hunting, (The Chace,) .... Somerville, 110 
 
 Commencement of the Night Thoughts, Young, 113 
 
 The Splendid Shilling, J. Phillips, 114 
 
 Management of the Mind, .... Armstrong, W7 
 
 The New-Fallen Lamb, (Fleece) . . Dyer, 121 
 
 The Climate of Britain, Oyer, 123 
 
 Anson's Voyage, Dyer, 125 
 
 The Self-Devotion of Leonidas, . . . Glover, 128 
 
 Invocation to Grecian Energy, . . . Akenside, 130 
 
 Fallen Angels in the oblivious Pool . . Milton. 132 
 
 Othello's Address to the Senate . . . Shaksp. ] 34 
 
 Henry V. before Harfleur, Shaksp. 137 
 
 To Mary in Heaven, Burns, J 38 
 
 The Immortality of Love, Southey, 140 
 
 English Hexameters, (Homer's Iliad,) . Odell, 141 
 
 English Sapphics, (Horace,) *. . . . Herries, 144 
 
 
SELECTIONS. 
 
 The Ship of Heaven, 
 
 Prospect of Immortality (Pleas, of Hope) 
 Paper; a Conversational Pleasantry, ., 
 
 The Old Cheese, 
 
 Battle-Royal, on the Grocer's Wife, . 
 Affectation of Gallicisms, .... 
 A Moonlight Scene, (Homer's Iliad,). 
 
 Pitt's Reply to Walpole, 
 
 Apostrophe to the Queen of France, . 
 
 The Captive, * . 
 
 Part of the Burial Service, .... 
 
 Page 
 Southey, 145 
 
 Campbell, 146 
 
 Franklin, 149 
 
 King, 152 
 
 Wesley, 155 
 
 J.Hill, 16 1 
 
 Pope, 162 
 
 L. Chatham, 164 
 
 Burke, 167 
 
 Sterne, 169 
 
 Com.Prayer, 173 
 
 Errata. Anal. p. xxiii. line 3 from the bottom, for " ment," 
 read meant. P. xl. for "symb5l," read symbol. P. xliii. 
 
 read 
 
 line 5. for " Ye" read Ye. P. xlvi./or 
 
 sing — 
 
 A.*. 
 
 sing 
 After 
 
 &c. P. xlix. for 
 
 who? 
 
 A .\ 
 
 Twhol 
 
 A .\ I 
 
 taste," add a bar 
 
 fruit 
 
 read 
 
 fruit 
 
 A .*. 
 
 Selections, p. 20. /. 6. for gifts read griefs. P. 23. /. last, for 
 came r. comes. P. 31. I. 3. for height r. highth. P. 53. /. 19. 
 for words r. worlds. A few literal errors of smaller conse- 
 quence have also escaped the corrector of the press. 
 
Introductory Essay on the Study of 
 English Rhythmus. 
 
 lHERE are few circumstances more hostile to the im- 
 provement of our national Elocution, or more conducive 
 to that prevalency of impediment, which foreigners remark 
 as one of the characteristics of our nation, than the general 
 neglect of the study of Rhythmus ; and, I might add, the 
 worse than total ignorance of our grammarians and pro- 
 fessed instructors, of the genuine principles upon which 
 the rhythmus of Language depends. In the whole course 
 of my reading, I have only met with three writers (Joshua 
 Steele, Odell and Roe) who have had any conception of 
 the true nature and characteristics of a cadence, or Eng- 
 lish metrical foot, or have perceived the existence of any 
 ascertainable measure or proportion in English speech: 
 nor is it a harshness beyond what the interests of literature 
 and science demand, to pronounce — that every thing J have 
 met with upon the subject (excepting what has come from 
 the pens of those writers) has not only been false in princi- 
 ple and theory, but eminently injurious to the reputation 
 and utterance of our Language. 
 
 Not even those writers, indeed, appear to have gone to 
 the bottom of the subject. They have sought for their 
 data in the rules of inventive and imitative art, instead of 
 appealing to physical analysis, the primary principles of 
 nature, and the physiological necessities resulting from the 
 
 b 
 
11 INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 organization of vocal beings. The fundamental causes 
 upon which the phenomena of cadence depend, having, ac- 
 cordingly, escaped their observation, they have ascribed to 
 election and voluntary taste, what has its origin at least, in 
 the indispensible necessities of organic action : and Roe, 
 in particular (correct as his ideas are, in many of the essen- 
 tial concomitants of the system) by denying the mensura- 
 tion of pauses, or that the crotchet or quaver rest, con- 
 stitutes a part of the elocutionary, as well as of the musical 
 bar, has fallen into some incongruities, and amused the eye 
 with some cadences of such syllabic acceleration, as I be- 
 lieve, the organs even of his own countrymen never yet could 
 utter. But, with a few partial exceptions, perception has 
 guided them, where the light of science has failed ; and 
 if they have not discovered how it should happen — 
 that all persons who speak with an agreeable smooth- 
 ness and facility, speak in metrical cadences, the fact has 
 not escaped them ; and they have at least perceived, to a 
 considerable extent, what it is that constitutes a cadence, or 
 simple measure; and where such cadence, or simple measure 
 begins. Those whose perceptions have once carried them 
 so far, will talk no more of the want of metrical propor- 
 tion in the English language ; and will discover that all the 
 pedantic prejudices, in this respect, hitherto propagated 
 and received, have originated in ignorance of the genuine 
 principles of our native tongue, — or, what is worse, in the 
 inveterate habit of consulting the jargon of erroneous 
 theory, instead of attending to the simple perceptions of 
 nature and feeling. To say nothing of the fallacy of those 
 arbitrary rules, by which the quantity of syllables has been 
 attempted to be ascertained, (as if metrical quantity had re- 
 lation rather to the eye than to the ear,) — is it surprising 
 that those pretenders to critical analysis, who cannot dis- 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. Ill 
 
 tinguish between the . commencement of a passage and the 
 commencement of a foot or cadence, — or who do not 
 know, that the elocutionist and the poet, as well as the 
 musician, may commence with an initial or imperfect bar, 
 should stumble in their attempts to divide into their primative 
 metrical parts, such passages as are so commenced, (and such 
 is the case with the generality of the passages in most of 
 our popular species of verse ;) and should thus reduce to 
 theoretical deformity the practical proportions of our most 
 harmonious writers. 
 
 Nothing is at present better ascertained, or more 
 clearly demonstrated, than the mathematical proportion of 
 the bars of music, — the general agreement of integral bars 
 (in a given tune or passage) amid the boundless varieties of 
 parts or fractions of which those integers may be com- 
 posed. But suppose one of the fine passages from Hayden 
 or from Handel were presented to some musical ignoramus, 
 with every part of its notation complete, except the divi- 
 sion into bars ; and that, in the rage of criticism, he were 
 proceeding to divide it, and taking numbers, instead of pro- 
 portions, as the basis of metrical division, should unluckily be- 
 gin from an improper note ; what would become of the pro- 
 portion of the bars, as far as related to the impression upon 
 the eye? and with what theoretic declamations might we not 
 be amused upon the total want of time and measure in the 
 music of Handel and Hayden ! Yet precisely such has 
 been the treatment which English versification has received 
 from several of those " prosodaical" Tyioes, (Critics, Peda- 
 gogues, and Grammarians) who have deemed themselves 
 (qualified to dogmatize on the rhythmus and structure of the 
 English Language. 
 
 Thus it is, that the six proportioned, but varied ca- 
 dences, that constitute (in its simplest form) an English 
 
IV INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 heroic line, have been theoretically degraded into five 
 disproportioned and incongruous feet ; and that the rich, 
 the magnificent, the infinitely diversified, but mathemati- 
 cally perfect measure of the divine Milton, (who never 
 deviates into a discord, or neglects a quantity, but when he 
 has a turbulent emotion to represent, whose expression 
 would be marred by the incongruity of harmonic smooth- 
 ness) has been theorized into chaotic anarchy and disso- 
 nance, by speculative monastics, who could neither ut^er 
 with their organs nor scan with their ears. 
 
 It would be happy for English elocution, if ignorance of 
 the inherent nature of cadence had led us no further than 
 into erroneous theories upon the subject of rhythmus, or 
 into the absurdity of deforming a few pages of illustration, 
 by a notation that falsified our measure and our quantities 
 to the eye. But it is not in the nature of erroneous prin- 
 ciples to stop at theory only ; false systems of reasoning, 
 lead, almost inevitably, to habits equally false and irra- 
 tional: for 
 
 " Truth and Good are one, 
 
 ef And Beauty dwells in them and they in her 
 
 " With like participation." 
 
 And falsehood, evil and deformity have the same obvious 
 connection. 
 
 Unfortunately, it is quite as practical to present inverted 
 cadences to the ear, as to the eye. It is, indeed, one of the 
 disgusting improprieties, not generally understood in its 
 cause, but sufficiently perceptible in its effect, which so 
 frequently offends the ear of taste and sensibility in the 
 harsh and laboured elocution of artificial speakers. A certain 
 professor, in a recent book, which ought to be called " the 
 Grammar of Impediment, or an Essay towards the Art of 
 teaching people how to stammer," has, indeed, very gravehr 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. V 
 
 told us — that it is a mere matter of election or fancy in the 
 ear, whether the cadence shall be considered as beginning 
 with the light or with the heavy syllable: — or, as he himself 
 expresses it, " that ic is at the option of the ear to perceive 
 " the progress of a movement either from weak to strong 
 " or from strong to weak:" — for even the distinction be- 
 tween strong and weak, aud heavy and light, so beautifully 
 demonstrated by Joshua Steele, is not understood by this 
 instructor. The fact, however, is — that the division of the 
 cadences, or progress of the movement, does not at all de 
 pend upon the fancy or option of the hearer : and the dis- 
 tribution, or amalgamation of speech into feet of such 
 numbers of syllables, as, if adopted in practice, would re- 
 duce our language to a perfect dialect of Babel, is only 
 one of the minor errors of this Grammatist. The indica- 
 tion of such division, or mode of progress, is, in reality, 
 an absolute organic action in the speaker. Nothing can be 
 more different than the effects produced by a progress from 
 heavy to light, and one from light to heavy : and it is one 
 of the first distinctions which I find it necessary to teach my 
 pupils to comprehend and feel. The former, indeed, 
 seems to be the mode of movement universally dictated by 
 natural instinct ; the latter is the offspring of ill-directed 
 art ; of principles of instruction, either false in themselves, 
 or not sufficiently understood. This metrical principle of 
 instinctive progress from heavy to light, applies indeed, not 
 only to human speech, but to the vocal efforts, however li- 
 mited or imperfect, of all the tribes of voice : all, at least, 
 that have any alternation: — for there are some animals (at 
 the Duck, for example) that have no light sound, or arsis, 
 and consequently no cadence at all. I shall not deny — that 
 there are also featherless Ducks, in the same predicament ; — 
 who, in reading at least, make all their syllables in thesis, or 
 
VI INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 heavy poise, — using a pause between impulse and impulse, 
 instead of the intervening alternation : but the Guinea- 
 hen is the only untaught animal 1 remember, that marks 
 the cadence of its utterance, from light to heavy : and 
 they who can be charmed with such elocution, need no in- 
 struction from the lark or nightingale. 
 
 I lay "it down, therefore, as the first principle and basis of 
 all rhythmical theory and analysis, and of all instruction for 
 the improvement of human utterance and composition,— 
 that a cadence is a portion of tuneable sound, beginning 
 heavy and ending light; — Secondly, that afoot is a sylla- 
 ble, or number of syllables, occupying the space or dura- 
 tion of such a cadence [for we have single syllables, in 
 the English Language, as it is notorious they had in 
 the Latin also, (tho much more rarely used, and not 
 enumerated in the Gradus,) that, under particular cir- 
 cumstances of arrangement or emphasis, constitute a 
 foot (*. e. fill out a cadence) by themselves.] Thirdly — 
 that the quantity of every perfect foot (for a foot may be 
 imperfect — as at the beginning of a clause, or after a 
 caesura, or a protracted emphasis, &c.) must be measured 
 from the commencement of the syllable in thesis or heavy 
 poise — (no matter with what description of syllable the line 
 or sentence may commence ;) — that is to say, from the pre- 
 cise element, or portion of an element (by every good 
 speaker regularly marked, however unconsciously, by a 
 slight uninterruptive rest, and a gentle inflexion of the tone) 
 on which the change of the organic action is made percepti- 
 ble from the light to the heavy poise : and I maintain — that 
 this principle once admitted and understood, the composi- 
 tions of our best and most harmonious writers, whether in 
 verse or prose, will be found to have a rhythmus as truely 
 metrical as the rhythmus of the writers of Greece and Rome. 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. Vll 
 
 We have not, indeed, adopted, in our poetry, all the measures 
 of the classical languages ; tho we certainly have every one of 
 their enumerated feet ; and have, also, some which the critics 
 in those languages have not enumerated. Yet do we not 
 possess these boundless varieties without availing ourselves, 
 in some degree, of the advantage; for tho some of those feet 
 have been but sparingly adopted in our poetical metres, 
 we use them all, promiscuously, in our prose. Perhaps 
 there may be some of the classical measures that may not 
 be quite congenial with our language ; tho no conclu- 
 sions ought to be drawn from the bungling experiments of 
 those, who, not being capable of discriminating between 
 poise and quantity, have treated every heavy syllable as if it 
 were long, and every light syllable as if it were short. But 
 it is sufficient for the purposes of elocutionary instruction — 
 that the cadences of our language have metrical quantity ; 
 that our rhythmus is a rhythmus of measure, and that the 
 measure of our rhythmus is capable of being taught and 
 explained, upon practical and scientific principles, whether 
 our language be capable of hexameters and sapphics, or 
 whether it be not. 
 
 Nothing, indeed, would be more extraordinary (if error 
 and prejudice could be extraordinary in any thing) than the 
 hypothesis that denies the existence of measure in English 
 verse ; or in the utterance of English speech : for I would 
 be bound (it is, indeed, what I have occasionally done) to 
 take the first smoothly uttered period that should come 
 from the mouth of any maintainer of that hypothesis ; re- 
 peat it to him again, in his own tones and manner, beat 
 time to it, with complete regularity, as I repeated it, and 
 then write it out in score, with all the divisions of its ca- 
 dences, and demonstrate the character of every foot, and 
 
Vlll INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 the measure of every pause, by which those cadences were 
 occupied. 
 
 Where there is no measure, there can be neither smooth- 
 ness nor harmony : for harmony in speech, is the combined 
 effect of measure, melody and euphony : and where there 
 is neither smoothness nor harmony, there is like to be perpe- 
 tual hesitation, and frequent impediment. But common 
 as these blemishes are, there is yet among us a sufficient 
 number of tolerable speakers to demonstrate— that stam- 
 mering, cluttering and hesitation are results rather of habits 
 in the speaker, than of necessities in the Language. 
 
 That our native English is frequently both spoken 
 and read unrhythmically, and sometimes written, also, 
 without proper attention to the rhythmus, whether of 
 verse or prose* there can be no doubt ; and therefore it is — 
 that we have so much hesitation and stammering, harshness 
 and incoherence. Nay, that even the very finest verses of our 
 noblest poets are often ostentatiously mis-delivered, accord- 
 ing to systems of pretended rhythmus, destitute of all ge- 
 nuine, or perceptible metre, is equally unquestionable. But 
 are not the Greek and Latin languages occasionally pro- 
 nounced unmetrically also ? Did the critical inquirer never 
 hear of such a thing as a difference between the written theory, 
 and the oral practice of our classical scholars, in this respect ? 
 And are not hesitation and stammering sometimes the con- 
 sequences of this practical jargonizing, in Greek and Latin, 
 as well as in English elocution ? [I had one pupil, in par- 
 ticular, who after having been pretty well cured of his 
 English impediment, was obliged to come to me again (from 
 his college tutor) to remedy his Latin stammering ; that by 
 teaching him how to reconcile theory with practice, I might 
 enable him to apply the principle of cadence to a Latin Hex- 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. IX 
 
 ameter, as well as to an English heroic] But are there not 
 some (for I would not be too general) even among those cham- 
 pions and established guardians of classical quantity, who would 
 hold it a sin as heinous as any denounced in the Decalogue, 
 to connive at the slightest error of written quantity (even in 
 the composition of a schoolboy's theme ;) who, nevertheless, 
 in reading or reciting the boasted specimens of theoretical 
 perfection, which their rules and their bircheu twigs have 
 elicited,-— by confounding the essential distinctions of quan- 
 tity and poise, by protracting the syllables they call short, and 
 curtailing those they call long, would present to the hearer 
 a species of versification as remote from that which their 
 rules and principles would lead us to expect, as is a vulgar 
 reading of the Paradise Lost from the genuine rhythmus of 
 Milton ? Nay, has not the classical ear become so fami- 
 liarized to this inconsistency, that the most enlightened 
 tutor scruples not to avow to his pupils, that Greek and 
 Latin verses, (the scanning of which is of such importance) 
 are not to be read as they are scanned. But shall we, 
 therefore, conclude — that the classical languages have, 
 after all, no practical metre, or regular quantity to boast ? 
 — that Homer and Virgil constructed their verses upon a 
 theoretical principle of rhythmus, that was to be subverted 
 in practice, before those verses could be rendered accept- 
 able to the ear of taste ? — that they adjusted imaginary 
 quantities, to involve themselves in useless difficulties and 
 amuse Utopian sophists ? and that the measures they elabo- 
 rated were addressed to the fingers of pedants, not to the 
 organs of their readers, or the hearing of their auditors ? 
 
 Such, at any rate, is not the rhythmus of the English 
 language. It is a rhythmus addressed to the ear, tho 
 demonstrable to the understanding: ; and no tutor who is 
 properly initiated in its mysteries, will ever have occasion 
 
 c 
 
X INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 to say to his pupil — you must not read as you scan. The 
 learner, indeed, (as in every other case, where any thing is 
 to be attained that is to give ultimate grace and accomplish- 
 ment) while the system is yet new to him, will have occa- 
 sion to be rather more deliberate and formal than would 
 be requisite or proper when a due comprehension of the 
 principle is attained, and the habit of metrical feeling is 
 correctly formed. He will, also, have to ascend, in due gra- 
 dation, from the mere abstract, to the rhetorical rhythm us : — 
 that is to say, from that skeleton rhythmus, which recognizes 
 only the mere inherent qualities of the elements and syllables 
 arranged, to that vital and more authentic rhythmus which 
 results from the mingled considerations of sentiment, pause 
 and emphasis, and assigns to each its just proportions of 
 cadential quantity. But the latter, differing from the former 
 only in its perfection and its expressive beauty, is to be scan- 
 ned on the same simple and original principle ; and the ac- 
 complished pupil, in all essential particulars, is not only to 
 read his Shakespeare and his Milton, as he would scan them, 
 but is to speak also, as he would scan — whether philippic- 
 izing in the senate, or unbending, in easy pleasantry, at the 
 tea-table. Conversational rhythmus, is indeed very differ- 
 ent, in effect, from the rhythmus of genuine oratory, and 
 still more so from the rhythmus of lyrical or epic poetry ; 
 but it is rhythmus still ; and rhythmus dependant upon the 
 metrical proportions of cadences and feet. Its propor- 
 tions are more difficult of detection than those of the more 
 stately kind; the proportions of all prose more difficult 
 than those of verse ; and the proportions of blank verse 
 more difficult (because more diversified) than those of our 
 heroic couplet : but the grace and rhythmus of all utter- 
 ance, must be dependant upon proportion still ; — as what 
 indeed must not, that is capable of ministering to the gra- 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XI 
 
 tification of any of the organs and faculties of an intellec- 
 tual — perhaps 1 might say, of a sentient being. The want, (I 
 repeat it) of a due perception of this principle — a percep- 
 tion which our general modes of education have a tendency 
 rather to extinguish than mature, is a principal cause of the 
 abject state of modern elocution ; and it is by the renovation 
 of this perception, and by this alone, that our habits of utter- 
 ance must be improved. 
 
 But if the student, the orator, or the man of the world, 
 who would improve the grace and harmony of his conver- 
 sation, the impressiveness of his instructions, or the energy 
 of his declamation, would do wisely to cultivate this per- 
 ception, — he who would surmount an impediment, or eman- 
 cipate himself from any troublesome imperfection of utter- 
 ance, should hail it as the voice of his salvation! — and 
 should aim at a practical precision, a richness and 
 energy of cadence, that might do justice to the noblest 
 effusions of eloquence and poetry : for it is not by the 
 adoption of affected and offensive peculiarities, that impe- 
 diments are effectually to be surmounted ; but by compre- 
 hending and cultivating the highest graces and accomplish- 
 ments of human utterance. 
 
 It is to be remembered — that this is not the declamation 
 of speculative enthusiasm ; the romance of untried hypo- 
 thesis. Whatever cavils the critic, in his closet, may raise 
 against my theory of quantities, as applied to the structure 
 and characteristics of English verse, or the asserted capa- 
 bilities of the English language, — whatever pedantry may 
 reject for its novelty, or prejudice condemn as heretical and 
 heterodox from the vulgar creed, the efficacy of the system, 
 as applied to the remedy of defects of utterance, has 
 been proved in too many instances, and the demonstration 
 
Xll INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 has become matter of too much notoriety to be discredited 
 by the quibbles of sophistry, or the dogmas of pre- 
 scription. 
 
 If it were practicable, within the limits that must be 
 precribed to this essay, to compress even a general sketch 
 of that system, from its primitive root in the facts and 
 principles of physiological science, thro' all the ramifi- 
 cations of relative art, to the ultimate graces of harmonic 
 expression, it should be done without reserve ; or if time 
 could be found for a more ample and methodical treatise, 
 I have no feelings that would prompt ine to withhold it : — 
 for I am no miser of my science, and I am not afraid of 
 rivalry. I feel the hold I have taken on the opinion of so- 
 ciety; and I should be happy to facilitate the means of 
 others for extending the application of what I believe myself 
 entitled to call discoveries, thro' other circles than those to 
 which my exertions must necessarily be confined. But the 
 reader who casts his eye over the Analysis, Axioms, and 
 Definitions, that accompany these pages, and compares the 
 mere partial skeleton (for it is no where any thing more) of 
 the one or two particular members of my subject most con- 
 nected with the immediate object of the present publica- 
 tion, and which I have accordingly treated with comparative 
 amplitude, with the brief and imperfect outline to which I 
 have been obliged to confine myself in all the other parts, 
 will perceive — that the task is too Herculean to be attempted 
 amid the constant pressure of professional duties, and must 
 be reserved for the cooler hours of leizure and retirement ; 
 if such hours should happen to be reserved for the close 
 of an active and laborious life. To my immediate pupils, 
 this omission cannot be of much importance ; as whatso- 
 ever parts of that system are applicable to their respective 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. Xlll 
 
 cases, are sure to be explained in a much more intelligible 
 and efficacious way, than is practicable thro' the medium 
 of the press. 
 
 Much indeed of what is here attempted, may be liable 
 to considerable misapprehension by those who have no op- 
 portunity of consulting my meaning, but thro' the medium 
 of the written words ; for, even if the subject had not been 
 previously so much perplexed, by the jumble and confused 
 misapplication of terms, in our vulgar prosodial criticism, 
 the difficulty of conveying to the mind new, or hitherto un- 
 recognised distinctions, by the mere dead letter of the page 
 alone, without the accompaniment of oral or sensible de- 
 monstration, must be sufficiently obvious to every one who 
 is at all in the habit of philosophical analysis; and tho, 
 I believe, in the whole of this treatise, and indeed in the 
 whole system of my professional instructions, the same 
 term of art is never applied to signify two different ideas, 
 nor two different terms to indicate the same identical phe- 
 nomenon ; the mind of that reader must have been little 
 infected by the established jargon of elocutionary criticism, 
 who is not every now and then in danger of confounding 
 distinctions that are of the first importance to the due com- 
 prehension of the subject, and of seeing occasionally, in 
 my words, a very different meaning from that which they 
 are intended to convey. He whose discrimination has 
 been perplexed and blunted by the trifold application of 
 the term accent — he who has never been habituated to dis- 
 tinguish between acute and heavy, or heavy and strong ; 
 between loud and high, between poise and quantity, &c. 
 or who has never heard the word tune applied to speech, 
 but when it was meant to designate some offensive pecu- 
 liarity, — must not wonder if something more than a single 
 reading — something more than poring over the mute un- 
 
XIV INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 responsive page, should occasionally be necessary for the 
 complete illustration of a system of rhythmus, not founded 
 upon the traditions of schoolmen, but upon long habits 
 of analytical observance and practical demonstration. I 
 may add, however, with confidence, that no scholar — I 
 use the term in its collegiate sense, — has ever listened 
 to the demonstrations, without conviction. The classical 
 pupil, is always the first to acknowledge my distinctions, 
 and enter into the spirit of my system. 
 
 Some further suggestions, relative to the connec- 
 tion between physiological, musical, and elocutionary sci- 
 ence may be seen in the introductory discourse to " The 
 Vestibule of Eloquence," and some metrical experiments 
 and practical illustrations, at the latter end of that volume. 
 A more general view of the applications of my entire sys- 
 tem will be found in my " Letter to Mr. Cline on imper- 
 fect developements of the faculties, and the Treatment of 
 Impediments ;" and in the Essay on the Musical Qualities 
 of English syllables, and other miscellaneous papers, in 
 the Appendix to that Letter, a more detailed illustration of 
 the elements of metrical harmony. In " Dr. Rees's new 
 Cyclopedia," also, the following articles (all that I am re- 
 sponsible for in that publication) may be consulted : the 
 reader will then be in possession of all the fragments of 
 this extensive theme, which I have hitherto found time and 
 opportunity to lay before the public: viz. Element; 
 Elocution; Emphases; Emotion; Energy; 
 Enthusiasm; Enunciation; Euphony; Ex- 
 pression. — [If the " New Cyclopedia" should be as faith- 
 fully furnished, under the successive letters of the alphabet, 
 with all the articles referred to in the more early parts, as 
 it is in what has been promised under those titles, it will be, 
 indeed, a most extraordinary circle of the sciences. But 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XV 
 
 it is due to my own reputation, to declare — that no part 
 of the public disappointment will be chargeable upon me.] 
 
 It now remains only to state my reasons for the prepon- 
 derancy of poetical articles, in this volume of selections. 
 The fact is — that the rhythmus of any language can, in the 
 first instance, only be studied thro' the medium of its verse ; 
 because it is there that it appears in its simplest and most 
 perfect state ; and because the fixed and determinate ar- 
 rangement of the syllables and cadences of verse, enable 
 the teacher to lay down rules which, to a certain extent, 
 may assist in educating the perception of the ear ; while, 
 in prose, it is the ear and the perception alone, that, in 
 many respects, can guide the reader, or the student to the 
 ascertainment of the cadence : it being the indispensible 
 characteristic of prose, that it should be perpetually varying, 
 not only in the length of clauses, and the recurrence of 
 emphases, but thro' all the practicable varieties of cadence ; 
 tho still, in that variety, if smoothe and flowing, it will 
 preserve the integrity of its cadential proportions. 
 
 So obvious and indisputable, indeed, are the propriety and 
 advantages of commencing the study of elocution thro' the 
 medium of verse, (provided the tutor or student be infected 
 with no fanciful notions of arbitrary quantities and accents,) 
 that I do not believe it possible to acquire the art of 
 reading even prose, with grace and expressive harmony, thro* 
 the medium of prose alone; while, on the contrary, I have 
 never, in a single instance, known any pupil who had at- 
 tained a tolerable degree of facility in reading the best 
 poets, who did not, as a necessary consequence, acquire a 
 smoothness, harmony and expression in his prose delivery. 
 But it must be remembered — that from my system of read- 
 ing verse, I preclude all peculiarities of tone, all arbitrary 
 
XVI INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 accents, quantities and pauses ; all helping out the verse, 
 as it is called, by clenches and closes, independent of the 
 grammatical construction of the sentence. All must de- 
 pend upon the sense, the sentiment, and the feeling; and, if 
 I may so express myself, on the metaphysical and philologi- 
 cal perception of the arrangement of the thoughts and lan- 
 guage. What is connected in the mind, must be connected 
 with equal intimacy by the voice ; and what, in the mind, is 
 transposed, interrupted, or suspended, must be separated, 
 interrupted, or suspended, in the mode of articulation. The 
 meaning should appear to be the only object of the reader's 
 attention ; the harmony (even when most perfect and abso- 
 lute,) should seem to be incidental and unsought. In short — 
 it is the writer who is to make the verse, and not the rea- 
 der : all that the latter has to do — is to take care that he 
 does not marr what has already been made : — a consequence 
 not unfrequently resulting from those affected attempts to 
 humour the versification, of which the bellman is, in gene- 
 ral, almost as good an exemplar as the ostentatious rheto- 
 rician. I know of no such distinction as a verse month 
 and a prose mouth : I want only a distinct, a sonorous, an 
 articulative mouth— a mouth that "is parcel of the mind," 
 and of a mind that can identify itself with its author, or its 
 subject, and modulate its tones and motions accordingly ; 
 so that the manner may be a comment upon the matter— 
 whether that matter be in verse or in prose. 
 
 A perception of the particular character of the rhythmus 
 of the author, or the passage we are reading, is, indeed, re- 
 quisite ; if we would do justice to any poetical compo- 
 sition : but so is it, also, in reading prose : for every au- 
 thor, if he hath any real genius, or originality of mind, 
 hath his own peculiarities of cadence and modulation, as 
 well as of phraseology : and therefore it is, that the pro- 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XV11 
 
 ductions of superior genius are seldom tasted by us, in 
 their true relish, till we become a little familiar with them, 
 and the organic perceptions are accommodated to the na- 
 tive qualities of the composition. These circumstances 
 affect, to a considerable degree, even the silent reader; 
 but the elocutionist much more conspicuously. He who 
 had attuned his organs to the turgid energy of Johnson, 
 would find that it required some effort to slide, at once, into 
 the careless familiarity of Sterne ; and he who should at- 
 tempt to read these two authors with the same modifica- 
 tion of measure and cadence, would be as foiled in effort, 
 and as ludicrous in effect, as he who should attempt to 
 give the swelling harmony of Milton to the sententious 
 couplets of Pope, or the smoothe equality of Pope to the 
 varied majesty of Milton. But the cadences and clauses 
 of the verse of Pope scarcely differ as much from those of the 
 historian Gibbon, as do the latter from the familiar rhyth- 
 mus of Addison's Spectator, or the still plainer and severer 
 prose of Swift. In all, it is necessary to consult the genius 
 and modulation of the author ; for his tune will be found 
 to be parcel of his thought ; and in verse or prose, his 
 meaning will be marred if his tune be not attended to. 
 But in all this, there is nothing inconsistent with the gene- 
 ral principle I have laid down : for in verse or prose, both 
 the meaning and the rhythmus will be best illicited, when the 
 reader follows, with most simplicity, where the collocation 
 and the construction lead. 
 
 Poetry, however, as I have already said, is the bet- 
 ter medium of elocutionary instruction; and tho a few 
 exercises in prose are always scanned and scored with my 
 pupils, as a part of the process of rhythmical instruction, — 
 principally to demonstrate the universal applicability of the 
 system, yet he who has learned to read, as they ought to be 
 
 d 
 
XV111 INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 read ; Milton and Dryden, and the verse of Shakespeare, 
 has learned, in fact, to read every thing — that, in the ordi- 
 nary current of composition, the English language can pre- 
 sent. 
 
 Shakespeare and Milton are not, however, the authors 
 with whom we should begin. They are the pillars of the 
 temple, rather than the foundation. In my own instance, 
 indeed, I may say — I began with Milton. I tasted of his 
 divine harmony in my early boyhood, and my habits of 
 rhythmical utterance, and even of thinking in rhythmus, 
 were imbibed from the Paradise Lost. I had the good 
 fortune to read him in solitude, without a pedant to in- 
 struct me, and before I had ever heard of systems of 
 Rhythmus, or the name of Prosody, or the jargon that has 
 theorized him into unintelligible dissonance. But boy as I 
 was, I felt him ; and one ardent feeling, caught from the 
 inspiring beam of energy and excellence, is frequently worth 
 whole volumes of technical instruction, even when drawn 
 from the purest source of science. But for pupils, such as 
 mine generally are, who have defective habits to surmount, 
 or dormant capabilities to be developed ; and who conse- 
 quently require the patient process of systematic instruc- 
 tion ; and, indeed, for the generality of those who want in- 
 struction at all, it is better to begin with models of a more 
 simple and obvious mechanism. The best, I believe, for 
 the purpose, is the heroic couplet of the smoothe, but cold 
 and formal school of Pope — where 
 
 " Grove nods to grove, each alley has its brother, 
 " And half the platform just reflects the other." 
 
 A few simple rules easily point out, and rivet upon the 
 mind, the mechanism of such verses ; and teach the ear 
 where to expect, while the tutor is instructing the organs 
 
INRTODUCTORY ESSAY. X1K 
 
 how to characterize and form, the heavy and the light poise 
 (the thesis a and arsis .*.), as well as the percussive im- 
 pulses (A), and the protracted, or the accelerated quantities. 
 From thence, the pupil may soar to the more varied excel- 
 lencies of Dryden, the nervous eccentricity of Churchill, and 
 the elaborately varied mechanism of Darwin ; proceed thro' 
 the less regular species of rhyme, and thro' the blank verse 
 of Thompson and Akenside, to the true u poetic liberty" 
 of Milton and Shakespeare ; thence to the more stately and 
 polished of our prose writers — to the semiversifled periods 
 of Gibbon, and the insinuating smoothness of Hume ; to the 
 ease and conversational playfulness of Goldsmith ; and, at 
 discretion, to the more careless and unpolished writers. 
 But the scholar who would wish to form a style of com- 
 position, and attain a graceful elocution, should never con- 
 descend to look into a careless, a crude, or a dissonant writer, 
 but when he is hunting for necessary or important informa- 
 tion, which is no where else to be found : and even then, he 
 should read him silently, and never suffer the dissonant jar- 
 gon to strike upon his ear ; unless — as a warning experi- 
 ment, — to teach him what to avoid. 
 
 The writers, also, (not in general very successful,) who 
 have tried new experiments on the rhythm us of our lan- 
 guage, are worthy of some attention, from the student of 
 elocution; after he has made a certain progress in the more 
 beaten paths. The Sapphics of Dr. Watts, may at least teach 
 him — how little that learned divine understood of the real 
 nature of quantity, or the genius and capabilities of the Eng- 
 lish language : in which the genuine sapphic is, I believe, no 
 more impracticable, than in the Greek or Latin. The stanzas 
 of Mr. Southey, inserted among the ensuing selections — 
 tho certainly not what they seem to have been intended 
 
XX INTRODUCTORY ESSAtf. 
 
 for, with a little care and correction, might have been made 
 something scarcely less beautiful and perfect ; and some of 
 the lyrical measures of Campbell, have a rapidity, a varied 
 beauty, and a facility, that may help to explain the cause of 
 his failure in the more stately heroic. At any rate, as prose 
 is made up of unequal fragments of all kinds of measures, 
 he who would utter it well, should be familiar with all kinds 
 of varieties, and should seek them there where their quali- 
 ties are most ascertainable, and their peculiarities are most 
 easily comprehended. He should do more-^to complete 
 his perception of rhythmus, and improve the flowing variety 
 of his style, he should learn to compose in all : and tho no- 
 thing could be more absurd than an attempt to make 
 every gentleman a poet, yet surely a few scholastic exer- 
 cises in this way, for the sake of improving his sense of 
 rhythmus, and compelling him to look for synonimes, and 
 thereby increase the copiousness of his language, and the 
 facility and variety of his diction, can be no more an im- 
 propriety in the English, than in the classical department 
 of his education. It is for this, among other reasons, that 
 the regular students of the institution are made to translate 
 the classics into their original measures ; with a strict atten- 
 tion to the distinctions of poise and quantity, and an accom- 
 modation of their rhythmus to the laws of both : a practice, 
 it is presumed, by which the study of the vernacular and 
 the learned languages may be made to reflect a reciprocal 
 light, one upon the other, and be rendered mutually con- 
 ducive to the improvement of the harmony and facility of 
 speech. 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XXI 
 
 PRAXIS. 
 
 In exercising himself upon these successive articles, the 
 student is expected to scan every cadence into its correct 
 quantity ; to score out every passage into its proper bars, 
 with all the regularity of a piece of music ; and to read them 
 over, reiteratedly, under the regulation of the time beater, — 
 sometimes solo, and sometimes in chorus ; sometimes ac- 
 companied by the voice of the tutor, and sometimes without 
 such guidance ; — while the critical ear of that tutor, watches 
 every tone and every quantity, not of the cadence and the 
 syllable only, but of every element; so that the liquids, in 
 particular, may sustain their due preponderance of quantity 
 and inflection : which is the only efficient preservative against 
 a tuneless cluttering, on the one hand, and that soporific 
 drawl and drone, or that vulgar sing-song style, on the 
 other, which so often disgust the ear in reading, and occa- 
 sionally even in speech. 
 
 Except in some of those cases where the labour is short- 
 ened, either by the previous habit of scanning the classical 
 prosodies, the practical knowledge of music, or that nice 
 perception of ear, which is almost inevitably accompanied 
 with a happy facility of organic modulation, the whole at 
 least of the articles in rhyme contained in this volume, 
 should be gone thro' in this manner, with attention, only, 
 to what I have called the abstract rhythmus of the respec- 
 tive passages ; — that is to say, to the mere inherent poise 
 and quantities of the syllables, and the number of equal 
 cadences into which they are divisible, — without any regard 
 to the additional cadences — that result either from rhetorical 
 emphasis, or grammatical pause. The blank couplets and 
 triplets of Thompson and Young, and of those who have 
 
XXII INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 formed themselves on similar models, and the severe, tho 
 splendid and sonorous blank verse of Akenside, may be 
 treated in the same way ; but the genuine and perfect blank 
 verse of our language, from which alone its native genius 
 and capabilities can be properly comprehended — the lyrical 
 heroics of the " Paradise Lost," and the true dramatic 
 melody of Shakespeare, can scarcely be treated thus in 
 mechanical outline- The ears and the feelings of these great 
 masters of the English lyre, were so completely attuned to 
 the melody of ultimate effect, that grammatical pause and 
 rhetorical emphasis constitute inherent parts of their primi- 
 tive rhythmus ; and the changes in the character and arrange- 
 ments of their feet, the frequent and judicious use of the 
 appogiatura syllable, the happy disposition of their empha- 
 tic, their triple, and their accelerated cadences, divide 
 their sentences metrically into their natural clauses, and 
 produce that true perfection of operative harmony, in which 
 rhythmus, punctuation and rhetorical expression present 
 themselves, at once, in indivisible unity. 
 
 It is this perfection indeed (the distinction and glory of 
 our genuine blank verse, and which can so rarely be attain- 
 able in couplet rhyme) that has been the great stumbling- 
 block in the way of pedantic criticism. Had this been 
 properly understood, we should not have had our Malones 
 encumbering their pages with ridiculous lists of monosylla- 
 bles that were pronounced by Shakespeare as dissyllables, 
 and trisyllables that were pronounced as disyllables also ; 
 or adding syllables, with finger counting precision, in parts 
 of the line, where, instead of eking out, they actually anni- 
 hilate the rhythmus : neither should we have been pestered 
 with the unintelligible jargon of certain critics, who not being 
 able to comprehend the melody of what they know not how 
 to read, denounce the expressive excellence of " varied 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XXlll 
 
 * pauses/' and talk of " the laborious strugglings of blank 
 ° verse, to raise its language on the stilts of poetry." 
 
 But such being the genuine characteristics of our Shakes- 
 pearian and Miltonic verse, it will, perhaps, be better 
 that the student of rhythmus should not attempt, even in the 
 first instance, to scan the writings of these poets (or of the 
 few, who, in recent times, have caught some portion of the 
 rhythmical fire of the latter,) without some attention to 
 pause and emphasis ; — so far, at least, as they are depen- 
 dant upon grammatical precision and absolute propriety, 
 and not upon the election of the finer feelings of rhetorical 
 taste and poetic sensibility. 
 
 When the pupil is sufficiently imbued with the perception 
 of the abstract rhythmus, and his organs have acquired the 
 habits of syllabic and cadential quantity, duplicates of the 
 same passages should be scanned and scored, with the 
 clausular divisions of pause and emphasis; the caesuras 
 should be marked, where they do, and where they do not, 
 increase the primitive number of the cadences ; and the 
 distinctions should be well defined, and orally illustrated, 
 between a suspensive quantity, an interruptive pause, and 
 an accentual close : distinction, perhaps, which, if properly 
 understood, would have precluded that perplexing contra- 
 diction which we meet with in die language of the late Mr. 
 Walker and that of Mr. Jephson ; one of whom affirms, from 
 the experience of his own familiar observation, that Mr. 
 Garrick did, and the other, upon the same authority, that he 
 did not, in his recitation, mark the terminations of the lines 
 by a perceptible pause. I suspect that both these critical 
 observers (contradictory as their language may appear,) 
 ment to convey (as far, at least, as their habits of analysis 
 had conducted their respective minds) the same idea : 
 namely, that the great reformer of our dramatic elocution, 
 
XXIV INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 did mark the perfection of his author's rhythmus, and impress 
 the discriminative ear with a perception of the completeness of 
 his lines ; but effected this essential object of accomplished 
 rhythmical delivery, by that delicate management of suspen- 
 sive quantity, which had no resemblance to the offensive 
 abruptness of palpable hiatus, or periodically recurring 
 close. I am more disposed to this conclusion, because 
 I have heard the same contradictious criticisms on my 
 own style of delivery; and been complimented, on the 
 same occasion, by different persons, for having, and for not 
 having marked the lines of a poetical passage, by the ma- 
 nagement of the pauses ; — according, as I suppose, as my 
 respective critics had been in the habit of hearing the pas- 
 sage read either by injudicious rhetoricians who marred the 
 rbythmus by neglecting the quantity, or who over-el aborately 
 distinguished it by regularly recurring closes. Be this as 
 it will — the distinction is of the utmost importance, and will 
 occasionally be found equally applicable, in its effect, to the 
 clauses of prose, and to the lines of verse. » 
 
 When the rhetorical, as well as the abstract rhythmus of 
 rhyme and blank verse, are thus practically comprehended, 
 the student should scan a few passages of prose, and mark 
 them with their proper notation ; for the sake of complet- 
 ing the demonstration, and giving him confidence in the 
 universal applicability of the principle ; tho much of this 
 exercise will neither be necessary nor desirable : for I repeat 
 it, when the student has become tolerably perfect in the 
 oral rhythmus of verse, a harmony and expressive facility, in 
 reading prose, will necessarily result as an instinctive con- 
 sequence. 
 
 As soon as the rhetorical rhythmus begins to be under- 
 stood (but not till then) animated recitation should, occa- 
 sionally, relieve the more tame and sedentary practice of 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XXV 
 
 cadential reading ; and this should, also, at first, be prac- 
 tised under the regulation of the time-beater; the pauses 
 being as regularly measured as the sounds, not by the ab- 
 surd system of our grammarians, (^who have mistaken 
 punctuative accents for numerical quantities) one for a 
 comma, two for a semicolon, three for a colon, &c. but 
 according to the cadential admeasurement already adjusted 
 in the reading copy. After a little practice in this way, 
 the recitation should be trusted to the feeling and per- 
 ception : the tutor taking care to demonstrate the passages, 
 whenever any considerable deviation has occurred from the 
 regular quantity and prescribed measure. These recitations, 
 properly conducted, will give a freedom to the utterance, which 
 will afterwards be transferred to the reading ; and a correctness 
 of measure and harmony, which will communicate its effects 
 not only to the utterance, but to the composition, or colloca- 
 tion of spontaneous speaking: in which, also, some degree 
 of practice (more or less, according as the pupil be designed 
 for public or for private life) should be imposed, as an 
 ultimate rhythmical exercise. 
 
 If it be suspected that this process must be productive 
 of an artificial and measured formality, I answer, in the 
 first place, that my system is not founded on inventive art, 
 but on practical analysis ; and that its object and tendency 
 is to secure, as an habitual consequence, only that identical 
 effect, which every graceful speaker, in his happiest mo- 
 ments of harmony and fluency, instinctively attains : and, if 
 an illustration were necessary, I might refer to the example 
 of the dancing-school, and inquire — whether those persons 
 have necessarily, in their walking, the stiffest gait, and most 
 elaborate motion, who have attained the most perfect pre- 
 cision of time and proportion in the steps of the dance ? 
 Some, indeed, there may be, who, from the want of per- 
 
 e 
 
XXVI INTRODUCTORY ESSAY- 
 
 ception, or the unfavourable state of the organs, can neither 
 vault nor glide ; and whom no art of tuition can conduct 
 beyund the steady march of the parade ; but surely even 
 this is better, than the halt of the cripple, or the waddling 
 gait of the clown. I may safely appeal to the parents and 
 friends of every pupil I have ever had, whether pedantic 
 stiffness and formal monotony, have been any part of the 
 ultimate consequences of my instructions. It is impossible, 
 indeed, that they should : for flexure and harmonic variety 
 are the perpetual objects of the system ; and the very prin- 
 ciple of proportion (defined and understood, in all its due 
 varieties, and component quantities,) is, in fact, so far from 
 superinducing monotony, that nothing has a greater tendency 
 to its eradication. They must have been but ill observers 
 of the phenomena of art and nature, who have never been 
 induced to reflect — that there is such a thing as order 
 without formality, and as stiffness without order; such a dis- 
 tinction as proportioned variety, and monotonous irre- 
 gularity. 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XXVU 
 
 Elements of tke Science and Practice of 
 Elocution, Rhythmus and Composition. 
 
 ANALYSIS, AXIOMS AND DEFINITIONS. 
 
 SERIES I.— Physiology of Elocution. 
 
 THE THEORY OF HUMAN SPEECH is an 
 
 important branch of Natural Philosophy. Correctness of 
 theory is an essential preliminary to practical improvement. 
 The theory of speech is deducible from the Laws of 
 Organic Structure and Physical Action, and those of 
 harmonic perception. The principles of such a theory, if 
 correct and perfect, will be applicable to all the pur- 
 poses of Elocutionary Instruction, from the treatment of 
 Speechlessness and Impediments of every description, to 
 the graces of conversational utterance, and the highest ac- 
 complishments and energies of Oratory. 
 
 THE OBJECTS of the Speaker are— to command 
 attention, to communicate ideas, and to impart satisfaction 
 by the manner of that communication. These objects, 
 when properly attended to, have a reciprocal tendency to 
 assist each other. The qualities requisite to their joint 
 attainment, are distinctness, harmony, and expressive va- 
 riety of intonation and manner. 
 
 DEFINITION. The Perfection of Speech consists 
 in a mode of utterance that combines the utmost contra- 
 
XXV111 INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 distinctness of Enunciative Expression with the most unin- 
 terrupted flow of Vocal Sound. 
 
 APPARATUS. Two Classes of Organs. 1 . Vocal 
 Organs — those portions of the organic system employed 
 in the production, admeasurement, and variation of volun- 
 tary and tuneable sounds. 2. Enunciative Organs — 
 those portions and members of the mouth by means of 
 which we superadd to the tuneable impulses of voice, the 
 specific or characteristic phenomena of literal and verbal 
 utterance. 
 
 THEORY OF SOUNDS. The sensation of sound 
 is an effect of specific vibration, originating in some stroke 
 or impulse given to a vibratory substance, and thence com- 
 municated, by pulses of the agitated air, to the organs of 
 hearing. Demonstration from philosophical experiments — 
 the Bell in vacuo, &c. The modifications and varieties of 
 sound depend — 1. on the nature, force, and modification of 
 the impulse ; 2. on the vibratory power, texture, or con- 
 struction of the immediate substance to which that impulse 
 is given ; S. upon the sympathetic media, whose secondary 
 vibrations co-operate with, and assist in the diffusion or 
 promulgation of the primary vibrations; and 4. on the 
 sanity and susceptibility of the recipient organ. 
 
 VOCAL SOUNDS are the ultimate effects of certain 
 impulses of air driven in a specific direction thro' certain 
 resisting and strongly vibratory organs of the throat, and 
 further impelled or retarded, in their passage to the mouth, 
 by the action and reaction of specific apparatus of the glottis, 
 by which those sounds are rendered admeasurable in distinct 
 proportions, so as to be subservient to the purposes of tune 
 or melody in all vocal animals ; and, in the human, to the 
 further superaddition of enunciation, syllabication, or speech. 
 The primary vibrations, thus produced, are also still further 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XXIX 
 
 modified or complicated by the more minute vibrations of 
 certain other organs, to which, either from necessity or 
 volition, the primary impulses are communicated, and by 
 the responses of certain other vibratory portions of the ani- 
 mal frame, brought into unison (by their tension and posi- 
 tion) with such resounding organs. 
 
 Queries to be considered. 1. What are the organs of 
 impulse and contact, transmission, response and modifica- 
 tion, which produce the phenomena of human voice? 2. 
 How far can man be defective in these and live ? 3. What 
 are the laws and principles of physical necessity by which the 
 actions of those organs, respectively, are regulated and re- 
 strained ? 4. How far are those respective actions subject 
 to the control of volition, and capable of improvement, in 
 the effective exercise of their functions, by elocutionary 
 science and cultivation? 
 
 REMOTE OR INCIDENTAL ORGANS OF 
 VOICE. 1 . The importance generally assigned to particu- 
 lar structure and vigorous sanity of the lungs in the 
 production of elocutionary energy and facility, is not justi- 
 fied either by physiological induction or experience. The 
 lungs that are sufficient for life are sufficient for elocution. 
 They are the mere recipient, or reservoir, for the portions of 
 atmospheric air, the inhalation and exhalation of which are 
 indispensable to vitality, and the forcible expirations of 
 which, being resisted by the primary specific organs of 
 voice, give occasion to the vibrations that produce the phe- 
 nomena of vocal sound. Judicious elocutionary exercise is 
 the best remedy for some of the diseases that affect the lungs. 
 2. The Diaphragm; and 3. The Intercostal Muscles, 
 have each their necessary functions in the regulation of the 
 passive organ, the lungs, and, consequently in impelling the 
 air that is to be vocalized in the glottis. 4. The Trachea, 
 
XXX. INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 or Windpipe, is principally to be considered as a channel 
 for the inhalation and exhalation of the air, and consequent 
 communication of the impulses from the lungs to the im- 
 mediate organs of voice. The pitch or tone of the voice is 
 affected, to a certain but limited extent, by peculiarities and 
 varieties in the structure, length and diameter of this organ. 
 PRIMARY, OR IMMEDIATE ORGANS OF 
 VOICE. 1. The Larynx, properly so called, is the 
 specific organ in which the primary pulses or vibrations of 
 voice originate, and by the contractions or expansions of 
 which, and by the modifications of the vibrations and resist- 
 ance of the respective parts and fibres of which, and their 
 consequent actions and reactions on the stream of breath 
 impelled from the lungs to the mouth, all the varieties of 
 strength and weakness, loudness and softness, shrillness, 
 clearness, and huskiness, are principally, — and the musical 
 gradations of treble, tenour, base, &c. are altogether re- 
 spectively produced. Structure. Component parts. Ex- 
 tent and limitations of its functions. 2. The Pomum 
 A dam i, or knot of cartilages that surround the larynx, 
 contributes essentially to the strength and firmness of the 
 voice. Anatomical description. Offices of the respective 
 parts. The Epiglottis. The Thyroides, or scutiform pro- 
 jection. The alternate action and re-action of the Cricoides 
 Annularis, or cartilaginous ring of the glottis, render that 
 organ the primary syllabicator, or metrometer of vocal im- 
 pulse ; from the necessary alternations of which, originate 
 — those specific phenomena, in which our perceptions 
 of musical proportion originate, whether in song or in 
 speech. It determines by the voluntary force, quantum 
 and momentum of its pulsations, the degree of power or 
 force in the original syllabic impulses of voice, and the 
 degrees of rapidity or slowness, continuous implication, 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XXXI 
 
 or separative distinctness of those impulses ; and, by its ine- 
 vitable alternations, the marked varieties or alternations of 
 heavy and light, in the successive sounds of all tuneable 
 utterance ; whether accompanied or unaccompanied by 
 verbal articulation. Thesis and Arsis of the Greeks (a .*.). 
 The Muscular fibres and ligaments connected with the com- 
 plicated apparatus of the Larynx are also to be considered 
 as part of the vibratory chords of the primary instrument 
 of voice. Combined effects of canular and stringed instru- 
 ments. Enunciative power of the Larynx. Verbal utter- 
 ance may be produced almost without assistance of the 
 flexible organs of the mouth. 
 
 SECONDARY ORGANS OF VOICE. Besides 
 the complication of Organs that produce the primary im- 
 pulses of voice, there are other portions of the animal 
 frame that modify those impulses, by the superadditions of 
 other responsive vibrations, and produce the characteristic 
 varieties of tone that belong to different passions and emo- 
 tions of the individual speaker or singer ; and contradis- 
 tinguish the voice of one individual from another, even 
 when speaking or singing in the same pitch or key. This 
 has been illustrated by the observations of Mr. John 
 Gough. References may be made to the Manchester Me- 
 moirs, and other scientific Documents. 
 
 Correspondent phenomena are exhibited in the voices of 
 musical Instruments of the same denomination and apparent 
 structure. The same strings of the same length and ten- 
 sion, tho braced into perfect unison, as far as relates to 
 note, will not produce the same characteristic tones in dif- 
 ferent instruments. 
 
 Constantaneous vibrations may be complicated to a con- 
 siderable degree. The succession of notes which constitute 
 what are called simple melodies, do not consist of absolute 
 
XXX11 INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 single tones. Each note communicates to the ear a har- 
 monized combination of vibrations in partial unison ; a 
 complication of tones differing perhaps in their physical 
 properties, as assuredly in the physical qualities of the 
 vibrating fibres by which they are propagated. The re- 
 sponsive vibration of fibres in the body of musical instru- 
 ments may be proved by experiments on the violin, piano- 
 forte, &c. This has been further Illustrated by Mr. 
 Gough. 
 
 Parallel phenomena result from parallel causes, in the 
 complication of the human voice. 
 
 The principal organs of modification are, 1. The Roof 
 of the Mouth; for the full and swelling tones. The 
 ora rotunda. Formation and action of mouth most favour- 
 able to these. 2. The Nostrils — are principally con- 
 cerned in the modification of certain deep, solemn, trum- 
 pet-like tones. Mode of organic action. Sensation. There 
 is a wide distinction between impressive and offensive nasality. 
 3. The Maxillas, and cellular cavities, &c. and 4. the 
 Integuments and bones of the Skull, assist in the pro- 
 duction of certain varieties of rich and powerful, but soft 
 and tender intonation. Mode of action that communicates 
 the original impulses to these organs. — Sensation by which 
 they are accompanied. Responsive tones or echo of the 
 voice. Experiments that illustrate these phenomena. 5. 
 The Chest, and whole superior moiety of the trunk from 
 the Diaphragm upwards, constitute a part of the apparatus 
 of voice. Discoveries, theory, and experiments of Mr. 
 Gough. Effect of submersion of the chest upon the voice. 
 Objection from the effect produced upon the sounds of mu- 
 sical instruments when transmitted over an aqueous sur- 
 face : obviated by further experiments. Appeal to the 
 sense of touch, during the time of elocutionary exertion. 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XXX111 
 
 Experiments on the effect of bringing certain portions 
 of the body into contact with the back or arms of the 
 chair, while reading or speaking. Characteristic tones may 
 be produced by proper attention to the position and vi- 
 brations of the chest. Causes. Excessive pectoralism, 
 or sepulchral hollowness of tone, is not so much a ne- 
 cessary consequence of physical organization, as of inat- 
 tention and habit. Physiological knowledge is of the 
 highest importance to Elocutionary Science and culti- 
 vation. The power and tones of the voice are capable 
 of very extensive improvement. Feebleness, coarseness, 
 dissonance or monotony are seldom necessary consequences 
 of mere physical causes. 
 
 ENUNCIATIVE ORGANS, or Organs of verbal 
 utterance. The Phenomena of Speech are produced by a 
 complication of constantaneous as well as successive ac- 
 tions. The want of proper analysis of this complication 
 has caused much confusion of language upon the subject, 
 both among the ancients and moderns ; and serious practi- 
 cal mistakes. This may be illustrated from Dr. Itard's 
 account of the Savage of Aveyron. Classification and 
 description of the Organs of enunciation, and their re- 
 spective functions. Independently of the Lower Jaw 
 (whose motions are highly assistant, tho not indispensable, 
 to distinct utterance) and the Nostrils (which form the 
 sound assigned to ng) they are five in number ; three of 
 which are duplicated, or in pairs. Three of them are also 
 active, performing their functions by their own proper ac- 
 tion — i. e. The Tongue, the Uvula, and the Lips ; and 
 Two are passive (i. e. the front teeth, and the gums, particu- 
 larly the upper, into which those teeth are inserted) having 
 the elements formed upon them by the action of the other 
 organs. The description of the attributes and functions 
 
 f 
 
XXXIV INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 of these respectively includes the entire anatomy of the 
 elements of verbal utterance. [The element or sound be- 
 longing to a letter is unfortunately, sometimes a very dif- 
 ferent, always a distinct thing from its name.] Lin- 
 gual elements. Class 1 — formed by contact of the 
 tongue with the rough part of the upper Gums and Teeth — 
 D. T. G=J. L. N. R (initial or trilled). Y (initial or 
 consonant). Z (tuneable or sonisibilant). Class 2 — formed 
 by contact of the end of the tongue with the gums, or root, 
 of either the upper, or the under teeth, according to the 
 conformation of the mouth ; with different degrees and 
 forms of swell in the middle or the back part of the tongue 
 tozvards the roof of the mouth — S = C. Ch. Sh. Zh. 
 Class 3 — formed by protrusion of the tongue against, or 
 between the edges of the front teeth — Th (tuneable, or 
 sonisibilant). Th (aspirated or sibilant.) Guttural 
 elements — formed by action of the Uvula and the root 
 of the Tongue— G. K. Q. X = KS, or GZ. R (final). Ch. 
 (Scottish). There are two aspirates represented by the 
 letter H. one of them is simple ; the other, capable of 
 combination in immediate succession with a hard consonant, 
 partakes of the nature of a guttural. Labial elements 
 B. and P. M. and the initial or liquid W. Labio-den- 
 tals — F and V. The German V. is a sound interme- 
 diate between our V. and our liquid W. and therefore occa- 
 sionally confounded with both. The cockney vulgar pro- 
 nounce the German element for both V. and W. and are 
 therefore supposed to transpose them : which, tho it some- 
 times occurs, is not generally the case. 
 
 The position of the lips has something to do with 
 the ultimate neatness and perfection of every enunciated 
 sound; particularly the vowels. The lower Jaw faci- 
 litates, by its motions modifying the cavity of the mouth, the 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XXXV 
 
 utterance of the vowels ; but they may all be formed, per- 
 fectly, with clenched teeth, by proper attention to the aper- 
 ture of the lips. (Spurious Lock- Jaw.) The lips appear 
 to be the only enunciative organs whose functions cannot be 
 dispensed with, or supplied by any substitution, in the pro- 
 cess of distinct and intelligible speech. NG. is a pure 
 nasal, formed by the nostrils alone, without assistance from 
 any of the organs of the mouth. Great inconvenience re- 
 sults from having no simple character to represent this 
 simple sound. No part of the organic action either of N 
 or G, takes place in the formation of the nasal liquid ; 
 called by the French a nasal vowel: but the French N. is 
 not exactly the English NG. 
 
 DEFINITIONS. The elements are divisible into 
 vowels and consonants. A \ow el is an element, or specific 
 modification of voice, formed by modification of the cavity 
 and aperture of the mouth, without contact of organs. 
 The practical varieties are, therefore, almost infinite ; and 
 different numbers and descriptions of these modifications 
 are adopted in different languages. In Scotland they have 
 some that are unknown in England. Precision and Simpli- 
 city of the Italian scale. A Consonant (a sounding to- 
 gether) is an element formed by the contact or combined 
 action of two organs. Consonants are sub-divided into 
 Mutes, Liquids, Semi-liquids, and Sibilants. A Mute 
 is a pure stop, — the contact being so complete as to 
 suspend the vocal vibration : it can, therefore, only be 
 sounded in conjunction with another element. There are 
 only three, T. K. P. A Liquid is a tuneable element, 
 formed by gentle contact of two organs in a state of vocal 
 vibration, and capable of unlimited duration and flexure of 
 tone, without change of character. There are eight — L. M. 
 N. NG. R. V. W. Y: to which some have added Z. but it 
 has a mixture of sibilancy. A Semi-liquid is a par- 
 
XXXVI INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 tially tuneable element, formed by the motion of one organ 
 upon another, or by the motion of two organs in contact, and 
 consequently limited in its duration, by the limits of the line 
 of action thro' which it can be formed: of these we have B. 
 D. G. Q. X = GZ. Th. Z. and Zh. The latter four may be 
 called sonisibilants. A Sibilant is an element formed 
 by gentle contact of organs and an impulse of breath, 
 without vocal vibration; as C = S. Sh. Ch. F. G=J. Th, 
 X=KS. The simple Aspirate is neither vowel nor^ 
 consonant ; having neither vocalization nor contact. X = 
 GZ. and X — KS. are compounds; but Ch. is not a com- 
 pound of TSH. ST (coming together) always form a 
 compound: even when the former terminates, and the latter 
 begins a word : unless there be an intervening grammati- 
 cal pause. Descriptions of anatomical position are to be 
 taken with great latitude, because different formations of 
 mouth require different positions of the organs. The ana- 
 lysis of the harmonic qualities of the elements, and their 
 classification according to their musical and other inherent 
 properties, is a study of considerable importance, both in 
 elocution and in composition. Researches and classification 
 of Wilkins ; of Holder ; Kenrick ; Henries ; Sheridan ; 
 Walker; Crombie; Darwin, &c. 
 
 [This part of the subject being minutely critical, does 
 not admit of compression by analytical outline.'} 
 
 It is requisite, also, to consider the necessary, the practica- 
 ble, and the desirable quantities of elements. All elements 
 are capable of quantity, but the mutes T. K. P. (and it is 
 sometimes graceful to prolong the stop occasioned by these, 
 by holding them a little while between the organs ;) but 
 none of the consonants, except the tuneable elements (li- 
 quids and semi-liquids) should have any more quantity as- 
 signed to them, than is necessary for distinct audibility. 
 Much discredit is brought upon our language, especially in 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. XXXVU 
 
 singing, by the unnecessary quantity given to sibilants, as well 
 as by the unnecessarily frequent use of them in composition. 
 The vowels having a natural tendency to monotone, are the 
 proper elements of quantity in song ; the liquids having a 
 necessary tendency to inflection, are the proper elements of 
 quantity in speech. That composition will be most grace- 
 ful in which the cadences are most frequently articulated 
 by a liquid ; but most energetic in which the articulation is 
 most frequently by semiliquids. Mutes are bad articulators 
 of cadences, but sibilants much worse. [See hereafter for 
 the definitions, fyc. of articulation and cadence.~] Of the 
 liquids some contribute more to energy, and some to melo- 
 dy. Of the semiliquids, those are the best articulators that 
 have least tendency to sibilance. 
 
 SYLLABICATI ON. A syllable is an intimate articu- 
 lation of distinct elements in a single impulse of voice. If 
 the elementary sounds of letters were taught in the first in- 
 stance, instead of their names, there never could be any dif- 
 ficulty or indistinctness of syllabication. Miss Edgew orth's 
 rational primer (if properly used) would be an important 
 engine in early education. The Physical properties of syl- 
 lables, as well as their elements and accents, ought to be well 
 considered. Much mischief is done by the usual mode of 
 teaching children to read lessons composed entirely of mo- 
 nosyllables. Cadence ought to be attended to, even in teach- 
 ing the elements. 
 
 PULSATION AND REMISSION. The primary ac- 
 tion of the organs of voice, in the formation of syllabic im- 
 pulses, and the laws of physical necessity, by which those 
 actions are dictated and limited, have not been sufficiently 
 considered. The simplicity of the laws of Nature, even 
 in her most complicated operations, may be illustrated in 
 the laws of Gravitation; of Chemical Attraction; of Me- 
 chanical Impulse, and of Organic Action. Animal voli- 
 
XXXVlll INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 tion is limited by the primary laws of physical necessity. 
 Consequences the most destructive of the grace and facility 
 of elocutionary utterance, are perpetually recurring from ir- 
 regular efforts inconsistent with those laws. The generali- 
 ty of Impediments of Speech are nothing more than conse- 
 quences of such irregular efforts. The primary law of 
 pendulation, or action and reaction, is as applicable to the 
 primary organ of voice, in the formation and combina- 
 tion of successive syllables, as to the throb and remission 
 of the pulse, the ebb and flow of the breath, and the 
 stroke and counter stroke of the pendulum. This law 
 (tho capable of modification) is applicable to all conti- 
 nuous or reiterative action. Walking is a complicated pen- 
 dulation. Even motion in a circle does not contradict 
 the principle. The application of this principle to the ac- 
 tions of the enunciative organs will explain why 
 certain elements can, and others cannot be pronounced in 
 immediate succession or combination. It is necessary, both 
 in speech and composition, to consider what letters are, 
 of necessity, absolutely mute, in such modes of succession ; 
 and what elements produce a laboured and ungraceful effect, 
 under such circumstances, when they are not omitted in 
 pronunciation. Writers sometimes present combinations 
 to the eye, which no effort of human organs can present, 
 with distinct and intelligible articulation, to the ear. Seve- 
 ral of our elements are in pairs ; being formed by similar 
 positions or actions of the enunciative organs — as liquid 
 and sibilant (V. and F.) — or semi-liquid and sibilant (Z. 
 and S.) — or semi-liquid and mute (D. and T. B. and P. 
 G. and K.) of these td, pb, kg, cannot be uttered iu im 5 
 plicative succession ; and the inverse of these, and the im- 
 mediate combination of the rest, will have either a feeble, or 
 an elaborate and ungraceful effect, or both. No element, 
 but the initial R. (which is a trill, or element formed by a 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY- XXXIX 
 
 circle of action) can be duplicated in immediate intimate 
 succession by the organs, tho often duplicated to the eye ; 
 but several of them can be prolonged, with or without a 
 circumflex accent. Certain elaborate and pedantic orators 
 appeal, in all these cases, to the aukward expedient of pro- 
 nouncing a short vowel between. In good composition 
 these combinations are seldom so used as that dropping 
 one of the elements will injure the perspicuity of the sen- 
 tence, or the impressiveness of the utterance. The ele- 
 ment not uttered is, however, to be so far organically form- 
 ed, as to modify the termination of the previous element. 
 The state of English orthography is eminently obstructive 
 to the progress of English Elocution. 
 
 But the application of the primary law of pulsation and 
 remission most extensively important — is that which refers to 
 the action of the primary organ of vocal sylla- 
 bication, already partially explained in the analysis of 
 the organs of voice. The action and the principle are ex- 
 ceedingly simple ; yet there is great difficulty in compre- 
 hending it without the assistance of patient oral demonstra- 
 tion: — partly because phenomena perpetually recurring 
 are seldom supposed worthy of deliberate analysis; and 
 partly from the complication of constantaneous actions, 
 and simultaneous impressions. A prejudice against this 
 part of the theory may be entertained — from there being no 
 traces of it, even in the minute and elaborate analyses of an- 
 cient writers. This may be accounted for from the preju- 
 dices of the ancients, which precluded the practical prose- 
 cution of anatomical science. It is this law of physical 
 necessity, which produces the natural Thesis (a) and 
 Arsis (.-.) — or heavy and light of human speech ; with the 
 phenomena of which the Greek grammarians were so fa- 
 miliar, tho entirely overlooked by the moderns, till the time 
 of Joshua Steele. 
 
xl INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 DEMONSTRATIONS. The indispensable necessity 
 of the alternations of pulsation and remission in the action 
 of the primary organ of syllabic impulse, and the conse- 
 quent physical alternations of heavy a and light .\ sylla- 
 bles, in all fluent or continuous utterance, may be proved 
 by utterring, even without elementary accompaniment, the 
 simplest impulse (a) upon which a syllable can be engraft- 
 ved ; when it will be found that before such impulse can be re- 
 peated, either a pause ( ) must have taken place, or a sound 
 of another character (.*.) which might have served, also, as 
 the basis of a syllable. But a long succession of syllabic 
 impulses, alternately heavy and light (a •*. A .'• A .*• A •*•) 
 may be uttered without interruption. The organs should 
 be exercised in the demonstration of this principle, so as to 
 complete the association between the technical names, the 
 symbols, and the phaenomena of these alternations. 
 
 1. Succession of heavy and light sounds, without syllabic 
 or literal enunciation — ■ a .*. a .*. A •*. a .'. A .'. A •*. 
 
 £. Heavy sounds in succession — necessarily interrupted 
 by intervening pauses — a , A , A , a , A , a- 
 
 3. Light sounds in succession — necessarily interrupted 
 by intervening pauses — .\ , .\ , .\ , .\ , .% , .-. 
 
 4. The first of these would furnish bases for such words 
 as fancy picture lecture nature acting falsely city civil 
 
 A .*. A .*. A .*. A .\ A ,\ A .'. A .*. A .*. 
 
 symb5l, &c. 
 a .*. 
 
 5. Or such as — 
 
 abhor detest avoid protest pr5m5te pr5vidmg, &c. 
 
 .*. A .\ A .\ A .*. A .*. A ,\ A .*. 
 
 6. The second present bases for such successions of syllables 
 as man , boy , girl , bird , beast , fish , tree , house , 
 
 AAAA A A AA 
 
 and all substantive monosyllables : every substantive syllable, 
 whether compounded or uncompounded with other sylla- 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. xli 
 
 bles, being heavy, by the laws of all rational, and generally 
 by established usage: so, also, substantive, or essential verbs 
 bid , break , storm , kill , fly , love, &c. 
 
 AAA AAA 
 
 7. The third for the bases of such syllables as — 
 
 the , of , to , and , or , he , she , it , and of all par- 
 ticles, prepositions, &c. except when they change their qua- 
 lities under the influence of the emphasis of antithesis. 
 
 8. Syllables of indeterminate po ise, and, therefore, trac- 
 table to the alternations of heavy and light, according to the 
 syllables with which they are associated — 
 
 let let will will can can : 
 a .*. a ,\ a 
 
 which is the case with all auxiliaries, expletives, and mono- 
 syllables of comparative or inter meditae importance. 
 " Let him go where'er he will, man shall still be man." 
 
 A .*. A .'. A .*. A .*. A .". A .*. A 
 
 " Will man let virtue still go bare ? and shall all justice be 
 
 A .*. A .*. A .*. A .*. A .\ A .*. A 
 
 refused ?" 
 .*. A 
 
 Tho the latitudinary syllables, or syllables common in 
 their poise, are sufficiently numerous for all the purposes 
 of convenience in composition, yet is the poise, generally 
 speaking, the most fixed and indispensable of all the pro- 
 perties of English syllables. 
 
 9. Experiments on successions of syllables determinate 
 in their poise, and untractable to alternation, and therefore 
 offending the ear by the attempt to change their quality — ■ 
 Man man man — Man , man , man. Horse foot, 
 
 A .'. A A .*. A .'. A A 
 
 foot horse — Horse , foot, &c. — or horse and foot, and 
 
 A .\ A A A „\ A 
 
 foot and horse. 
 
 % 
 
xlii 
 
 INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 But in the word woman where the sex becomes the po- 
 tential syllable, and a few parallel instances, man becomes 
 consequently light. 
 
 10. Succession of syllables with customary poise — 
 
 " Ye airy sprites who oft as Fancy calls." 
 
 .'. A .*. A .\ A .*. A .'. A 
 
 1 1 . Succession of syllables with inverted poise — 
 " Ye airy sprites who oft as Fancy calls." 
 
 A .*. A A .'. A .*. A 
 
 12. Substantive monosyllables, or any succession of syl- 
 lables all determinate in their affection to the heavy poise, 
 if properly pronounced, with or without intervening con- 
 junctions, occupy precisely the same time in utterance. 
 
 " My hopes , fears , joys , pains all centre in you." 
 
 A .*. A A .*. A .*. A .*. A .*. .*. A 
 
 " My hopes and fears and joys and pains all centre in you." 
 
 A .\ A .*. A .*• A .'. A •'. A .*. .'. A 
 
 ] 3. Either the light or the heavy poise may be interrupt- 
 ed, so as to form two syllables upon each — 
 absolutely, — spiritedly. The light poise may be farther 
 
 'a A J •*. .*. A A .'. .*. 
 
 subdivided — spiritually —beautifully. 
 
 So an apparatus might be provided that should interrupt 
 the progress and return of the pendulum, dividing its alter- 
 nations into sensible fractions ; but the principle of alterna- 
 tion would not thereby be superseded or gainsaid, any more 
 than the necessary pulsation and remission of the larynx in 
 these instances. Two enunciative syllables may be pro- 
 nounced in one vocal syllabication ; or two vocal syllabi- 
 cations during the utterance of one enunciated syllable. 
 
 1 4. These alternations have no necessary connection with 
 long and short, in the Latin language — 
 
 " Arma virumque cano Trojas qui primus ab oris." 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. xliii 
 
 " Ad quern turn Jun5 supplex his vBcibus usa est. 
 
 A .'. A .*. A .'. A .*. A ,\ .\ A 
 
 Nor in the English — 
 
 citizens — revelry — beautiful — colon. 
 
 A A .*• A .*. .*. A ;\ .'. ' A .*. 
 
 " Immortal Nature lifts her changeful form." 
 .♦. a ••. a .'• a .-. a .•• A 
 
 " Ye airy sprites who oft as fancy calls." 
 
 .♦. A .*. A .'. A .*. A .». A 
 
 " Where in their bursting cells my embri5ns rest." 
 
 A .*• .'. A .*. A .'. A .*. A 
 
 " The hawthorn-trees blow in the dews of the mSrnlng, 
 
 A .*. .*. A .'. .*. A .*. .'. A .*. 
 
 " And wild-scatter'd cowslips bedeck the sweet dale." 
 a /. .*. a ••. .*. a .•. •*. A 
 
 Great is your fame 5 citiz ens of London. 
 
 A .*. .*. A ,'. r A a\*. .'. A .*. 
 
 15. Nor with acute and grave — 
 
 " And Brutus fis an honourable mdn." (Affirmatively.) 
 
 A .*. A .*. .*. A .'. .*. .*. A 
 
 " And sure f he is an honourable man ?'( Interrogatively ) 
 
 A .*. A .*. .'. A .'. .*. .*. A 
 
 16. Nor with strong and weak, nor with loud and soft. 
 " Suppose a man speaking to his mistress in the words 
 
 MY dear! dear being, in this place, put substantively, is 
 absolutely affected to the heavy ; therefore, those words must 
 be noted to be pronounced thus, " my | dear." Suppose 
 
 A 
 
 the conversation to have begun in the ordinary degree of 
 loudness, and at the instant he has pronounced my y a person 
 appears in sight, who ought not to hear the next syllable, 
 the speaker can instantly soften his voice, even to a whisper, 
 tho still the word will carry its proper emphasis, and remain 
 heavy y " [it must do so, unless he pauses, from the physical 
 principle already demonstrated.] " So that to write those two 
 
xllV INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 words as directory to an actor, they should be noted thus 
 " f my | } dear !" (? forte, ^ piano. Steele's Pros. Rat. 
 
 2 d edit. p. 89. 
 
 17. The physical cause of this alternation of heavy and 
 light, and its indispensable necessity, may be demonstrated 
 not only by anatomy, but by the united senses of vision and 
 of touch, on examining the action of the living throat, in the 
 act of energetic speaking. 
 
 This principle, and not the mere arrangement of long 
 and short syllables, constitutes the natural basis of rhythmus 
 in language; but the perfection of that rhythmus must 
 depend upon the nice adaptation of quantities, to fill out 
 properly the physical alternation, and preserve a due propor- 
 tion in the cadences and clauses. 
 
 SERIES II. — Principles of Metrical Proportion, and 
 of Rhythmus. 
 
 DEFINITIONS. A cadence is a portion of tuneable 
 sound(or of organic aspiration) beginning heavy and ending 
 light I a .*. I .. A foot is a portion of syllabic enunciation 
 occupying the interval of such cadence | fancy | revelry | 
 
 beautifully | . But part of such interval may pass in hiatus 
 
 or pause : i. e. the action, or the reaction of the primary 
 organ by which the cadence is formed, may be made 
 silently ; in which case the cadence will be occupied by 
 an imperfect foot. A bar is a mere technical invention 
 in elocution, as in music, separating cadence from cadence 
 to the eye. To perform its function faithfully it ought, in 
 general, to be drawn thro' the middle of the letter that arti- 
 culates the cadences ; since the change of cadential action 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 xW 
 
 from light to heavy, as well as from heavy to light, in all 
 graceful utterance, generally takes place in the middle of 
 the element— especially of the liquid : for the whole process 
 of speech is by slides and inflections, not by steps and per- 
 ceptible intervals. 
 
 A cadence may be either in common, or in triple time ; 
 and in strictness of analysis, either of those cadences may 
 happen to be occupied by feet either of even, or of uneven 
 numbers of syllables. 
 
 Common time 
 
 r r 
 
 Nature's 
 
 A 
 
 r r 
 
 changeful 
 
 A 
 
 f 
 form 
 
 The 
 
 last syllable, in this instance, being lengthened by emphasis, 
 occupies the space of a complete alternation. 
 
 r ; t 
 
 " Where is the 
 
 A .'. .'. 
 
 r t t i r c t 
 
 mother that I look d on my 
 
 A .\ .'. I A .% .'. 
 
 Triple time : 
 
 childhood I 
 
 I & Mif. fr 
 
 i r r r i 
 
 slow cadence I hawthorn-trees; quick cadence | revelry [airy. 
 a .-. .♦. I a .-..-. ia 
 
 The 
 
 f f f 
 murmuring 
 
 a .♦. .•. 
 
 r t f 
 
 streamlet winds 
 
 When 
 
 r p 
 
 soul to 
 
 soul and 
 
 r r c I pr 
 
 clear thro the I vale. 
 
 r p | r t\t 
 
 dust to I dust re | t urn. 
 
 a .-. I a .-. r~? 
 
 But as the number of syllabications is much more easily 
 recognized, by the unpractised ear, than the portions of the 
 notes, it is convenient, in the first stages of instruction at least, 
 to contradistinguish the cadences rather by numerical mea- 
 sure, than by harmonic time ; and to consider those verses, in 
 which the generality of the cadences contain a foot of two 
 syllables, as specimens of common measure, and those in 
 which feet of three syllables preponderate, as specimens 
 
xlvi INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 of triple measure. Cadences are sometimes occupied by 
 feet of four syllables, and sometimes, tho very rarely, and 
 that only in conversational prose (tho similar cadences 
 might be admitted in lyric verse) by feet of five syllables : 
 which is perhaps the utmost that can ever be delivered in a 
 single cadence, in any clear and intelligible utterance. 
 
 DENOMINATIONS OF CADENCE. Those 
 cadences are most perfect that are occupied by feet either 
 of two or of three syllables ; i. e. common or triple ca- 
 dences ; and one or other of these must be so prevalent, in 
 every hitherto admitted species of English versification, as 
 to give its primary denomination to the measure. Next to 
 these is the emphatic cadence, or cadence occupied by an 
 emphatic foot ; i. e. by a single protracted syllable, begin- 
 ning heavy and ending light. The frequent use and dispo- 
 sition of this foot, and the apposite adjustment of the 
 metrical balance, by correspondent triple cadences, is one 
 part of the mystery of Dryden, in the mechanism of some 
 of his finest passages — 
 
 " I Arms and the I man, 1 1 sing 
 
 A- 
 
 who 1 I forc'd by J fate^l 
 
 A .-. I A .'. 1 T? 
 
 " | T Aus picious 1 prince I fat I whose naltivity I " — 
 
 a .*. i ' A ;ia.'.i a .*. ia.v 
 
 These varieties are indispensable to blank verse ; parti- 
 cularly at the beginning and the ends of the clauses. Mil- 
 ton uses them, as well as other varieties, sometimes with 
 a stately, and sometimes with a lyrical effect, that is truly 
 magical. 
 
 " Hall I holy | light 1 1 offspring of I heav'n first I born :"\ 
 
 /^T> | A /. | A .'. I A .'. .'. I A .'.J rj-7p J 
 
 or with rhetorical emphasis 
 
 " Hail holy light — I offspring of! heaven first born ! I" 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 xlvii 
 
 The third in degree, is the accelerated cadence; or foot 
 of four syllables, the whole, or part of which, will necessa- 
 rily be accelerated, or more than ordinarily short: — 
 
 i s i r n r f i r i i*'& \t | 
 
 I " citizens of I London."| " Sympathies of | soul?" | 
 
 I " With J frolic I dance, and I revelry, and | song, " 
 
 i L i r * it i ? J c M pi 
 
 J " To | momentary j consciousness ajwoke | &c. 
 
 Of these four kinds, Milton has composed the exquisite 
 rhythmus of the Paradise Lost; using the last sparingly, 
 but with admirable effect ; still preserving, by its prepon- 
 derance, the common cadence as his standard measure ; to 
 which, in point of integral quantity, all the others must 
 conform. 
 
 " Rocks7|caves7|lakes7ifens1|bogs1jdens and|shades of|death! 
 
 curse | 
 
 A .*. I 
 
 good ; | 
 
 <( A I universe of | death j f which 
 
 A .'. 
 
 " 1 Crelated 
 
 ffor 
 
 evil 
 
 A.\ 
 
 God by 
 only 
 
 I A •" 
 
 evil I — 
 . 'a.\I 
 
 " Where | all | life | dies | — | death | lives | f and | nature | breeds j 
 t( Per| verse, | all | monstrous | — | all pro|digious | things ; | 
 u Aibominable f injutterable fand worse I 
 
 | A .-..•..♦. ...|A .-..'. .-. .'. I 
 
 M Then | fables | yet have | feign'd, or | fear conjceiv'd | 
 
 u — jGorgonsand Hydras \1 and Chijmeras dire, "ist edit. 
 
 The following couplet is, I believe, perfectly unique ; 
 for, in thirty years research, I have not found a parallel. 
 
 " That to the hTghth of I this great 
 
 A .'. .*. A .\ | A 
 
 " I may as sert ejternal providence. 
 
 A .*. .*. A .*. I A .*. A .*. .*. 
 
 Milton uses also, very freely, an appogiatura, or syllable 
 
 argument 
 
 A .*. .*. 
 
Xlviii INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 more than is counted in the bar : those who would know 
 how freely, must look into the orginal edition ; not to the 
 corrections of modern editors. Dryden, also. Some of 
 the finest verses in Pope result from this violation of his 
 own rules. These appogiatura? constitute an essential part 
 of the expressive harmony of the best writers, and should 
 never, either in typography or utterance, be superseded by 
 the barbarous expedient of elision. In the greater part of 
 the ensuing selections, the appogiatura is marked, and in the 
 Vestibule of Eloquence, still more particularly — (for wanf 
 of a better notation) by what is vulgarly called the short 
 accent — 
 
 " Girt amiable — a scene of pastoral joy." — p. 47- 
 
 " Covering the beach, and blackening all the strand." — 
 
 p. 82. Dryden, 
 " His genuine and less guilty wealth to explore." — 
 
 p. 87. Denham. 
 " The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn." — 
 
 p. 106. Gray. 
 s< Ungrateful offering to the immortal powers." — 
 
 p. 162. Pope. 
 [See Appendix to " Letter to Cline" p. 158 to 176.] 
 
 The foot of five syllables is a base foot; used only in the 
 cadences of familiar prose ; and, even there, it results as much 
 from the licensed carelessness of the speaker, as from any 
 necessities in the language and arrangement. " If the | 
 soul 1 be | happily dis|posed f | ev'ry thing becomes | 
 
 / A~ A* .*. .*. .\ 
 
 capable of affording enter |tainment. j " In graver 
 
 composition, or a more serious mood, this very sentence 
 would be thus delivered — " If the | s5ul | f be [ happily 
 dis|posed | — | ev-er-y | thing 1 | fbe|comes | capable f 
 f of affording ] entertainment. | " 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. X llX 
 
 But verse admits of less latitude, (to the reader as well 
 as to the writer ;) and even Shakespeare, in the utmost 
 freedom of colloquial variety, never goes beyond the ca- 
 dence of four syllables. 
 
 " He had a | fever | when he was in | Spain !" j 
 
 A .-. .'. .*. 
 
 English syllables differ, in quantity, in all the latitude of 
 from eight to one. The integral feet, by which these ca- 
 dences are occupied, are capable of many technical discri- 
 minations : certainly of all that are enumerated in the Clas- 
 sical Gradus. Many of our syllables (like those of every 
 other language) are common ; t. e. liable to be long, or 
 short, according to circumstances of emphasis, arrange- 
 ment, and association. The absolute quantity of every 
 syllable (as to the positive time it shall occupy in utterance) 
 is latitudinary, to a certain extent, (or we could not some- 
 times speak slower, and sometimes faster ;) but not the 
 comparative quantity, with reference to the other syllables 
 of the cadence, &c. There is, therefore, no difficulty in 
 giving to a trochee, or an iambus, the same entire quantity 
 with a spondee ; or to a spondee, the same with a trochee, 
 &c. tho differing in the proportions of their integral parts. If, 
 therefore, the^ standard, or preponderating cadences, be 
 spondees, — as in Milton : 
 
 " Of | Man's first | disobedience, | /"and the | fruit | 
 
 a .*. 
 " Of | that for| bidden | Tree, whose | m5rtal | taste 
 " Brought | Death | into the | w5rld,T and [ all our [ w5e" I 
 
 "aT^ a .-. .-. 
 the whole measure of the passage will be stately and so- 
 lemn, and the trochaic and iambic feet must have, in deli- 
 very, (but without injury to their integral proportions) an 
 increased quantity. If the trochee be the prevailing foot, 
 
 h 
 
NTRODUCTOTIY ESSAY. 
 
 the cadences of that passage, must preserve the same brisk- 
 ness of measure ; and the spondees, tho still maintaining 
 their syllabic equality, must be pronounced comparatively 
 short. This must, also, have been the case, in several of the 
 Greek and Latin measures ; or they have else no regular 
 time, or proportion of cadence. 
 
 As every long syllable is not equally long, and every short 
 syllable is not equally short, some trochaics may be inherently 
 as long as some spondees. Spojidees may, also, be pure 
 (or of exact equality in their syllables,) — as " | Man's 
 first | diso|bedience;" | or impure (both long, but not 
 equally long) — as " | all our | woe:" and this is a principle 
 inherent in the nature of all languages : for syllables are not 
 meted out by a Winchester measure, according to an arbi- 
 trary standard of critical legislation ; but derive their quan- 
 tities from the accidental association of their elements, and 
 other independent circumstances. Some syllables, also, in 
 this, as in every other language, are either comparatively long, 
 or comparatively short at discretion, or according to circum- 
 stances of association, emphasis, &c. This is particularly the 
 case with the possessive pronouns— as our, in the cadence 
 above re-quoted from Milton ; where it becomes long, from 
 the protracted action of the voice, in passing from liquid to 
 liquid of such remote formation, and from the energy of 
 voice to be collected for the solemn close upon the word 
 woe. In such succession and composition as the following, 
 it would be short. 
 
 All our j sighs and | all our | tears, | 
 Are they | not a | folly ? | 
 
 When the | preacher | care ap|pears, | 
 Drink and | make him | jolly ! | 
 There is great difficulty in analyzing the minute quantities 
 and proportions of syllables, from the extreme shortness of 
 time occupied by each, in due pronunciation. In ordinary 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. li 
 
 discourse, or reading, rather more than three syllables are 
 pronounced in a second ; that is to say, the average length of 
 a syllable is about eighteen-thirds ; which is at the rate of two 
 hundred syllables in a minute ; without allowing any thing for 
 pauses. So that the actual average quantity of a syllable, 
 cannot be admitted to be more than the fourth part of a se- 
 cond, or the two hundred and fortieth part of a minute. But 
 if the longest of such syllables, in ordinary discourse, occupies 
 but a second (the sixtieth part of a minute I) and the shortest, 
 but an eighth part of that time, i. e. the four hundred and 
 eightieth part of a minute, it is more astonishing that we 
 should be able to take cognizance of such syllables at all, 
 than that it should require long habits of patient and severe 
 analysis to enable us, in any degree, to detect their compa- 
 rative proportions. Hence the more obvious and intrusive 
 qualities of heavy and light, have been substituted, in general 
 calculation, for long and short; and poise has been con- 
 founded with quantity. 
 
 Syllables, in analytical criticism, might be distinguished 
 in their quantities, — 1. as emphatic (--, =f), like the word 
 
 A-\ 
 
 Hail, in " Hail holy light," &c. 2. long (-, = f ), as both 
 the syllables of every pure spondee ; 3. common (or long 
 and short at discretion) ; 4. intermediate (neither absolutely 
 long, like the syllables of the spondee, or the first of a 
 trochee, nor absolutely short, like the second and third of 
 a pure dactyl). It may be regarded as a dotted quaver ( £)> 
 but in metrical notation the most minute, might be left with- 
 out any mark of quantity. 
 
 There are syllables also which may be regarded as dotted 
 crotchets (- . , = f) ; and such frequently enter into the 
 composition of our trochees, in solemn or spondaical pas- 
 sages. The following might so be read with great propri- 
 ety — "My | hopes and | fears and | jojs and j pains" — &o 
 
hi 
 
 INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 [The feet in which such syllables are used (particularly the 
 former) may be considered as impure: the cadences in 
 which they occur will never have as harmonious a flow, as 
 those that are occupied by pure spondees, trochees, dactyls, 
 &c. but the latter may have a very emphatic, and therefore, 
 occasionally, a very happy effect. There is nothing in these 
 latter to offend the instinctive feeling of mathematical pro- 
 portion.] 5. Short syllables (uy= £) ; and 6. accelerated, 
 or very short ( I ); which might be noted, for metrical illus- 
 tration, by a dot over the consonant, that it might not inter- 
 fere with the tittle of the i. But these distinctions once 
 understood, the ordinary notations of quantity, with the mere 
 duplication of the long (--) for the emphatic syllable, 
 would sufficiently answer every practical purpose of proso- 
 dial indication : — the fact being — that if the poise be cor- 
 rectly preserved, and the equal quantities of the entire ca- 
 dences ; and the syllables that should be long, be not rendered 
 absolutely short, nor the syllables that should be short, made 
 absolutely long, there is little danger of mistake in the mi- 
 nute proportions ; — or^ at any rate, the ear is satisfied, with- 
 out attention to further minutiae. In every science, whatever 
 is minute and subtile in analysis, is important only to the 
 professor, or the critical theorist : who must be able to sa- 
 tisfy himself, and to satisfy (if possible) the curious objector, 
 —that every part of his system is capable of demonstrative 
 explanation. The teacher of anatomy should know the 
 name and office of every fibre, bone and ligament of the bo- 
 dy ; but he may be a very good practical surgeon, who has 
 forgotten a great deal of this pedantry. 
 
 Among the ordinary denominations of feet, some are more, 
 and others less excellent. Some fitter for one position in a 
 line, some for another. The explanation of this would em- 
 brace the whole art and science of versification. 
 
 The Pyrrhic is always an imperfect foot ; can be no 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. liii 
 
 standard for any distinct species of metre ; and ought never 
 to be used, in heroic measures, but after a pause, a caesura, 
 or a protracted emphasis ; or when the preceding cadence, 
 terminates with an element upon which the voice may 
 agreeably dwell, without any appearance of effort or affecta- 
 tion ; or in combination with two other syllables, as part of 
 an accelerated cadence, in a line where it is properly coun- 
 terbalanced by emphatic cadences, or some other peculiari- 
 ty of the rhythmus. United with a short unemphatic trochee, 
 it makes the penultimate cadence of a sapphic line — 
 " | citizens of | London." 
 
 " Sirrah I | hate luxurious tt|aras, | 
 
 " Hate the cl5se | wreathing | coronals of | Liuden, | 
 
 " Hunt not au|tumnal j labyrinths, to | find the | 
 
 Lingering | rose-bud." 
 
 LAWS OF CADENTIAL UTTERANCE. The 
 
 first and most indispensable requisites of intelligible speech, 
 are, of course, the complete formation and clear articulation 
 of the respective elements. The grace and excellence of ac- 
 complished elocution, must depend, 1. upon Measure, or 
 the just proportion and char articulation of cadences or 
 feet. 2. On Melody, or the proper adjustment of the 
 accentual slides, and other musical qualities, to the succes- 
 sive elements and syllables. 3. On Eupho n y, or the happy 
 coalescence of those elements and syllables, and the due ap- 
 portionment of quantities to every element of the respective 
 syllables and words, according to their tuneable qualities, or 
 harmonic capabilities ; and 4, on Expression, or the due 
 assignment and distribution of the several kinds of emphases, 
 with the proper intonations of pathos, emotion, sentiment, 
 
 The laws of cadential utterance are those that should 
 first be understood. Many anxioms of practical impor- 
 
liv 
 
 INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 tance might be laid down for the regulation of the speaker, 
 as well as the writer, in this respect. The most indispensa- 
 ble are the following : — 
 
 1. That in reading, reciting, or speaking any sentence, 
 whether of verse or prose, the enunciation is not to pro- 
 ceed by thesis and pause alone (as the generality of boys 
 are first taught at school) 
 
 Be a good boy; do not thumb your book; 
 
 A .'. A .*. A .'. A .\ A .*. A .'. A .'. A .*. A 
 
 but by regular alternations of heavy and light (except where 
 there is an interruption by grammatical pause, &c.) 
 
 2. That in reading, or reciting, whether verse or prose, 
 the syllables (such only excepted as are latitudinary in their 
 poise, i. e. common in their affection either to thesis or 
 arsis) be not rendered discretionarily light or heavy, from 
 any notion of humouring the rhythmus, but according to 
 the fixed qualities of such syllables, in graceful spontaneous 
 utterance : as far, how r ever, as the latitude of graceful prose 
 can go, the reader and the poet are, of course, at liberty, in 
 the construction or the delivery of verse. 
 
 3. That, for the accomplishment of this object, the syl- 
 lables that, either by nature or custom, are absolutely af- 
 fected to thesis, or heavy, be pronounced during the pulsa- 
 tive effort of the primary organ ; and the syllables which by 
 nature or custom are determined to arsis, or light, be pro- 
 nounced during the remission, or reaction of that organ. 
 
 4. That the latitudinary monosyllables be pronounced 
 either heavy or light, as the syllables with which they are 
 combined, and the consequent state of the organs may re- 
 quire. 
 
 5. That the progress of the voice, in the formation of 
 the cadences, whether in reading or speaking, be regularly 
 and perceptibly from heavy to light, with whatever syllable 
 the line, or the sentence may begin. 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. I* 
 
 " Ye I airy I sprites who I oft as I fancy I calls. I " 
 
 .'. I A .*. I A .*, I 4 .*. I A •'. I A I 
 
 " On I this ac count, 1 I f says I he to Lolrenzo, I f I J 
 
 .*. I A .*. A .*. I A .*. i A .*. .'. J A .•. I A .*. I 
 
 can'not suf |ficiently adlmire 1 1 f your I highly esjteemed J 
 
 friend 1 1 Mariano. ] * 
 
 Tho the alternation be inevitable, the mode of marking 
 the cadence is elective. Cadences can be divided to the 
 ear, as well as to the eye, from light to heavy, without in- 
 version of poise, or violation of quantities. 
 
 " Ye ai ry sprites l who oft I as fanjcy calls. | " 
 
 .*. A .*. A » .*• A I .'. A .'. A 
 
 " On this I account ! says he I to Loren|zo, I I can 
 
 A i .'. A l .*. A I .'. .'. A .*. I .*. A 
 
 not, &c. 
 
 The difference, orally demonstrated, will be obvious to 
 every one. One is all impressive smoothness ; the other, 
 all abruption and harshness. Many satisfactory reasons 
 may be assigned for this. 
 
 6. In all smooth and harmonious utterance, the time 
 occupied by each cadence, in a given sentence, or passage, 
 is to be the same, whether the cadence contain one syllable 
 or several; but the momentum, in different passages, 
 should vary, according to the sentiment and subject : as it 
 may also, occasionally, according to the taste or convenience 
 of the speaker or reader. 
 
 7. Pauses and Emphases increase the number, but 
 must not alter the proportion of the cadences. 
 
 " Ye I airy I sprites J — I who 1 1 oft as | fancy I calls, j " 
 
 DEFINITIONS of the Rhythmus of Verse and Prose. 
 1. Rhythmus consists in an arrangement of cadences, 
 or metrical feet, in clauses more or less distinguish- 
 
lvi 
 
 INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 able by the ear, and of more or less obvious proportion, in 
 their periods and responses. If a discourse, or paragraph, 
 were to be composed, or delivered, without such clausular 
 divisions or responses, tho it were ever so perfect in its 
 metre, it would have no rhythm us. Rhythmus is to ca- 
 dences and feet, what cadence is to elements and syllables. 
 2. Verse is constituted of a regular succession of like 
 cadences, or of a limited variety of cadences, divided by 
 grammatical pauses, emphases, and casura, into obviously 
 proportioned clauses ; so as to present sensible responses, at 
 proportioned intervals, to the ear. The lines of well-con- 
 structed verse, if the ear of the reader be properly educated, 
 would require no assistance from typographical arrangement ; 
 and the ear of critical sensibility frequently detects a very dif- 
 ferent arrangement of actual lines, from that which the 
 typography presents to the eye. Collins's Ode to Even- 
 ing. Southey's Curse of Kehama, &c. A line may con- 
 sist of one, two, or three clauses : but successions of lines 
 of single clauses, constitute a feeble and base kind of 
 Rhythmus, especially when terminated byrhymes. 3. Prose 
 differs from verse, not in the proportion, or in the 
 individual character of its cadences ; but in the indis- 
 criminate variety of the feet that occupy those cadences, 
 and the irregularity of its clausular divisions. It is com- 
 posed of all sorts of cadences, arranged without attention 
 to obvious rule, and divided into clauses that have no 
 obviously ascertainable proportion, and present no re- 
 sponses to the ear at any legitimate or determined in- 
 tervals. Fragments of all kinds of verse may be introduced 
 into prose, and cannot well be avoided ; but a line and 
 half, or three clauses of any one species of verse, cannot 
 come in succession, without destroying the purity of its 
 character. The following passage, in one of MivWalter 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. Ivil 
 
 Scott's Dissertations, in the " Minstrelsy of the Border/' 
 
 was meant for prose. — 
 
 a The minority of James the fifth, f presents a melancholy 
 
 A .'. A .*. A .'. •'. A .'• A 
 
 scene. Scotland — thro' all its extent, felt the truth of the 
 'a a? .-. a .-. .-. a .*. .\ a .*. .-. 
 
 adage, f that the country is wretched, whose prince is a 
 
 A .\ .*. .*. A .*. .'. A .'. .*. A 
 
 Child." 
 
 A 
 
 The first member of the sentence consists of a compli- 
 cated clause 4 + 4, of like, or responding cadences : the 
 most perfect of all metrical divisions in common measure. 
 Put the word green in the place of fifth, and the most 
 vulgar ear will immediately recognize the couplet. The 
 next member, from the potential accent and suspensive 
 pause upon the nominative, presents a complicated clause 
 or couplet, of the most perfect of all the rhythmical divi- 
 sions of triple measure 3 + 3 — 6. 3 + 3 = 6. 
 
 " The minority of | James the | fifth | 
 " Presents a | melancholy | scene. | " 
 " Scotland — 
 
 " Thro | all its ex|tent, | felt the | truth of the | adage | 
 " That the | country is | wretched | whose | prince is a | child.") 
 The rhythmical divisions of clauses, in verse, are 2, 3, 4, 
 or 6 : lines may be complicated of two, or more clauses. 
 2 + 2 = 4 + ^ + 2=4 = 8 ; or 4 + 4 = 8: 3 + 3 = 6; 
 2+4=6; 4+2=6; 2+2+2=6: 3+3+2=8; 
 2 + 3 + 3 = 8; 3 + 2 + 3 = 8; 2 + 4 + 2 = 8. Of these 
 some are more, and others less noble and excellent. 
 2 + 3 = 5; and 3 + 2 = 5. are a baser sort of lines, unfit 
 for the higher species of composition. 3 + 4=7; 
 2 + 2 + 3 = 7. are utterly base. Undivided clauses of 5 or 
 7 cadences, are completely abhorrent to all ideas of versi- 
 
lviil INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 fication. Clauses are divided by percussion, or by caesurae ; 
 caesurae are marked by grammatical pause, or by empha- 
 sis ; emphases are marked by force, by quantity, or by pe- 
 culiar inflection of accent. 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL APPLICATIONS. The 
 Theory of Musical Proportions, as applied both to Elocu- 
 tion and to Song, and the causes of our satisfaction in 
 the phaenomena they present, are capable of explanation 
 upon physical and philosophical principles. Exclusive 
 delight from Cadences of Common and of Triple Time. 
 Abortive attempts to account for this phenomenon. Exa- 
 mination of an ingenious passage in Mr. Steele's " Proso- 
 dia Rationalis," referring to Analogies of Geometrical 
 proportion. (See Appendix to the Letter to Mr. Cline. 
 p. 177, &c.) Recurrence to Physiological principles — Phy- 
 sical Analogies— Universal Sympathy of the Executive 
 and Perceptive Organs — Illustrations — from the Fine Arts 
 — from Motion, Attitude, Phaenomena of Pronunciation, &c. 
 Application. The only modes of action convenient to 
 the primary Organ of vocal Impulse, produce Cadences of 
 Common and of Triple measure. Predilection of the Ear, 
 from sympathy and habit. The fundamental laws of Musical 
 proportion, are derived from physical necessities in the 
 organs of voice. 
 
 SERIES III. — Impediments of Speech. 
 
 The treatment of Impediments, embraces many impor- 
 tant considerations, besides those that have immediate 
 reference to what is usually comprehended under the term 
 elocution : as to the constitution, age, attainments, moral and 
 intellectual habits, &c. of the pupil. It requires a profound 
 knowledge of human nature, only to be acquired by long and 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. llX 
 
 acute observance of mankind, assisted by habits of philoso- 
 phical analysis, and researches into the sources and varie- 
 ties of mental action and developement. ( See Letter to Mr. 
 Cline.) Many of the leading principles are universal in 
 their efficacy ; but almost every individual case requires 
 a different mode of application. 
 
 The following exhibits a slight outline only, or general 
 heads of the public Lectures heretofore given on the Elo- 
 cutionary part of the treatment. So, also, in the four 
 succeeding series. 
 
 Impediments may be divided into Natural and Habitual. 
 
 I. Preliminary Dissertation on the use and abuse of the 
 term Nature : and the illusive distinction between the phy- 
 sical and acquired powers of Man. Importance of Ety- 
 mology to all accurate disquisition, Critical, Moral, or Phi- 
 losophical. Obstruction to the progress of Elocution, in 
 modern times, from confusion and misapplication of terms 
 of Art — Contrast, in this respect, between the Ancients and 
 the Moderns. Of the Term Natural, as applied to de- 
 fects and perfections of delivery — Habitual ineptitude con- 
 founded with insurmountable defect. Definition and Illus- 
 trations. 
 
 Query — What are the Natural Powers of Man? — 1. 
 The Powers with which Man is born I — 2. The Powers 
 that result from the circumstances to which he is born ? 
 Improvability a part of the Nature of Man. Objection — 
 Acquisition bounded by Physical organization. Ans. Phy- 
 sical, as well as Moral Improvability, is part of the Nature 
 of Man. 
 
 II. Importance of early and judicious cultivation of the 
 Physical Faculties — Extent and Limits of dormant capa- 
 bilities ? — Powers and Capacities scarcely more innate than 
 ideas. 
 
Il INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 III. Progressive developement of the Organs of Sense 
 by cultivation y fyc. Infancy — Optics — Seeing single \\ ith 
 two eyes ? — seeing objects erect ? — Perception of distances? 
 Concentration of Sensorial Power to particular Organs, 
 by mental application (Illustrations.) — Ear of the Musician 
 ■ — Eye of the painter — Touch and Hearing of the Blind : — 
 to particular objects, among several cognizable by the same 
 organs (Illustrations.) — Similar Phenomena in the more 
 abstract operations of the senses — Memory of the Man of 
 business — of the ^Student, &c. Consequent importance of 
 early direction. Developement of particular powers by 
 accidental excitements (Instances and Illustrations.) 
 
 IV. Necessity of particular excitement, for develope- 
 ment of particular faculties. Chaos of uncultivated Or- 
 gans : Savage of Aveyron : Peter the Wild Boy, &c. Case 
 of Augusta Wilson, aged 6 years — Speechless, though nei- 
 ther dumb nor deaf : Speculations on that case : Confirma- 
 tions : Case of a Girl at Kendal, who had remained speech- 
 less till she was five years old, and was afterwards excited 
 to the free exercise of her organs (Communicated by Mr. 
 Gough.) Cases communicated by Dr. James, of Carlisle : 
 — Child remaining speechless after recovery of hearing. 
 Twin children of the Rev. Mr. B. remaining speechless till 
 between 4 and 5, from early initiation into the language of 
 signs, and afterwards excited to the free use of speech by 
 proper regulations. Conclusion — Developement of facul- 
 ties, &c. dependant on stimulus of necessity, andeducational 
 influence of Circumstances. Universal Analogies. Import- 
 ance of judicious superintendence in the Nursery and the 
 Cradle. 
 
 [The cases here referred to (together with several 
 others) will be found, at large, in the " Letter to 
 Mr. Cline."] 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. lxi 
 
 V. ORGANIC DEFECTS = Natural Impediments, 
 Query, How far can man be defective in elocutionary or- 
 ganization, without being defective in the powers of vital 
 action ? Principal Vocal organs = Vital organs. Lu ngs: 
 Revivification of the Blood, as it returns to the Heart, by 
 decomposition of Air in the Cells of that Organ: Compa- 
 rative quantity of Air requisite for this purpose, and for 
 production of powerful sound. Differences of conforma- 
 tion, &c. less important than habitual management — In- 
 stances, Senatorial, Theatrical, &c. Debility of respiratory 
 muscles remedied by Elocutionary exercise and manage- 
 ment — Instances. Trachea, or Windpipe. Larynx, 
 &c. Valvular elasticity and muscular irritability indispens- 
 able to the functions of Deglutition and Respiration : De- 
 fect of cartilaginous structure unknown : Strength and tone, 
 as of other parts, from exercise. Pomum Adami — Expe- 
 riments on inferior animals — Result. Deficiencies in the 
 human subject unknown. Primary Organs sufficient for 
 life, sufficient for elocution. 
 
 VI. Secondary Organs — Nostrils — Maxillaries — 
 Roof— Fissure rare, but formidable — Remedy to be spoken 
 of in connexion with another organ. [See Uvula, 8cc] 
 
 VII. Enunciative Organs. Tongue — Imputed 
 defects = Cant of Ignorance. Tightness of the FraBnum — 
 Simple operation — precaution — Mischievous officiousness 
 of nurses. Teeth — deficiencies and Disarrangements — 
 consequences — Remedy — Application of artificial Organs. 
 Ill position of the jaw — Underhuug — Overhung — conse- 
 quences — Correctible in early youth — obviated, in some 
 degree, by accommodating position of the tongue — (Gra- 
 phic illustrations.) 
 
 VIII. Lips — Hare Lip — single — double — complicat- 
 ed with malconformation of the upper Jaw : — Case com- 
 
lxii INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 municated by Mr. Branson of Doncaster (Graphic illustra- 
 tion) — Operation and Cure. [See letter to Cline.~] 
 
 IX. Uvula — obliteration, partial, or entire (generally 
 connected with fissure of the Palate — frequently with the 
 Hare Lip) — hitherto regarded as irremediable — opinions 
 of eminent physicians, surgeons, &c. upon this subject. 
 Practical demonstration of Remedy — Case — Golden Pa- 
 late, &c. — Graphic representations — Advantages — Defects 
 — Suggested improvements — Education of the natural or- 
 gans to co-operation with their artificial associate. [More 
 recent practice has demonstrated — that, in these cases, Ar- 
 tificial organs are seldom, if ever, necessary. The tongue 
 may be taught to perform the elocutionary functions of the 
 Uvula and Velum Palati, &c. Practical experience au- 
 thorizes the declaration — that even the tone of the voice 
 may be rendered agreeable, where there are deficiencies of 
 the Palate. Alm®st the whole process of Enunciation may 
 be carried on in the Larynx. The utterance is always most 
 pleasing in which most dependance is placed upon the ac- 
 tion of that organ. Artificial organs are apt to be trouble- 
 some, and even dangerous. The experiment should at 
 least be tried, how far the object of distinct and tuneable 
 utterance can be accomplished without them.] 
 
 Conclusion. There is no defect of physical confor- 
 mation, in these respects, that does not admit of palliation 
 from elocutionary science. There are few, if any, that do 
 not admit of adequate redress. 
 
 X. Habitual Impediments. Lisping^ Deadening 
 the sharp sounds by protrusion of the Tongue, &c. Gra- 
 dations. The Long-tongued : the Short-tongued, &c. 
 Speaking thick — thickening and shortening the tongue 
 when it ought to be flattened and elongated: Remedy: 
 Anecdote. Snuffling = Speaking through the nose : 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. lxili 
 
 Causes : Open Mouth, hanging lip, &c. Physiognomy of 
 Elocution. 
 
 XI. Class of Serious Impediments, indistinctly de- 
 nominated Stammering or Stuttering — spasmodic inter- 
 ruption of the action of one or more of the organs of speech, 
 during the effort of Enunciation ; accompanied always with 
 some degree of hurry, or embarrassment of mind ; and fre- 
 quently with considerable agitation of the whole nervous 
 system. More an intellectual than an organic disease. 
 Original Causes : Terror and Imitation. Admonition to 
 Parents and Tutors. Especial importance of patience and 
 forbearance in first steps of Tuition. 
 
 XII. Classification. Several distinct species of impediments 
 referable to distinct Organs. Stammerings Ineptitude, or 
 occasional indocility of the lips : — Physiognomy — Reme- 
 dies (Graphic Illustrations.) Stuttering ^Ineptitude, 
 or occasional indocility of the Tongue; generally with 
 forcible protrusion against the teeth. Physiognomy : Re- 
 medies. Frequent complication. Throttling, or ob- 
 struction in the guttural Organs. Constipation, or 
 suppression of the Voices A spasmodic agitation, appa- 
 rently affecting the Bronchial Tubes, or the Muscles in 
 the neighbourhood of those organs, and impeding the pas- 
 sage of the air from the Lungs to the Larynx, during some 
 ill-directed effort for enunciation. Similar phenomena are 
 produced by injudicious inhalation, or by tenacity of breath, 
 making a vacuum in the mouth, &c. General Causes 
 — Hurried violation of the proportions of musical cadence, 
 and of the physical principle of pulsation and remission : 
 Proofs : Seldom any impediment in song : comparative 
 facility of verse. Interesting Cases from personal observance. 
 Induction : Remedies. Persons frequently continue to have 
 impediments in their conversation, when they have entirely 
 
lxiv INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 surmounted them in reading and reciting. But when so 
 much is once attained, perseverance and judicious superin- 
 tendence will ultimately master the rest. 
 
 XIII. Advantages of verse over prose, in forming the 
 organs to easy and harmonious action: Reasons. Pre- 
 caution, against Grub-Street Poetry for the instruction of 
 children : — against the usual Pedantic and Bell-man Styles 
 of reading. Recommendation of well-printed, and well- 
 punctuated extracts from the best poets. 
 
 XIV. Impediments frequently complicated with nervous 
 affections, and some degree of Constitutional debility : 
 frequently with Moral Temper and disposition : Reciprocal 
 action and reaction of Moral, Intellectual, and Physical 
 Causes. Cases. (.See Letter to Mr. Cline.) Co-operation 
 of medical with elocutionary treatment. 
 
 Conclusion. Impediments, however complicated, are 
 surmountable. Indispensable preliminaries — in the Tutor 
 — in the Pupil. Testimonies. Facts on record. Per- 
 sonal experience : Notorious instances. Persons originally 
 defective in voice and utterance, have attained the very 
 highest excellence of Oratorical accomplishment — Cicero ; 
 Demosthenes. Extraordinary case of Mr. Flood, the ce- 
 lebrated Irish orator. 
 
 SERIES IF. —Education of the Voice. 
 
 I. Interesting phenomena of the Variety of Human Voices. 
 Differences not accountable for from texture and formation 
 of the Glottis, and Diameter of the Larynx. Reference 
 to Anatomical Descriptions : Theory of Unisons and se- 
 condary vibrations. 
 
 II. Tone, or Specific MoDULATioN = Combina- 
 tions, more or less complicated, and in different proportions, 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. IxV 
 
 of Palatial, Nasal, Maxillar and Pectoral Tones. Causes 
 of Dissonance — of Harmony: Varieties inevitable — from 
 complication of the Instrument. Gross peculiarities, not 
 so much from Physical Necessity, as from Negligence, 
 Habit and Imitation : evinced in characteristic tones of 
 Nations — Provinces — Neighbourhood ; — of Professions — 
 of Sects. 
 
 III. Mode of Improvement. Reference to physical 
 facts and principles : Erroneous maxims : Familiarizing the 
 ear to the varieties of harmonious sound. Examples of 
 Cicero, &c. 
 
 IV. Importance of cultivating and improving the tone 
 of the voice : Connection with Temper and Moral cha- 
 racter — with first impressions : Instances of the operation 
 of mere tone and volubility : Brilliant talents obscured by 
 want of these : Instances. Species of Elocution connected 
 with improvement of Tone. 
 
 V. Power, or Force = that capacity and exertion of 
 the Vocal Organs by which great impression is made on 
 the Ear of the Auditor, and the sonorous vibrations are 
 diffused through an extensive space. Loudness contradis- 
 tinct from Force : Proofs and Instances. Illustrative De- 
 finitions: Loudness from throwing out a great quantity 
 of breath, by mere exertion of the Diaphragm and Inter- 
 costal muscles, while the fibres of the Glottis, &c. are 
 comparatively relaxed. Force from rigid compression of 
 the fibres connected with the primary organ of vocal im- 
 pulse ; by which means a smaller quantity of breath pro- 
 duces stronger and more distinct vibrations, the impulses of 
 which, though less harsh and stunning, diffuse themselves 
 through a wider circuit. Co-operation of position and 
 tension of such portions of the frame as affect the secondary 
 
 k 
 
lxVl INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 organs. Illustration — the mouth-piece and body of the 
 Clarionet. Mode of Cultivation. 
 
 VI. Compass or Variety. Three-fold application — 
 ] . Range of the Voice thro degrees of Loud and Soft — 
 '2. thro* the gradation of High and Lozv in the musical 
 Scale — 3. Flexure of Tone or modulative pathos. Advan- 
 tages — to the speaker — to the hearer — to illustration of the 
 the sense. Application of the varieties of Loud and Soft 
 to different parts and clauses of Sentences — to different 
 portions of a discourse — to classes of words — substantives 
 — verbs — pronouns, conjunctions, articles, &c. — of acute 
 and grave accents to syllables and words — to the close of 
 Sentences, or final cadence : affirmative, interrogatory and 
 exclamatory accents. 
 
 VII. Cultivation of compass of voice, with respect to 
 loud and soft — with respect to range in the Gamut — of 
 slides and imperceptible gradations — of striking transitions 
 -^-of helps from musical science and musical perception. 
 
 VIII. Of the Pitch and Master Key of the voice 
 — the level or medium tone, both with respect to force and 
 loudness, and to the degree of elevation in the Musical 
 Scale, in which the general strain of a discourse should be 
 delivered. Influence of the prelusive note, and first sen- 
 tence. 
 
 IX. Considerations. 1. Compass of the Speaker — con- 
 venience of medium pitch — If too high, harshness and 
 exhaustion (instances,) too low, dry and soporific. 2. Ex- 
 tent of the Audience — Structure of edifice : Echoes, &c. 
 3. Nature of the subject — Digressions and flights of En- 
 thusiasm. Difficulties from want of musical science and 
 musical perception, in modern Orators — from fluctuations 
 of animal spirits, &c. 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. lxvii 
 
 X. Pitch Pipe of the ancients (Gracchus, &c.) 
 Use of that instrument — Mistakes of modern writers — 
 Censure of the fastidious prejudices of modern times that 
 preclude the revival of the Oratorical usages of Anti- 
 quity. 
 
 XI. Pathetic Flexure of voice; or modulative 
 Variety. Degrees and descriptions of monotony. — 1. The 
 Harking or Schoolboy Style = Hurried succession of 
 pulsations, without remiss syllables, change of note, 
 or varieties of loud and soft. 2. Monotonous Level of 
 the Parish Clerks Notes or syllables of different quanti- 
 ties, and alternations of heavy and light, but without inflec- 
 tion of acute and grave. 5. The Clerical Drawls Portions 
 of half enunciated sound, uniformly divided in equal quan- 
 tities, commencing always in the same heavy tone and 
 terminating in imperfect murmurs. 4. The Cathedral 
 Chaunt — stated alternations. 5. The Humdrum Style — 
 Stationary alternations of loud and soft, of high and low ; 
 or on stated portions of each verse, or particular members 
 of each sentence. 6. The sing-song Style, fyc. 
 
 XII. Constituents of the Tune of Correct Utter- 
 ance, Cadence, or alternation of heavy and light ; Inflection 
 and circumflection of syllabic Accent ; swells and falls of 
 the volume and power of the voice = crescendo et di- 
 minuendo. Application of loud and soft to different words 
 and parts and members of sentences, &c. Modulation,, or 
 accommodation of the expressive powers of tone to the 
 varieties of passion and sentiment. 
 
 XIII. Characteristic Intonation — Adaptation 
 of the general tone of the Voice to the general Character of 
 the Style and Subject. Tones of Gravity, Solemnity, State- 
 liness, Dignity, Grandeur, Sublimity; — of Simplicity, 
 Sweetness, Richness, Enthusiasm ; — of Familiarity, Viva- 
 
lxviii INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 city, Levity, Humour, Satire. Authors, Johnson, 
 Sterne, &c. Subjects, Genesis,— Revelations ; Fune- 
 ral Service— Marriage Ceremony, &c. 
 
 XIV. Imitative Pathos — The flow and fluctuation 
 of the voice thro* different transitions of sentiment and 
 emotion. Objections answered. Monotony not nature : 
 Pathetic modulation not a theatrical Invention, but a dic- 
 tate of nature and sincerity. Consequences of monastic 
 prejudice in this respect. Appeal to the example of un- 
 educated man — to the native Orators of America— to the 
 usage of all men when strongly moved. Practice of the 
 best Orators of antiquity. 
 
 XV. Cultivation. Attention to the tones of Spon- 
 taneous Passions in Man — in the inferior animals — Strains 
 and effects of instrumental music — Notes of Birds — Gene- 
 ral Voice of Nature — the Brook — the Breeze — Uproar of 
 the elements, &c. Exercise of the Organs in all the va- 
 rieties of imitative effort — fostering the generous feelings 
 and sympathies of nature. Conclusion. 
 
 SERIES V. Management of the Enunciative Organs. 
 
 I. Indispensable requisites. — I. Distinctness and 
 the opposite Defects — Mumbling — Thickness — -Drawling 
 — Mouthing — Cluttering — -Gabbling. Remedies. 2. Ar- 
 ticulation — erroneous definition of Dr. Johnson — of Mr. 
 T. Sheridan — consequences — demonstrations and anecdotes 
 — hesitation — interruption — formality. If the term Articula- 
 tion were synonymous with Distinctness, there could have 
 been no occasion to borrow such term from the Greek 
 language, or the Science of Anatomy. Two terms not neces- 
 sary or admissible in Science for one idea. Articulation is 
 the smooth and intimate combination of perfect elements 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. lxix 
 
 into a syllable; the flexible combination of syllables into 
 words or cadences, or the like flexible conjunction of ca- 
 dences into clauses or members of sentences. It is therefore 
 an essential part of 3. Enunciation : or the process of 
 verbal utterance. 
 
 II. Critical Graces, and higher accomplishments of 
 Elocutionary delivery. Implication, or vocal combi- 
 nation of words — attention of French Tutors — neglect of 
 ours — pedantic criticisms on mono-syllabic verses, &c. il- 
 lustrations, from Dryden, Pope, Miiton, &c. from prose 
 writers. Genesis, chap. I. v. 3. Continuous Har- 
 mony — simile— illustrations from Denham. Unity of the 
 laws of Elocution and Music. Vindication of the beauty 
 and harmony of the English language from the aspersions 
 of pedantic ignorance. 
 
 SERIES VI. Harmonics, or the Laws of Musical 
 Inflection. 
 
 I. Inattention of modern tutors to this subject. Miscon- 
 ceptions of Critics — Dr. Blair — Lord Montboddo — T. 
 Sheridan. Steel's Prosodia Rationalis. Melody of Speech 
 — Pulsation and Remission — Swell and Fall — Loud and 
 soft — Accentual slides, &c. Simple, or general Time 
 — Characteristic Time — Rests or Pauses — the accentual 
 close — suspensive pause — interruptive pause. Elocution, 
 dependant (like Song) on laws of musical inflection and 
 musical proportion. Melody of speech by inflections, or 
 slides ; melody of song by gradation and interval. Every 
 grace and contradistinction of music has its parallel grace 
 and contradistinction in speech. 
 
 II. On Accents. General Definition — an essential 
 branch of Elocutionary Melody. Distinctions — Inflective 
 
1XX INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 Accent — Accent of Punctuation — Emphatic Accent. Syl- 
 labic Accents — Varieties — the Acute — the Grave — the Cir- 
 cumflective — the Continuous — Ascertainable by graphic 
 Signs. Imperfect state of English Lexicography — Errors 
 of Grammarians, &c. — Dr. Johnson — T. Sheridan 
 — Mason — &c. Ben Johnson ! Critique on the Son- 
 netteers and Bardlings of the Day. Appeal to the Num- 
 bers of Dryden and Milton. Unity and Simplicity of the 
 Principles of English Elocution, as applied to Prose and 
 Verse : to familiar Conversation and public Oratory. 
 
 III. Vocal Punctuation; or the Accents and Inflec- 
 tions of Voice that belong to the respective Points. 
 Mistaken System of Grammarians — Practical absurdity 
 of the rules of numeric pause — Punctuation a branch of 
 musical accent — demonstration of the application of this 
 principle to English Points — Paucity of these, one of the 
 defects of our graphic Language — Definitions of the ex- 
 isting Points — Connection with numerous Harmony — with 
 the elucidation of the sense — Identity of these in all good 
 composition, whether verse or prose. Erroneous notions 
 of Mr. T. Sheridan — Consequent false system, and prac- 
 tical defects of his punctuation. 
 
 IV. Emphases. Definition. — Varieties — Emphasis of 
 Import — of Antithesis (expressed or understood) — Empha- 
 ses of Coincidence — Of the Complication of Emphases. 
 Importance of these distinctions — Confusion and absurdity 7 
 from misapplication — Theatrical Anecdotes, &c. with 
 hints to finger-counting Critics and modern Editors of 
 ancient English Poets. Three modes of Emphasis— by 
 force — by quantity — by tune. Readers and reciters, in 
 general, use only the first, and apply it to epithets, to 
 which the emphasis of force can hardly ever belong. These 
 distinctions not properly marked by grammarians and rhe- 
 toricians. 
 
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. lxxi 
 
 PRONUNCIATION. Difficulties. Rules— few, in- 
 congruous, and ill denned. Usage — arbitrary, and discor- 
 dant — the Multitude — the Court — the Learned professions 
 — the Literati— the Stage — the Senate. Elements, and 
 principles — Precision — Expressiveness — Grace, or Har- 
 mony — Analogy, and Orthography. Vindication of the 
 Maxim of Dr. Johnson. Project of Mr. Elphinstone — 
 impracticability — dissonance — Imperfections of our Alpha- 
 bet. Pronouncing Dictionaries. Fundamental Laws — 
 Quantity — Poise — Accent. . Provincialisms — Northum- 
 brian Burr — Yorkshirisms, &c. Vulgarisms — Cockneyisms 
 — Hibernianisms — Scotticisms — Anecdotes, &c. Barba- 
 risms — Solecisms — Elision, or Syncope of the Vowel. 
 
 CONCLUDING SERIES. Incidental Accomplish- 
 ments. 
 
 I. Physiognomical Expression, or the Language of the 
 Features — The Countenance should correspond with the 
 Tones — should communicate the Passions of the Orator — 
 An inexpressive Countenance an Argument of Vacancy of 
 Mind — of Coldness and Insincerity. Fashionable Insipi- 
 dity — Superior Charm and Dignity of Expression and 
 Animation — illustrated by Reference to the various traits 
 of Female Beauty — fascination of Countenances not regu- 
 larly handsome. Digression on Intellectual Attractions — 
 No genuine Beauty that is not illuminated by Sentiment, 
 and Feeling. 
 
 II. Action. Importance — Language of Passion, and 
 Fancy — Power of mere Gesticulation — Pathos of inarti- 
 culate Music — Union of these with Verbal Language. 
 Of the Harmony of Feature, Voice and Action. Gesti- 
 culation a natural Accompaniment of Eloquence — instanc- 
 
XXII INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. 
 
 ed in the Oratory of barbarous nations — in the Deport- 
 ment of all Persons when strongly excited — Opinions, and 
 Practices of the Ancients — Demosthenes — Hyperidates — 
 Cicero. Instances of its Effects from personal Observa- 
 tion — Degeneracy of modern Eloquence from Defect of 
 this. Habitual Restraint a chief Cause of graceless and 
 extravagant Actions. Laws, and Requisite restrictions. 
 
 III. Indispensable requisites for Oratorical and Elocu- 
 tionary Excellence. Intellectual qualifications and Attain- 
 ments—Liberal Studies — General Science — Knowledge of 
 Human Nature — Perception — Discrimination — Taste — 
 Feeling. Powers of Demonstration — Impressive Dignity 
 — Energy — -Empassioned Modulation — -Enthusiasm. Re- 
 capitulation. Concluding exhortation to the reciprocal 
 cultivation of the Organs, the Understanding, and the 
 Heart. 
 
thelwall's selections. 
 
 JOHN GILPIN'S JOURNEY. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 John Gilpin was a citizen 
 
 Of credit and renown •, 
 A train-band captain eke was lie 
 
 Of famous London town. 
 
 John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear-— 
 
 " Tho' wedded we have been 
 " These twice ten tedious years, yet we 
 
 " No holiday have seen. 
 
 " To-morrow is our wedding -day ; 
 
 u And we will then repair 
 " Unto the Bell at Edmonton, 
 
 " All in a chaise and pair. 
 
 " My sister and my sister's child, 
 
 " Myself and children three 
 " Will fill the chaise ; so you must ride 
 
 " On horseback after we." | 
 
 He soon replied — " I do admire 
 
 " Of woman-kind but one ; 
 " And you are she, my dearest dear ! — 
 
 " Therefore it shall be done. 
 
 " I am a linen-draper bold, 
 
 " (As all the world doth know !} — 
 
 " And my good friend the callender 
 " Will lend his horse to go." 
 
 Quoth Mistress Gilpin — "That's well said; 
 
 " And, for that wine is dear, 
 " We will be furnish'd with our own, — 
 
 i( Which is both bright and clear." 
 
2 THEL WALL'S SELECTIONS. 
 
 John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife ; — 
 
 O'erjoy'd was he to find 
 That, tho' on pleasure she was bent, 
 
 She had a frugal mind. 
 
 The morning came ; — the chaise was brought -, 
 
 But, yet, was not aflow'd 
 To drive up to the door ; lest all 
 
 Should say that she was proud. 
 So three doors off the chaise was stay'd, 
 
 Where they did all get in : 
 Six precious souls ! — and all agog 
 
 To dash through thick and thin. 
 
 Smack went the whip I round went the wheels f 
 
 Were never folk so glad"; — 
 The stones did rattle, underneath, 
 
 As if Cheapside were mad. 
 
 John Gilpin, at his horse's side, 
 
 Seiz'd fast the flowing mane, 
 And up he got, in haste to ride j — 
 
 But soon came down again : 
 For saddle-tree scarce reached he, 
 
 His journey to begin, 
 When, turning round his head, he saw 
 
 Three customers come in. 
 
 So down he came ; for loss of time 
 
 Altho' it griev'd him sore, 
 Yet loss of pence full well he knew 
 
 Would trouble him much more. 
 
 'Twas long before the customers 
 
 Were suited to their mind ; 
 When Betty, screaming, came down stairs,-— 
 
 « The wine is left behind /" 
 
THELW ALL'S SELECTIONS* 3 
 
 * Good lack !" quoth he :— " yet bring it me }-— 
 
 , « My leathern belt, likewise, 
 « In which I bear rry trusty sword, 
 " When I do exercise." 
 
 Now Mrs Gilpin (careful soul !) 
 
 Had two stone bottles found, 
 To hold the liquor that she lov'd, 
 
 And keep it safe and sound. 
 Each bottle had a curling ear, — 
 
 Through which the belt he drew, 
 And hung a bottle on each side, 
 
 To make his balance true ; 
 Then, over all, that he might be 
 
 Equipp'd from top to toe, 
 His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat, 
 
 He manfully did throw. 
 
 Now see him mounted, once again, 
 
 Upon his nimble steed ; 
 Full slowly pacing o'er the stones, 
 
 With caution and good heed. 
 
 But finding soon a smoother road 
 
 Beneath his well-shod feet, 
 The snorting beast began to trot ; — 
 
 Which gali'd him in his seat. 
 
 " So, fair and softly !" John he cried ;— 
 
 But John he cried in vain : 
 That trot became a gallop soon, 
 
 In spite of curb and rein. 
 
 So stooping down, (as needs he must 
 
 Who cannot sit upright !) 
 He grasp'd the mane with both his hands. 
 
 And, eke, with all his might. 
 
4 thelwall's selections. 
 
 His horse — (who never in that sort 
 
 Had handled been before !) 
 What thing upon his back had got 
 
 Did wonder more and more. 
 
 Away went Gilpin j — neck or nought ! 
 
 Away went hat and wig. 
 He little dreamt, when he set out, 
 
 Of running such a rig. 
 
 The wind did blow ; the cloak did fly, 
 
 Like streamer long and gay ; 
 Till loop and button failing both, 
 
 At last it flew away. 
 Then might all people well discern 
 
 The bottles he had slung : — 
 A bottle swinging at each side, 
 
 As hath been said, or sung. 
 
 The dogs did bark ; — the children scream'd ;- 
 
 Up flew the windows all j— 
 And every soul cried out — " Well done !" 
 
 As loud as he could bawl. 
 
 Away went Gilpin.— Who but he ? 
 
 His fame soon spread around. — 
 " He carries weight !" — " He rides a race !*- 
 
 " Tis for a thousand pound !" 
 And still, as fast as he drew near, 
 
 'Twas wonderful to view 
 How, in a trice, the turnpike men 
 
 Their gates wide open threw. 
 
 And now, as he went bowing down 
 
 His reeking head full low, 
 The bottles twain, behind his back, 
 
 Were shatter'd at a blow. 
 
thelwall's selections. 
 
 Down ran the wine into the road — 
 
 (Most piteous to be seen !) 
 Which made his horse's flanks to smoke 
 
 As they had basted been. 
 
 But, still, he seem'd to carry weight, 
 
 "With leathern girdle brae'd ; 
 For all might see the bottle necks 
 
 Still dangling at his waist. 
 
 Thus all through merry Islington 
 
 These gambols he did play, 
 And till he came unto the "Wash 
 
 Of Edmonton so gay. 
 And, there, he threw the wash about, 
 
 On both sides of the way ; — 
 Just like unto a trundling mop, 
 
 Or a wild goose at play. 
 At Edmonton, — his loving wife, 
 
 From balcony, espied 
 Her tender husband •, — wondering much 
 
 To see how he did ride. 
 
 " Stop ! stop, John Gilpin ! here's the house,' 
 
 They all at once did cry ; 
 " The dinner waits ; and we are tir'd." 
 
 Said Gilpin—" So am L" 
 But yet his horse was not a whit 
 
 Inclin'd to tarry there. — 
 For why ? — His owner had a house, 
 
 Full ten cniles off, at Ware. 
 
 [*So, like an arrow, swift he flew, 
 
 Shot by an archer strong ; 
 So did he fly— which brings me to 
 
 The middle of my song.] . 
 
 * Omitted in recitation. * 
 
Away went Gilpin ; out of breath, 
 
 And sore against his will ; 
 Till at his friend's the callender's, 
 
 His horse at last stood still. 
 
 The callender (amaz'd to see 
 
 His neighbour in such trim) 
 Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, 
 
 And thus accosted him : — 
 << What news ? What news ? Your tidings tell 
 
 " Tell me you must and shall. — 
 " Say — why bare-headed you are come ?— * 
 
 " Or why you come at all ?" 
 
 Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, 
 
 And lov'd a timely joke ; 
 And thus, unto the callender, 
 
 In merry guise, he spoke : 
 " J came because your horse would come \ 
 
 « And, if I well forebode, 
 <* My hat and wig will soon be here j — 
 
 " They are upon the road. 
 
 The callender (right glad to find 
 
 His friend in merry pin) 
 Return'd him not a single word, 
 
 But to the house went in ; 
 Whence strait he came with hat and wig *,-^- 
 
 A wig that flow'd behind ; — 
 A hat not much the worse for wear : — 
 
 Each comely in its kind. 
 
 He held them up ; and, in his turn, 
 
 Thus show'd his ready wit ; — 
 " My head is twice as big as your's - 9 
 
 " They, therefore, needs must fit. 
 
thelwall's selections. 
 
 " But let me scrape the dirt away 
 " That hangs upon your face ; 
 
 " And stop and eat ; for Well you may 
 " Be in a hungry case." 
 
 Said John — " It is my wedding-day; 
 
 " And all the world would stare, 
 " If wife should dine at Edmonton, 
 
 * And I should dine at "Ware." 
 
 So, turning to his horse, he said — 
 
 « I am in haste to dine : 
 " 'Twas for your pleasure you came here, 
 
 " You shall go back for mine'* 
 
 Ah ! luckless speech, and bootless boast ! 
 
 For which he paid full dear ; 
 For, while he spake, a braying ass 
 
 Did sing most loud and clear ; 
 Whereat his horse did snort, as he 
 
 Had heard a lion roar, 
 And gallop'd off, with all his might, 
 
 As he had done before. 
 
 Away went Gilpin, and away 
 
 Went Gilpin's hat and wig ! 
 He lost them sooner than at first. 
 
 For why ? — They were too big. 
 
 Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw 
 
 Her Husband posting down 
 Into the country, far away, 
 
 She pull'd out half a crown j 
 And thus unto the youth she said 
 
 That drove them to the Bell — 
 « This shall be yours when you bring back 
 
 " My husband safe and well." 
 
8 thelwall's selections. 
 
 The youth did ride, and soon did meet 
 
 John coming back amain ; 
 Whom, in a trice, he tried to stop, 
 
 By catching at his rein ; 
 But not performing what he meant 
 
 And gladly would have done, 
 The frighted steed he frighted more, 
 
 And made him faster run. 
 
 Away went Gilpin ; and away 
 
 Went post-boy at his heels : — 
 The post-boy's horse right glad to miss 
 
 The lumbering of the wheels. 
 
 Six gentlemen upon the road 
 
 (Thus seeing Gilpin fly, 
 With post-boy scampering in the rear) 
 
 They rais'd the hue and cry : — 
 " Stop thief! — Stop thief ! — A highwayman!' 
 
 Not one of them was mute •, 
 And all and each that pass'd that way 
 
 Did join in the pursuit. 
 
 And now the turnpike-gates, again, 
 
 Flew open, in short space 5 
 The toll-men thinking, as before, 
 
 That Gilpin rode a race. 
 
 And so he did, and won it too ! 
 
 For he got first to town ; 
 Nor stopp'd, till where he first got up 
 
 He did again get down. 
 
 Now let us sing, Long live the king, 
 
 And Gilpin, long live he ; 
 And when he next doth ride abroad, 
 
 May I be there to see ! 
 
 NEWCASTLE: 
 PRINTED BY E. WALKER 
 
 } 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 
 
 THE PASSIONS, AN ODE— Collins. 
 
 WITH THE 
 
 SONG of EROS, or TRIUMPH of LOVE : 
 
 Intended as a substitute for the concluding Stanza. 
 
 When Music, heavenly Maid ! was young,— 
 Erg yet, in earliest Greece, she sung, 
 The passions oft, to hear her shell, 
 Throng'd around her magic cell ; 
 
 Exulting — trembling — raging — fainting, — 5 
 
 Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting : 
 By turns, they felt the glowing mind 
 Disturb'd— delighted — rais'd — refin'd ; 
 Till once, 'tis said, when all were nr'd, 
 FilTd with fury — rapt — inspir'd! io 
 
 From the supporting myrtles round, 
 They snatch'd her instruments of sound; 
 And (as they oft had heard, apart, 
 Sweet lessons of her forceful art) 
 
 Each, (for madness rul'd the hour) 15 
 
 Would prove his own expressive power. 
 
 First Fear — his hand, its skill to try, 
 Amid the chords bewilder'd laid ; 
 And back recoil'd— he knew not why- 
 Even at the sound himself had made. 20 
 
 Next Anger rush'd ;— his eyes on fire, 
 In lightnings, own'd his secret stings ; 
 In one rude clash, he struck the lyre, 
 And swept, with hurried hand, the strin 
 B 
 
10 thelwall's selections. 
 
 With woeful measures, wan Despair— 25 
 
 Low, sullen sounds his grief beguil'd : 
 A solemn, strange, and mingled air! 
 'Twas sad by fits—by starts 'twas wild. 
 
 But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair, 
 
 What was thy delighted measure ? 30 
 
 Still it whisper' d promis'd pleasure, 
 
 And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail !— 
 
 Still would her touch the strain prolong ; 
 
 And, from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 
 
 She call'd on Echo, still, thro' all the song ; 35 
 
 And where her sweetest theme she chose, 
 
 A soft, responsive voice was heard at every close ; 
 
 And Hope enchanted smil'd, and wav'd her golden hair. 
 
 And longer had she sung— but, with a frown, 
 Revenge, impatient, rose : 40 
 
 He threw his blood-stain' d sword, in thunder, down ; 
 And, with a withering look, 
 The war-denouncing trampet took, 
 And blew a blast so loud and dread 
 Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe ! 45 
 
 And, ever and anon, he beat 
 The doubling drum, with furious heat ;— 
 — And tho, sometimes, each dreary pause between, 
 Dejected Pity, at his side, 
 
 Her soul-subduing voice apply* d, 50 
 
 Yet still he kept his wild, unalter'd mein ; 
 While each strain'.d ball of sight seem'd bursting from 
 his head. 
 
 Thy numbers, Jealousy ! to nought were fix' d : 
 Sad proof of thy distressful state ! — 
 Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd ;— 55 
 And now it courted Love; — now, raving, call'd on Hate. 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 11 
 
 With eyes up-rais'd, as one inspir'd, 
 Pale Melancholy sat retir'd ; 
 And, from her wild sequester' d seat, 
 In notes by distance made more sweet, 60 
 
 Pour'd thro the mellow horn her pensive soul ; 
 And, dashing, soft, from rocks around, 
 Bubbling runnels join'd the sound. 
 Thro glades and glooms the mingled measure stole ; 
 Or o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, 65 
 
 — (Round a holy callh diffusing, 
 Love of peace and lonely musing,) 
 In hollow murmurs dy'd away. 
 
 But O ! how alter' d was its sprightlier tone! 
 When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 70 
 — (Her bow across her shoulder flung, 
 Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,) 
 Blew an inspiring air, — that dale and thicket rung : 
 The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known. 
 The oak-crown' d sisters, and their chaste-ey'd qujen, 
 Satyrs and Sylvan boys, were seen 76 
 
 Peeping from forth their alleys green ; 
 Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear, 
 And Sport leapt up, and seiz'd his beechen spear. 
 
 Last came Joy's extatic trial. 80 
 
 He, with viny crown advancing, 
 First to the lively pipe his hand address'd ; 
 But, soon, he saw the brisk -awakening viol, 
 Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best. 
 They would have thought, who heard the strain, 85 
 They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, 
 Amidst the festal sounding shades, 
 To some unweary'd minstrel dancing : 
 
12 Q thelwall's selections. 
 
 While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, 
 
 Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round ; 90 
 
 Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound ; 
 
 And he, amidst his frolic play, 
 
 As if he Tvould the charming air repay, 
 
 Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. 94 
 
 But not content, in the promiscuous train 
 
 Of meaner Joys, a second part to pj^ y, 
 
 He seiz'd the Lute — that, with a softer trill 
 
 Than triumph'd over Haroun's jealous rage, 
 
 Prelusive rang. Then, in creative song, 5 
 
 Soul-thrilling ! roll'd the stream of sound along, — 
 
 Himself a living instrument; — all voice — 
 
 All harmony ; each keen-perceptive nerve 
 
 And trembling fibre a responsive string, 
 
 Whispering sweet unisons. Each passion hears— io 
 
 Hears and obeys. Tumultuous Anger melts 
 
 To new-born tenderness ; the plaintive tones 
 
 Of Pity to extatic rapture swell ; 
 
 And every feeling in one throb subsides 
 
 Of full-according sympathy. Then first 15 
 
 The Muse had birth. Then Beauty, from the waves, 
 
 Flushed with primeval glow, in polish' d grace 
 
 Of motion, form and feature, floating pride 
 
 Of shadowing ringlets, and resistless glance, 
 
 And the mute eloquence of witching smiles 20 
 
 And bosoni-heav'd emotion, burst-to view. 
 
 The Ens of embrion Poets, in the Womb 
 Of deep Futurity, — and Music's sons — 
 ( Whate'er with harp, or lute, or dulcimer, 
 Or speaking viol, — or with breathing pipe, 25 
 
 So'e, or symphonious, since have charm'd the world) 
 To momentary consciousness awoke, 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 13- 
 
 And drank incipient glory : — thence imbu'd 
 With those fine energies, that, thro all Time — . 
 (Even to remotest ages) shall control 3° 
 
 The wayward mind, and in Elysium's lap 
 Ldll the keen sense of sufferance. 
 
 Homer, then, 
 In full prophetic vision, first beheld 
 The fatal charms of Hellen. Ovid dream' d 34. 
 
 Of loves that should be sung, and beauteous dames 
 And wondrous transformations ; and thou too, 
 Whom Derwent mourns, while Science and the Muse 
 Weaving the cypress wreath, alike bewail ! 
 Thou other Ovid ! that, with countercharm 
 Of rival verse, to human sense restor'st 40 
 
 Botanic life ! The eloquent of speech 
 (For speech is varied song) — even she who charm' d 
 Sabine and Roman, — and the red-ey'd chiefs 
 Sooth' d to fraternal amity — whence sprung 
 The giant power of Rome !— even she imbib'd, 45 
 
 With embrion Orators, the latent power 
 Of suasive tones. Divine Timotheus then 
 Learn'dto subdue the world's time-destin'd Lord 
 With minstrelsey. In thought, Cecilia swell'd 
 Her mingled world of choral symphonies, 50 
 
 Awful or soft ; and each instinctive harp 
 Of Scald, or Celtic Bard, or Trabadour, 
 Or Arab wild, that weaves the wondrous charm 
 Of thought-surpassing imagery, — pre-touch'd, 54 
 
 Responsive rung : thine, sweet Almousely, chief,— 
 Glory of Bagdat ! whose resistless song 
 Moulded the fiery Sultan as a babe ; 
 And (all his wrath converted) at the feet 
 Of else despairing loveliness, laid low 
 The royal vassal : suppliant for a smile ! 60 
 
14 thelwall's selections. 
 
 So swelled thy voice — all-subjugating cause 
 Of Nature's harmony ! Rocks, woods and vales,— 
 The gurgling rill, and the unfathom'd deep, 
 In murmurs low, — and the blue-vaulted heavens, 
 And convex earth (even to its central fires) 65 
 
 Confess'd the master strain — The planets roll 
 Obedient to the song ; the eternal spheres 
 Bow their submissive heads, and own their Lord. 68 
 
 THE STAMMERER ; a Comic Illustration. 
 
 (ALTERED FROM ALLAN RAMSAY) 
 
 [Ramsay was, in his juvenile days, a Fellow of an Easy Club ; the 
 Members of ivhich occasionally presented Papers and Disserta* 
 tions on subjects of literature and morals ; which furnished sub- 
 jects for the conversation of the evening. Allan, being, as he 
 acknowledges, " but an indifferent Orator, his friends would 
 merrily alledge that he was not so happy in prose as rhyme." It 
 was, therefore " carried in a vote" against which there is no 
 opposition, " that on t/ie night appointed for some lessons ON 
 WIT," he should give his thoughts to the Society " in Perse* 
 He, accordingly produced a little poem on that subject, the major 
 part of which is here presented ; with some alterations, and se- 
 veral additional verses ; and which will be found quite " as pat" 
 to tlie argwnent of the Lecturer, as it was to the circumstances 
 of the Poet.'] 
 
 My easy friends, since ye think fit 
 This night to lucubrate on Wit ; 
 An' since ye judge that I compose 
 More easily in rhyme than prose, 
 
 I'll give ye, (be it right or wrong) 5 
 
 My simple judgment in a song. 
 
thelwall's selections. 15 
 
 But, first of all, I'll tell a Tale 
 That with my case runs parallel. 
 
 There liv'd a manting lad in Fife 
 Who could not, for his very life, 10 
 
 Without a world of pause and splutter, 
 A syllable in speaking utter ; 
 But (tho, in speech, so chain'd of tongue) 
 He never boggled at a song; 
 
 Would trill and carrol, as he went, 15 
 
 With strength of voice and heart's content, 
 And rove, from strain to strain right odly, 
 Thro pious Hymn and theme ungodly. 
 
 One day his father's kiln he watch'd, 
 When 'chance the flames the fabric catch'd, 2o 
 
 And smoke and blaze, their work pursuing, 
 Threaten'd the Malster's quick undoing. 
 Off runs the boy, with hasty strides, 
 To tell his daddy what betides. 
 
 At distance— ere he reach'd the door, 25 
 
 His pipes set up a hideous roar : 
 For Vocal Organs all could play, 
 Tho stammering Tongue lethargic lay. 
 
 His father, when he heard the voice, 
 Steptout, an' cried — " What's all this noise ?" 30 
 
 " D'— d'— d'— d'— d— " strives the Boy ; 
 But tongue and teeth all pass deny. 
 He g* — g' — gapes and glowers about, 
 But not a word can tumble out ; 
 
 An', be it fire, or be it murder, 35 
 
 The stranded news can sail no further. 
 The father, knowing his defect, 
 Yet for the tidings all afret, 
 The imprison'd freight from's throat to bring, 
 Roar'd— " Sing ye booby ! can't ye sing !" 
 
16 thelwall's selections. 
 
 The charm was broke ; — the spells retire ;— 
 M Daddy ! your kiln is all on fire !" 
 Chaunted the boy ; and aid was brought 
 To damp the flames and save the malt. 
 
 Now — ye'll allow there's wit in that — 45 
 
 To tell a tale so very pat. 
 
 But Wit appears in many a shape ; 
 Which some invent, an* others ape. 
 Some shew their wit in flashy clothes, 
 An' some in quaint new-fangled oaths : 50 
 
 There's crambo wit, in making rhyme; 
 An' dancing wit, in keeping time; 
 There's merry wit, in story-telling ; 
 Learn'd wit, in grammar an' right spelling ; 
 There's martial wit — (when did we lack it?)— 55 
 
 In trimming well a frenchman's jacket. 
 There's lawyer's wit, and wit politic : 
 But what's the wit that makes the Critic ?— 
 Unless't be wit one's spleen to vend, 
 And censure what we cannot mend. 60 
 
 But surely ye'll admit conclusion — 
 There's sterling wit in Elocution, 
 If, borrowing a grace from song, 
 We set at large the imprisoned tongue ; 
 Bid all Impediments defiance, 65 
 
 That give to pregnant thought annoyance ; 
 And, by piano's tuneful string, 
 Teach folks to speak, as well as sing. 68 
 
thelwall's selections. 1? 
 
 ANTONTs ORATION 
 
 Over the dead Body of Ccesar. — shakespere. 
 
 Friends, Romans, countrymen ! lend me your ears: 
 I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him : 
 The evil that men do, lives after them ; 
 The good is oft interred with their bones ; 
 
 So let it be with Caesar! The noble Brutus 5 
 
 Hath told you — Caesar was ambitious : 
 If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; 
 And grievously hath Caesar answer* d it. 
 
 Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest— 
 (For Brutus is an honourable man ; — 10 
 
 So are they all — all honourable men;) 
 Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 
 He was my friend ; faithful and just to me ;— • 
 But Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 
 And Brutus is an honourable man. 15 
 
 He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
 Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : 
 Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ?— 
 
 When that the poor have cry'd, Caesar hath wept : — 
 
 Ambition should be made of sterner stuff : 20 
 
 Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 
 And Brutus is an honourable man ? 
 
 You all did see, that, on the Lupercal, 
 I thrice presented him a kingly crown ; 
 Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ?— - 2£ 
 Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 
 And sure he is an honourable man ! 
 
 I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke ; 
 C 
 
IB thelwall's selections. 
 
 But here I am to speak what I do know. 
 
 You all did love him once :— not without cause ! 30 
 
 What cause with-holds you then to mourn for him r 
 
 O judgment ! thou art fled to brutish beasts, 
 
 And men have lost their reason! — 
 
 Bear with me 1 my heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, 
 
 And I must pause 'till it come back to me. 35 
 
 But yesterday the word of Cajsar might 
 Have stood against the world : now lies he there ; 
 And none so poor to do him reverence. 
 
 O masters ! If I were dispos'd to stir 
 Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 40 
 
 —I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong; 
 Who you all know, are honourable men ! 
 I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose 
 To wrong the dead*— to wrong myself, and you, 
 Than I will wrong such honourable men ! ! 45 
 
 But here's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar : 
 I found it in his closet : 'tis his will : 
 Let but the commons hear this testament — - 
 {Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read ;) 
 And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, 50 
 And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; 
 Yea, beg a hair of him, for memory; 
 And, dying, mention it within their wills ; 
 Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy-, 
 Unto their issue. 55 
 
 But patience, gentle friends ! I must not read it. 
 It is not meet you know how Csesar lov'd you. 
 You are not wood, — you are not stones, but men ; 
 And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar, 
 It will inflame you ; — it will make you mad : 60 
 
 'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ! 
 For if you should, — O, what would come of it ?— 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 19 
 
 Nay — pray be patient Will you stay a while ? — 
 I have o'er-shot myself to tell you of it. 
 I fear, I wrong, the honourable men, 6$ 
 
 Whose daggers have stabb'd Caesar. I do fear it. 
 
 You will compel me, then, to read the will ?— 
 Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar, 
 And let me show you him that made the will. 
 
 If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 70 
 
 You all do know this mantle. I remember 
 The first time ever Czesar put it on : 
 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent : 
 That day he overcame the Nervii.— 
 
 Look ! in this place ran Cassius' dagger thro ! 75 
 
 See, what a rent the envious Casca made! 
 Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd : 
 And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, 
 Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it ; 
 As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd 80 
 
 If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no :— - 
 For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel. 
 Judge, O you Gods ! how dearly Caesar lov'd him ! 
 
 This was the most unkindly cut of all : 
 For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, $$ 
 
 Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 
 Quite vanquish' d him. Then burst his mighty heart ; 
 And, in his mantle muffling up his face, 
 Even at the base of Pompey's statue— 
 (Which all the while ran blood) great Caesar fell. 90 
 
 O, what a fall was there, my countrymen !— 
 Then, I, and you, and all of us, fell down ; 
 Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. 
 
 O, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel 
 The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. 95 
 
 Kind souls, what, weep you, when you but behold 
 
 C 2 
 
20 THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 
 
 Our Cassar's vesture wounded ? Look you here !— 
 Here is himself — marr'd, as you see, with traitors. 
 
 Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up 
 To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 100 
 
 They, that have done this deed, are honourable ! — 
 What private gifts they have, alas, I know not, 
 That made them do it : — they are wise, and honourable ! ! ! 
 And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
 
 I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts : 105 
 I am no orator, as Brutus is ; 
 But, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man, 
 That love my friend; — and that they know full well 
 That gave me public leave to speak of him. 
 For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 1 10 
 
 Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
 To stir men's blood. I only speak right on : 
 I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; 
 Show you sweet Caesar' s wounds, (poor, poor dumb 
 
 mouths!) 
 And bid them speak for me : But were I Brutus, 1 1$ 
 And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony- 
 Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
 In every wound of Caesar, that should move 
 The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 
 
 But you forget the will I told you of. 1 20 
 
 Here is the will ; and under Caesar' s seal. 
 
 To every Roman citizen, he gives,« 
 
 To every several man, seventy -five drachmas. 
 
 Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, 
 His private arbours, and new planted orchards, 125 
 
 On this side Tiber : he hath left them you, 
 And to your heirs for ever ; common pleasures, 
 To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. 
 Here was a Ca?sar : When comes such another ? 129 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 21 
 
 THE COUNTRY VISIT. . . . [Jenyns.] 
 
 From "Jn Epistle written in the Country, ta the Right Hon, 
 the Lord Lovelace^ then in Town, September, 1735." 
 
 IN days, my Lord, when mother Time, 
 
 (Tho now grown old) was in her prime,— 
 
 When Saturn first began to rule, 
 
 And Jove was hardly come from school, 
 
 How happy was a country life ! — 5 
 
 How free from wickedness and strife ! 
 
 Then each man liv'd upon his farm, 
 
 And thought and did no mortal harm ; 
 
 On mofsy banks fair virgins slept, 
 
 As harmlefs as the flocks they kept ; i Q 
 
 Then-i-love was all they had to do, 
 
 And nymphs were chaste, and swains were true. 
 But now, (whatever poets write) 
 
 'Tis sure the case is alter'd, quite ; 
 
 Virtue no more in rural plains,? I - 
 
 Or innocence, or peace remains; 
 
 But vice is in the cottage found, 
 
 And flirts in country shades abound ;/ 
 
 Fierce party rage each 3 village fires. 
 
 With wars of justices and squires ; 23 
 
 Attorneys, for a barley-straw, 
 
 Whole ages hamper folks in law a 
 
 And, every neighbour's in a flame 
 
 About their rates, or tythes, or game. 
 
 Some quarrel for their hares and pigeons, 25 
 
 And some for "difference in religions : 
 
 Some hold their' parsorf the best preacher; 
 
 Thelinkerjsome a better teacher. 
 
22 THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 
 
 These, to the church they fight for strangers, 
 
 Have faith in nothing but her dangers ; 30 
 
 While those (a more believing people) 
 
 Can swallow all things but a steeple. 
 
 But I, my Lord, who, as you know, 
 Care little how these matters go, 
 
 And'equally detest the strife 35 
 
 And usual joys of country life, 
 Have, by good fortune, little share 
 Of its diversions, or its care : 
 For seldom! I with 'squires unite., 
 
 Who hunt all day, and drink all night ; 40 
 
 Nor reckon wonderful inviting, 
 A quarter-sessions, or cock-fighting. 
 But then, no farm I occupy, 
 With f sheep to rot, and cows to die ; 
 Nor rage I much, or much despair, 45 
 
 Tho' in my hedge I find a snare. 
 Nor view I, with due admiration, 
 All the high honours here in fashion : 
 
 The great commissicms of the quorum 
 
 Terrors to all who come before 'em 1 50 
 
 Militia scarlet edg'd with gold, 
 
 Or the white staff high sheriffs hold ; 
 
 The representative's caressing ; 
 
 The Judge's bow ; the bishop's blessing. 
 
 Nor can I,; for my soul, delight 55 
 
 In the dull feast of neighb'ring knight ; 
 
 Who, if you send three days before, 
 
 In white gloves meets you at the door ;— 
 
 With superfluity of breeding 
 
 First makes you sick, and then with feeding ; 60 
 
 Or if, with ceremony cloy'd, 
 
 You would next time such plagues avoid, 
 
tkelwall's selections. 23 
 
 And visit without previous notice, — 
 
 " John, John, a coach ! — I can't think who't is," 
 
 My lady cries, — who spies yourf coach, 65 
 
 Ere you the avenue approach ; 
 
 M Lord, how unlucky ! — washing day ! 
 
 M And all the men are in the hay !" « 
 
 # 
 Entrance to gain is.somethingMiard. 
 
 The dogs all, bark ; the gates are barr'd / 70 
 
 The yard's with lines oflinen cross'd ; 
 
 The hall door's; lock'd ; the key is /lost. 
 
 These difficulties all o'ercome, 
 We reach at length the drawing-room. 
 Then there's such trampling over head !— 75 
 
 Madam, you'd swear, was brought to bed. 
 Miss, in a hurry, bursts her lock, 
 To get clean sleeves, to hide her frock. 
 The servants run ; the pewter clatters ; 
 My lady dresses, calls, and chatters ; 
 Thetcook-maid raves for want of butter; 
 Pigsfsqueak, fowls scream, and green geese flutter. 
 
 Now, aftetf three hours tedious waiting,— 
 On all our neighbour's faults debating ; 
 And havingnine times view'd the garden, 8$ 
 
 In which there's nothing worth a farthing*— 
 In comes my lady, and the pudden: 
 *' You will excuse, Sir,— on a sudden"— - 
 Then, that we may have four and four, 
 'The bacon, fowls and cauliflow'r «. 90 
 
 Their ancient unity divide ; 
 The top one graces ; one each side ? 
 And, by and by, the second course 
 Came lagging — like a distanc'd horse. 
 
24 thelwall's selections. 
 
 A salver then to church ancj king ! o 5 
 
 The butler sweats i the glasses ring. 
 The cloth remov'd, the toasts go round ;— 
 Tawdry and politics abound ; 
 And, as the knight more tipsy waxes, 
 We damn all ministers and taxes. 100 
 
 At last, the ruddy sun quite sunk, 
 The 'coachman'tolerably drunk, 
 Whirling o' erf hillocks/ ruts and stones, 
 Enough to dislocate one's bones, 
 
 We home return (a wonderous token 105 
 
 Of/Heaven's kind care!) with limbs unbroken. 
 
 Afflict us not, ye Gods! tho 'sinners, 
 With many days like this, or dinners ! 
 Rather be'mine my elbow chair, 
 
 My walks — my hearth, my homely fare ; 1 jo 
 
 An equal friend,— content to meet 
 A hearty :welcome, tho no treat ; 
 A house where quiet guards the door, 
 No rural wits smoke, drink, and roar; 
 Choice 'books, safe horses, wholesome liquor, 115 
 
 Neat girls, backgammon, and the yicar. 
 
thelw all's selections. 25 
 
 DIRGE IN CYMBELINEi 
 
 To be Sung by Guiderius and Arvlragus, over Fidde, 
 supposed to be dead, 
 
 COLLINS. 
 
 To fair Fidele's grassy tomb j 
 
 Soft /maids and village hinds shall bring 
 
 Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, 
 
 And rifle all the breathing spring, 4 
 
 No wailing ghost shall dare appear, 
 
 To vex with shrieks this quiet grove ; 
 
 But shepherd-lads assemble here ; 
 
 And melting \irgins own their love. $ 
 
 No wither* d witch shall here be seen ; 
 
 No goblins lead their nightly crew ; — 
 
 The female fays shall haunt the green, 
 
 And, dress thy grave with pearly dew, I ; 
 
 The red-breast oft, at evening hours, 
 
 Shall kindly lend his little aid, 
 
 With hoary moss and gather' d flow'rs 
 
 To deck the 'ground where thou art^laid* 1 6 
 
 When howling winds and^beating rain, 
 
 In tempests, shake the sylvan cell, 
 
 Or, 'midst the chase, — on every plain 
 
 The tender thought on thee shall dwell. 20 
 
 Each lonely, scene shallf thee restore ; 
 For^thee thejtear be duly shed ; 
 Beiov'd, tilllife can charm no'more, 
 And mourn' d till Pity's iself behead, 24- 
 
 D 
 
26 THELWALI/S SELECTIONS. 
 
 THE 
 
 DISSOLUTION and RENOVATION of NATURE. 
 
 DAEWIN's BOTANIC GARDEN PART I. CANTO IV. 
 
 Sylphs! as you hover on etjhereal wing,^ 
 Brood the greenfchildreri of parturient Spring! — 
 Where, in theirp3ursting cells, my;- Einbryons rest J 
 I charge youj guard the Vegetable nest ; 
 Count, with nice eye, the myriad Seeds that swell 355 
 Each vaulted womb of husk, or pod, or shell ; 
 Feed with sweet juices, clothe with downy hair. 
 Or hang, inshrin'd, their little orbs in air. 
 
 So, late, descry' d by Herschell's piercing sight, 
 Hang the brightfsquadrons of the twinkling night ; 360 
 Ten thousand marshall'd stars, a silver zone, 
 Effuse their blended lustres round her throne; 
 Suns call to suns, in lucid clouds conspire, 
 And light exterior skies with golden fire; 
 Resistless rolls the illimitable sphere, 365 
 
 And one great circle forms the unmeasur'd year. 
 
 Rolbon, ye Stars! exult in youthful prime ; 
 Mark, with bright curves, the printless steps of Time * 
 Near, and more near, j 7 our beamy cars approach, 
 And lessening orbs on lessening orbs encroach,— 370 
 
 Flowers of the sky! ye, too, to age must yield, 
 
 Frail as your silken sisters of the field ! 
 Star after star from Heaven's high arch shall rush ; 
 Suns sink on suns, and systems systems crush ; 
 Headlong, extinct, to one dark centre fall, 375 
 
 And Death — and Night — and Chaos mingle all! 
 — Till o'er the -wreck, emerging from the storm, 
 Immortal Nature lifts her changeful form; 
 Mounts from her. funeral pyre, on wings of flame, 
 And soars and shines, another and the same ! 38a 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 27 
 
 SPEECH of CASS1US against CjESAR. 
 
 SHAKESPERE. 
 
 Well, — honour is the subject of my story.-*— 
 
 I cannot tell, what you and other men 
 
 Think of this life ; but, for my single self, 
 
 I had as lief not be, as live to be 
 
 In awe of such a thing as I myself. 5 
 
 I was born free as Caesar ; so were you ; 
 We both have fed as well ; and we can both 
 Endure the winter's cold, as well as he : 
 For once, upon a raw and gusty day, 
 The troubled Tyber chafing with his shores, !• 
 
 Caesar said to me — Darsi thou, Cassius, now 
 Leap in with me, into this angry flood, 
 And swim to yonder point ? — Upon the word, 
 Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, 
 And bade him follow : so, indeed, he did. 15 
 
 The torrent roar'd ; and we did buffet it 
 With lusty sinews, — throwing it aside, 
 And stemming it with hearts of controversy. 
 Bat, ere we could arrive the point proposed, 
 Caesar cry'd—Help me, Cassius, or I sink. 20 
 
 Then, as ^Eneas, our great ancestor, 
 Did from the flames of Troy, upon his shoulders, 
 The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tyber, 
 Did I the tired Caesar. — And this man 
 Is now become a god ; and Cassius is 25 
 
 A wretched creature, and must bend his body, 
 If Caesar carelessly but nod at him. 
 
 He had a fever when he was in Spain ; 
 And, when the fit was on him, I did mark 
 How he did shake : 'tis true, this god did shake : 30 
 
 His coward lips did from their colour fly, 
 
28 thelwall's selections. 
 
 And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, 
 
 Did lose its lustre. I did hear him groan! 
 
 A j, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans 
 
 Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,— 35 
 
 Alas! it cry'd, Give me svme drink, Titinius!-— 
 
 As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, 
 
 A man of such a feeble temper should 
 
 So get the start of the majestic world, 
 
 And bear the palm alone. 4.0 
 
 Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world 
 Like a Colossus ; and we petty men 
 Walk, under his huge legs, and peep about 
 To find ourselves dishonourable graves. 
 
 Men at some time are masters of their fate : 45 
 
 The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
 But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
 Brutus ! and Csesar ! What should be in that Caesar ? — 
 Why should that name be sounded more than yours? 
 Write them together. — Yours is as fair a name. £o 
 
 Sound them. — It doth become the mouth as well. 
 Weigh them. — It is as heavy. Conjure with them.— 
 Brutus ! will start a spirit as soon as Caesar! 
 
 Now, in the names of all the gods at once, 
 Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, 55 
 
 That he is grown so great ? Age, thou art shamM ! 
 Rome, thou hast lost thy breed of noble bloods! 
 When could they say, 'till now, that talk'dof Rome, 
 That her wide walls encompass'd but one man? 
 
 O! you and I have heard our fathers say— 60 
 
 There was a Brutus once, that would have brook' d 
 "A whip-gaird slave" to keep his state in Rome, 
 As easily as a king. 
 
thelwall's selections. 29 
 
 SATAN'S SOLILOQUY, 
 
 On first beholding the Sun, and new-created 
 Universe. Milton. B. iv. 
 
 O thou ! that, with surpassing glory crown'd, 
 Look'st, from thy sole dominion, like the god 
 Of this new world ! at whose sight all the stars 
 Hide their diminish' d heads ! to thee I call,— 
 But with no friendly voice, and add thy name, 35 
 
 Sun ! to tell thee how I hate thy beams 
 That bring to my remembrance from what state 
 
 1 fell : — how glorious once above thy sphere ! 
 Till pride, and worse ambition threw me down, 
 Warring in heav'n against heav'n's matchless King. 40 
 
 Ah ! wherefore? — He deserv'd no such return 
 From me, whom he created what I was 
 In that bright eminence, and with his good 
 Upbraided none : nor was his service hard. 
 What could be less than to afford him praise,— 45 
 
 The easiest recompence ; and pay him thanks, 
 How due ! Yet all his good prov'd ill in me, 
 And wrought but malice. Lifted up so high, 
 I disdain'd subjection, and thought one step higher 
 Would set me highest, and in a moment quit 50 
 
 The debt immense of endless gratitude,— 
 So burthensome, still paying, still to owe— 
 (Forgetful what from him I still receiv'd) 
 And understood not that a grateful mind 
 By owing owes not ; but still pays, at once 55 
 
 Indebted and discharg'd. What burden then ? 
 
 O had his powerful destiny ordain'd 
 Me some inferior angel, I had stood 
 
SO thelwall's selections. 
 
 Then happy ; no unbounded hope had rais'd 
 
 Ambition.- Yet, why not? — Some other power, 6c* 
 
 As great, might have aspir'd, and me, tho mean, 
 
 Drawn to his part : but other powers as great 
 
 Fell not, but stand, unshaken, from within 
 
 Or from without, to all temptations arm'd. 65 
 
 Hadst thou the same free will and power to stand ?— 
 Thou badst. Whom hast thou then, or what to 'accuse, 
 But heaven's free love, dealt equally to all ? 
 ■ — Be then his love accurs'd, — since, love, or hate, 70 
 To me, alike, it deals eternal woe. 
 — Nay, curs'd be thou ; since, against His, thy will 
 Chose freely what it now so justly, rues. 
 
 Me miserable! which way shall I fly 
 Infinite wrath, and 'infinite despair? 75 
 
 — Which way I fly is hell: myself am hell; 
 And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep, 
 Still- threatening to devour me, opens wide, 
 To which the hell I suffer seems a heav'n. 
 
 O, then, at last relent. Is there no place 80 
 
 Left for repentance? — none for pardon left? 
 
 None left but by submission ; and that word 
 Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame 
 Among the spirits beneath, whom I seduc'd 
 With other promises, and other vaunts 85 
 
 Than to submit :— boasting I could subdue 
 The Omnipotent. 
 
 Ay me, they little know 
 How dearly I abide that boast so vain ;— 
 Under what torments inwardly I groan, 
 While they adore me on the throne of hell ! 90 
 
 With diadem and sceptre high advanc'd, 
 The lower still I fall ; only supreme 
 In misery : such joy Ambition finds. 
 
THELW ALL'S SELECTIONS, 31 
 
 But say I could repent, and could obtain, 95 
 
 By act of grace, my former state,— how soon 
 Would height recal high thoughts ? how soon unsay 
 What feign'd submission swore ? Ease would recant 
 Vows made in pain as violent and void : 
 For never can true reconcilement grow 100 
 
 Where wounds of deadly hate have pierc'd so deep; 
 Which would but lead me to a worse relapse, 
 And heavier fall : so should I purchase dear 
 Short intermission bought with double smart. 
 This knows my punisher : therefore as far 105 
 
 From granting He, as I from begging peace. — 
 
 All hope excluded thus, behold, instead 
 Of us, outcast, exil'd, his new delight, 
 Mankind, created ; and for him thi^world. 
 So farewell hope ; and, with hope, farewell fear ; 1 10 
 Farewell remorse : all good to me is lost ;— 
 Evil be thou my good : by thee, at least 
 Divided empire with heav'n's King I hold ; 
 
 By thee, and more than half, perhaps, will reign ; 
 
 As man, ere long, and this new world shall know. 115 
 
 HOHENUNDEN. 
 An Epic Song. T. Campbell, 
 
 On Linden, when the sun was low, 
 
 All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, 
 And dark as winter was the How 
 Oflser rolling rapidly. 
 
32 THELW ALL'S SELECTIONS. 
 
 But Linden shew'd aiiother sight, 
 When the drum beat at dead of night, 
 Commanding fires of death to light 
 
 The darkness of her scenery. 8 
 
 By torch and trumpet fast array'd, 
 Each horseman drew his battle blade," 
 And furious every charger neigh' d 
 
 To join the dreadful revelry. ^ 12 
 
 Then shook the hills, by thunder riven ; 
 Then flew the steed to battle driven ; 
 And, rolling, like the bolts of heaven/ 
 
 Far fiash'd the red artillery. 16 
 
 But redder yet their fires shall glow 
 On Linden's heights of crimson' d snow, 
 And bloodier still the torrent flow 
 
 Of Iser, rolling rapidly. %o 
 
 The combat deepens ! — On ye brave, 
 Who rush to glory, or the grave 1 
 Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave ; 
 
 And charge with all thy chivalry ! 24 
 
 'Tis morn ; — but scarce yon level sun, 
 Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, 
 Where fiery Frank and furious Hun 
 
 Shout in their sulphurous canopy ! %Z 
 
 Few, few shall part, where many meet! 
 The snow shall be their winding sheet ; 
 And every sod beneath their feet 
 
 Shall be a soldier's sepulchre !' - 32 
 
thelwall's selections. 33 
 
 EULOGIUM 
 
 ON THE 
 
 DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 POSCOE. 
 
 O happier times ! to truth and virtue dear, 
 Roll swiftly on ! O golden days appear ! 
 Of noble birth, when every matron dame 
 Shall the riigh meed of female merit claim : 
 Then loveliest, when her babe, in native charms, 6 
 
 Hangs on her breast, or dances in her arms. 
 
 Thus late, with angel grace, along the plain, 
 Illustrious Devon led Britannia's train; 
 And whilst, by frigid Fashion unreprest, 
 She to chaste transports opened all her breast, 10 
 
 JoyM her lov'd babe its playful hands to twine 
 Round her fair neck, or midst her locks divine; 
 And from the fount, with every grace imbued, 
 Drank heavenly nectar ; — not terrestrial food. 
 
 So Venus Jbnce, in 'fragrant bowers above, 15 
 
 Clasp'd to her rosy breast immortal Love ; 
 Transfus'd soft, passion thro his -tingling frame, 
 The nerve of rapture, and the heart of flame. 
 
 Yet not with wanton hopes and fond desires 
 Her infant's veins the British matron fires ; QO 
 
 But prompts the aim — to crown, by future worth 
 The proud pre-eminence of noble birth. 
 
34 TIIEJL WALLS SELECTIONS. 
 
 OCCASIONAL ADDRESS, 
 
 SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, LIVERPOOL, FOR THE BENEFIT 1 ' 
 OF THE CHILDREN OF 
 
 MR. PALMER, 
 
 Who died upon the Stage, whilst performing the Charac- 
 ter of the Stranger ; having just repeated the empha- 
 tic Words 
 
 " THERE IS ANOTHER, AND A BETTER WORLD !" 
 
 ROSCOE. 
 
 Ye airy sprites! who,. oft as fancy cans, 
 Sport 'midst the precincts of these haunted walls, 
 Light forms, that float in mirth's tumultuous throng, 
 With frolic dance, and revelry, and song, 
 Fold your gay wings ! — repress your wonted fire ! 5 
 
 And, from your favourite seats, awhile, retire. 
 — And thou, whose powers sublimer thoughts impart, 
 Queen of the springs that move the human heart 
 With change alternate! — at whose magic'. calf, 
 The swelling tides of passion rise or fall, — ■ TO 
 
 Thou too withdraw ; — for, 'midst thy lov'd abode, 
 W ith 'step more stern, a mightier power has trod. 
 — Here, on this spot, to every eye confest, 
 Enrob'd with terrors, stood the kingly guest ! 
 - — Here, on this spot, Death wav'd the unerring dart, 15 
 And struck, his noblest prize, — an honest heart ! 
 
 What' wonderous' links the human feelings bind! 
 How strong the $ecret sympathies of mind ! 
 As Fancy's pictur'd forms around us move, 
 We hope or fear, — rejoice,— des test or love ! $0 
 
THELW ALL'S SELECTIONS, 35 
 
 —Nor heaves the sigh for selfish 'woes alone : 
 
 Congenial sorrows mingle with our' own* 
 
 Hence, as the poet's raptnr'd eye-balls roll, 
 
 The fond delirium 'seizes all his soid, 
 
 And, whilst his pulse concordant' n.eisures keeps, Co 
 
 He smiles, in transport ; or in anguish weeps. 
 
 But all, lamented 'shade! not thine to know 
 The anguish, only; of imagin'dj woe ; 
 Destin'd o'er life's substantial ills to mourn, 
 And fond parental ties untimely Tom ; 59 
 
 Then, whilst thy bosom, labouring with its grief( 
 From fabled sorrows/sought a short rejiefj 
 The fancied woes (too true to nature's tone !) 
 Burst the slight barrier, and became thy own: 
 In mingled tides, the swelling passions ran, 83 
 
 Absorb'd the actor, and o'erwhelm'd the man. 
 Martyr of [sympathy . more sadly true 
 Than ever^ fancy jfeign'd, or poet drew ! 
 
 Say, why, by Heaven's acknowledged hand imprest] 
 Such keen sensations actuate all the breast ? 40 
 
 Why throbs the heart for joys that long have lied ? 
 Why lingers hope around the silent dead? 
 Why spurns the spirit its encumbering clay, 
 And longs to soar to happier realms away/ 
 Does Heaven, unjust, the fond desire instil, 4;3 
 
 And add, to mortal woes, another ill? 
 Is there, thro all the intellectual frame, 
 No kindred mind that prompts the nightly dream / 
 Or, in lone musings of rememberance sweet, 
 Inspires the secret wish — once more to meet? 50 
 
 — There is: — for not by more determin'd laws 
 Jts sympathetic £teel the magnet draws^ 
 
$6 thelwall's selections. 
 
 Than the freed spirit acts, with strong controul, 
 
 On its responsive sympathies of soul ; 
 
 And tells, (in characters by Truth unfuii'd)— 5,5 
 
 i — THERE IS ANOTHER, AND A BETTER WORLD ! 
 
 Yet, whilst we, sorrowing, tread this earthly ball, 
 For human woes, a human tear will fall. 
 — Blest be that tear ! — who gives it, doubly blest ! 
 That heals with balm the orphan's wounded breast ! 60 
 
 Not all that breathes in morning's genial dew, 
 Revives the parent plant, where once it grew : 
 Yet may those dews, with timely nurture, aid 
 The infant flowerets, drooping in the shade ; 
 Whilst long experienc'd worth, and manners mild, 
 (A father's merits) — still protect his child, 65 
 
 PHENOMENA 
 
 OF 
 
 SPRING, AUTUMN AND SUMMER. 
 
 From a Manuscript translation of Delille's " L' Homme des Champs." 
 BY THE LECTURER. 
 
 Haste, then, the city's crowded desert fly! 93 
 
 Know your own worth ; to Nature's lore apply; 
 Let tetate intrigues to better: projects yield: — 
 Transplant your" garden, cultivate the field j 
 If wisdom fail, yet vanity may move, 
 If not the country, your own works to love. 98 
 
thelwall's selections. 37 
 
 And, O! what jthriilingj charms are'Jiere combined/ 
 For 'eyes initiate, and the Sense refin'df 130 
 
 Chance-planted Tenants of the boundless ranges 
 While scenes and seasons, hours and objects, change, 
 The insensate! Vulgar mark no /varying igrace : 
 Not so the wise : — they (self-directed) trace 
 Each transient feature, that, alternate, shines/ 13 J 
 
 When dawns the bud, or when the leaf declines : 
 Their hearts, to seize each new-born pleasure; spring; 
 And Memory stays its evanescent wing : — 
 W T hether the morning's earliest streak of red 
 Call the young flowerets from their dewy bed, — 140 
 
 Or whether/ from the wearied star of day, 
 In mournful splendour streams the parting ray. 
 
 Thus Homer paints, while sleeps the tage of fight, 
 Aurora's rosy touch, and dewy light. 
 
 Hence, oft, Lorrain, the brilliant tint supplies, J 4a 
 
 And gilds, with setting rays, the cloudless skies/ 
 
 Nor studious less, the changeful, year survey: 
 The season hath its dawn, as well as day., 
 O ! $awn of life ! Behold Creation bloom ! — 
 Resurgent Nature bursting from her tomb \ 150. 
 
 See the gay insects tear the filmy sliroud, 
 Round /new-blownfbuds and Jiascent fruitage, crowd ; 
 In airy Curves, their gaudy hues display, 
 Or bathe in flowers, as airy/ and as gay; 
 Yet spread with less delight the recent wing, 1JJ 
 
 Than feels the Sage to hail returning spring. 
 
 Adieu, ye folding screens ! dull roofs, adieu ! 
 (Unblest who fail this spectacle to view !) 
 
3$ thelwall's selections. 
 
 Ye dusty volumes, lessons dull and cold, 
 
 .Adieu ! Lo ! Nature's ampler stores unfold | l60 
 
 Ivaptur'd, I fly, her varied charms to trace, 
 
 And catch, from living scenes, a living grace. 
 
 If with delight the year's first "birth we view, 
 Expiring Autumn has its pleasures, too. 
 Then paler suns and browner woods, dispense ] 65 
 
 A sombrous charm, that sooths the sadden'd' sense. 
 To sportive freedom^ vernal gales incline ; 
 Autumn, to pleasing melancholy, thine. 
 Returning suns, such lively transports shed 
 As friends belov'd, whom we have wept as dead. 170 
 
 Their waine (though *sad) still interests the heart 
 
 Like kind adieus of friends that must depart ; — 
 When, each accorded moment prompt to seize, 
 Even fond regret— augments the power to please. 
 
 Majestic Summer ! veil thy cloudless head : 175 
 
 I love thy splendours, but thy fervour dread ; 
 Nor woo, but when thy softer beams, bewray 
 jaome tint of Autumn, or some vernal trai{. 
 
 Yet pardon, bounteous season, if my song- 
 Overlook thy beauties, and thy glories wrong : 1 8Q 
 — If Nature faint in thy meridian beam, — 
 What charms — what freshness ! when thy blazing team 
 Sinks in the wave ! and, from his milder car, 
 O'er purple twilight, broods the Evening Star I 
 Or (sweeter still !) when, on the wearied sight, 18.? 
 Ascends the modest regent of the night; 
 Soft, o'er the scene, her shadowy light distills, — - 
 The embosom'd vallies, and the frontling hills ! 
 Tips, with a transient ray, the quivering woods ; 
 (Sleeps on the bank, and trembles in the floods.- IpO 
 
THELYTALl's SELECTIONS. 99 
 
 THE MORNING HYMN 
 
 OF 
 
 ADAM AND EVE IN PARADISE. 
 
 MILTON. E. V. 
 
 These are thy glorious works — Parent of good 153 
 Almighty ! — thine this universal frame, 
 Thus wonderous fair: thyself how wonderous then! 155 
 Unspeakable ! who sitt'st above these heavens, 
 To us invisible ; — or dimly seen 
 In these thy lowest works : yet these declare 
 Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. 
 
 Speak ye, who best can tell, — ye sons of light, — iGO 
 Angels ! for ye behold him ; and, with song, 
 And choral symphonies, day without night, 
 Circle his throne, rejoicing. Ye, in heav'n ; — 
 On earth, join all ye creatures, to extol 
 Him first, him last, him midst, and without end. ](>."> 
 
 Fairest of stars ! last in the train of night, — 
 If better thou belong'st not to the dawn, — 
 Sure pledge of day ! that crown'st the smiling morn 
 With thy bright circlet, — praise him in thy sphere, 
 While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. 170 
 
 Thou sun ! of this great world both eye and soul ! 
 Acknowledge him thy greater ; sound his praise 
 In thy eternal course ; both when thou climb'st, 
 And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou fall'st. 
 Moon ! that now meet'st the orient sun, now flv'st, 1 7o 
 With the fix'd stars, — fix'd in their orb, that flies ; 
 And ye five other wandering fires, that move 
 
40 th el wall's selection*. 
 
 In mystic dance, not without song, — resound 
 
 His praise, — who out of darkness call'd up light. 
 
 Air, and ye elements! the eldest birth ISO 
 
 Of Nature's womb ; that, in quaternion, run 
 
 Perpetual circle, multiform ; and mix, 
 
 And nourish all things; — let your ceaseless change 
 
 Vary to our great Maker still new praise. 
 
 Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise 183 
 
 From hill or steaming lake, dusky, or gray, 
 
 Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, — 
 
 In honour to the world's great Author, rise ! 
 
 Whether to deck, with clouds, the uncolour'd sky, 
 
 Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers, — 190 
 
 Rising or falling, still advance his praise. 
 
 His praise, ye winds ! that from four quarters blow, 
 
 Breathe soft, or loud ! and wave your tops, ye pines ! 
 
 With every plant, in sign of worship, wave. 
 
 Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow, 19 3 
 
 Melodious murmurs, — warbling, tune his praise. 
 
 — Join voices, all ye living souls ; ye birds, 
 
 That, singing, up to heaven gate ascend, 
 
 Bear on your wings, and in your notes, his praise. 
 
 Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk 200 
 
 The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep ! 
 
 Witness if I be silent, morn, or even, 
 
 To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade, 
 
 Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise. 
 
 Hail, universal Lord ! be bounteous still £05 
 
 To give us only good : and, if the night 
 Have gathered ought of evil, or conceal'd, 
 Disperse it ; — as ; now, light dispels the dark. SOS 
 
xhelwall's selections. 4i 
 
 THE SEASONS, 
 
 A HYMN. * 
 
 THOMPSON. 
 
 These, as they change, Almighty Father! these, 
 Are but the varied God : the rolling year 
 Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring 
 Thy beauty walks, — thy tenderness and love : 
 Wide flush the fields ; the softening air is balm ; 3 
 
 Echo the mountains round ; the forest smiles ; 
 And every sense — and every heart is joy. 
 Then comes thy glory in the summer months, 
 With light and heat refulgent : Then thy sun 
 Shoots full perfection thro the swelling year: J0 
 
 And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks ; 
 And oft, at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve, 
 By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering gales. 
 
 Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfin'd, 
 And spreads a common feast for all that lives. 15 
 
 In Winter, awful Thou ! with clouds and storms 
 Around Thee thrown, — tempest o'er tempest roll'd, — 
 Majestic darkness ! — on the whirlwind's wing, 
 Riding sublime, thou bid'st the world adore, 
 And humblest Nature with thy northern blast. 29 
 
 Mysterious round ! What skill, — what force divine, 
 Deep-felt, in these appear ! a simple train ; 
 Yet so delightful !— mix'd with such kind art,— 
 
 F 
 
42 thelwall's selections. 
 
 Such beauty and beneficence combin'd ; — 
 
 Shade, unperceiv'd, so softening into shade ; 25 
 
 And all so forming an harmonious whole ; 
 
 That, as they still succeed, they ravish still. 
 
 But, wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze, 
 
 Man marks not Thee ; marks not the mighty hand, 
 
 That, ever-busy, wheels the silent spheres ; — SO 
 
 Works in the secret deep; shoots, steaming, thence, 
 
 The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring ; 
 
 Flings from the sun direct the flaming day ; 
 
 Feeds every creature ; hurls the tempest forth ) 
 
 And, as on earth the grateful change revolves, 85 
 
 With transport touches all the springs of life. 
 
 Nature, attend ! join every living soul, 
 Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, 
 In adoration join ; and, ardent, raise 
 
 One general song ! To Him, ye vocal gales, 40 
 
 Breathe soft, whose Spirit in your freshness breathes : 
 Oh talk of Him, in solitary glooms, 
 Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine 
 Fills the brown shade with a religious awe ! 
 
 And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, 45 
 
 Who shake the astonish'd world, — lift high to heaven 
 The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. 
 His praise, ye brooks, attune, — ye trembling rills ; 
 And let me catch it as I muse along. 
 Ye headlong torrents, rapid, and profound ; 50 
 
 Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze 
 Along the vale ; and, thou, majestic main, 
 (A secret world of wonders in thyself !) 
 Sound his stupendous praise, whose greater voice* 
 Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. 55 
 
thelwall's selections. 43 
 
 Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, 
 In mingled clouds to Him ; whose sun exalts, 
 Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. 
 Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, to Him ; — 
 Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart, 60 
 
 As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. 
 Ye that keep watch in heaven (as earth, asleep, 
 Unconscious, lies) effuse your mildest beams, 
 Ye constellations ! while your angels strike, 
 Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. f)5 
 
 Great source of day ! best image here below 
 Of thy Creator, — ever pouring wide, 
 Prom world to world, the vital ocean round, 
 On Nature write, with every beam, His praise. 
 
 The thunder rolls. Be hush'd the prostrate world — 70 
 While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. 
 
 Bleat out afresh, ye hills ; ye mossy rocks 
 Retain the sound ; the broad responsive lowe, 
 Ye valleys, raise ; for the Great Shepherd reigns ; 
 And his unsuffering kingdom yet will come. 75 
 
 Ye woodlands all, awake : a boundless song 
 Burst from the groves ! and when the restless day, 
 Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, 
 Sweetest of birds ! sweet Philomela, charm 
 The listening shades, and teach the night His praise. 80 
 
 Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles, — 
 (At once the head, the heart and tongue of all) 
 Crown the great hymn ! in swarming cities vast, 
 Assembled men; — to the deep organ join 
 The long resounding voice, — oft-breaking clear, 85 
 
 At solemn pauses, thro the swelling base ; ■ 
 
44 thelwall's selections. 
 
 And, as each mingling flame increases each, 
 
 In one united ardour rise to heaven. 
 
 Or, if you rather chuse the rural shade, 
 
 And find a fane in every secret grove ; 90 
 
 There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay, — 
 
 The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre, 
 
 Still sing the God of Seasons, as they roll. 
 
 APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT. 
 
 MILTON. P. L. B.III. 
 
 Hail, holy light ! offspring of heaven, first born ! 
 Or, of the Eternal, co-eternal beam, 
 May I express thee, unblam'd? since God is light, 
 And never, but in unapproached light, 
 Dwelt from eternity : dwelt then in thee, — £ 
 
 Bright effluence of bright essence increate. 
 
 Or hear'st thou rather, pure ethereal stream, — 
 Whose fountain who shall tell ? Before the sun — 
 Before the heavens thou wert ; and, at the voice 
 Of Go d, as with a mantle, did'st invest ik 
 
 The rising world of waters, dark and deep, 
 Won from the void and formless infinite. 
 
 Thee I revisit now, with bolder wing, 
 Escap'd the Stygian pool ? tho long detain'd 
 In that obscure sojourn; while, in my flight, 15 
 
 Thro utter, and thro middle darkness borne, 
 With other notes than to the Orphean lyre, 
 I sung of Chaos and eternal Night ; 
 
thelwall's selections. 45 
 
 Taught by the heavenly Muse, to venture down 
 
 The dark descent, and up to re-ascend, — 20 
 
 Tho hard and rare. Thee I revisit safe, 
 
 And feel thy sovereign vital lamp : but thou 
 
 Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain 
 
 To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; 
 
 So thick a drop serene hath quench'd their orbs, 25 
 
 Or dim suffusion veil'd. Yet not the more, 
 
 Cease I to wander, where the Muses haunt 
 
 Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill : 
 
 Smit with the love of sacred song : but chief, 
 
 Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, SO 
 
 That wash thy hallow 'd feet, and warbling flow, 
 
 Nightly I visit: nor, sometimes, forget 
 
 Those other two, — equall'd with me in fate, 
 
 (So were I equall'd with them in renown !) 
 
 Blind Thamyris, and blind Maeonides ; 35 
 
 And Tiresias and Phineus, prophets old ; 
 
 Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move 
 
 Harmonious numbers; — as the wakeful bird 
 
 Sings, darkling, and, in shadiest covert hid, 
 
 Tunes her nocturnal note. 
 
 Thus, with the year, 40 
 
 Seasons return ; but not to me returns 
 Day, or the sweet approach of even, or morn ; 
 Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, 
 Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine : 
 But cloud, instead, and ever-during dark 45 
 
 Surrounds me ; from the cheerful ways of men 
 Cut off ; and, for the book of knowledge fair, 
 Presented with an universal blank 
 Of nature^ works — to me expung'd and raz'd, — 
 And wisdom, at one entrance, quite shut out. 50 
 
 So much the rather thou, celestial light ! 
 
46 THELWALl/S SELECTIONS. 
 
 Shine inward ; and the mind, thro all her powers, 
 Irradiate : there plant eyes ! all mist from thence 
 Purge and disperse ; that I may see, and tell 
 Of things invisible to mortal sight. 55 
 
 PICTURESQUE CONTRAST 
 
 OF 
 
 ANCIENT AND MODERN MANCHESTER. 
 
 As the following article is extracted from an unpub* 
 lished poem, it may not be improper to introduce it with 
 some explanation: for, altho the language of poetry 
 should be intelligible, without the translation of notes, 
 yet parts cannot well be comprehended without some gene- 
 ral notions of the whole: and the prophetic description, 
 here presented, forms but a very small portion of a single 
 episode, in a work of considerable length. 
 
 The era of the narrative of that work is an early period 
 of the Saxon Heptarchy. Edwin of Northumbria, the 
 hero of the Poem, (the Father of the Saxon Polity in 
 Britain) being then an exile in the Court of East Ang- 
 lia, — while his enemies are notoriously plotting his de- 
 struction, — is represented as delineating, with his spear, 
 on the wall of his apartment, an instructive map of his 
 expected kingdom : — the ancient principality of Northumber- 
 land ;— from the mouths of the Mersey and the Humber to 
 the Firth of Edinburgh. During this heroic employment of 
 the hour of danger, his projected improvements, and patriotic 
 meditations, are occasionally enlivened by supernatural 
 revelations, and visionary exhibitions of the past and 
 future history of the respective places delineated. Man- 
 
Jhelwall's selections. 47 
 
 chester (then a mere rustic village, rising out of the ruins 
 of a Roman station) does not escape his notice: but from 
 its destined importance, becomes one of the prominent 
 objects of prophetic vision. 
 
 •Nor does he miss 
 
 Mancester (feeble yet, — a hamlet rude, 
 
 Amid the ruins of belligerent walls, 
 
 Rearing its peaceful head ;) — Manutium nam'd, 323 
 
 By Roman masters; by the British, Maen, — 
 
 From the rock, its basis, o'er the confluent streams, 
 
 Irwell and Irk, for deep-worn channel fam'd. 
 
 But while he traces, with dilated gaze, 
 Its site romantic — (then with hanging groves, 330 
 
 Pastures, and bleeting flocks, and waving grain 
 Girt amiable — a scene of pastoral joy 
 And blest obscurity !) by Fancy's wand 
 Touch'd magical, the sylvan prospect fades, 
 Prescient of Fate ! — transform'd the humble vill 335 
 
 Spreads populous ; — " the busy hum of men," 
 And looms, and whirring wheels, and whizzing threads, 
 Twin'd on the giddy spindles,— now succeed 
 To bleat of flocks and herds, and whistle blithe 
 Of solitary ploughman, o'er the share 340 
 
 Bent healthful. But, o'er all, with wondering eyes, 
 He marks the swoop gigantic of huge beam 
 Self-rock'd (so seeming !) and, with magic force, 
 Guiding innumerous engines, that appear 
 Instinct with strange volition: Vulcan's art 34.> 
 
 And Merlin's fables realis'd ! — the while 
 Obedient rivers bend their tutor'd streams 
 To waft the web ingenious ; and the sea 
 Itself grows populous, with floating towns, 
 Spreading Northumbrian commerce. . 350 
 
4$ thelwall's selections. 
 
 THE ACCOMPLISHED PREACHER. 
 
 CHARACTER OF 
 
 MARIANO DA GENAZANO, 
 
 An Augustine Monk of the 15th Century, and one of the favourite Eccle* 
 siastics of Lorenzo de' Medici. — Roscoe. 
 
 Politiano (in the Preface to his Miscellanea) in- 
 veighing against those who affected to consider the study of 
 polite letters as inconsistent with the performance of sacred 
 functions, adduces Mariano as an illustrious instance of 
 their union. " On this account," says he, to Lorenzo, 
 " I cannot sufficiently admire your highly esteemed friend 
 <l Mariano ; whose proficiency in theological studies, and 
 " whose eloquence and address, in his public discourses^ 
 " leave him without a rival. The lessons which he incul- 
 " cates, derive additional authority from his acknowledged 
 " disinterestedness, and from the severity of his private life : 
 " yet there is nothing morose in his temper ; nothing un- 
 *' pleasingly austere ; nor does he think the charms of 
 " poetry, or the amusements and pursuits of elegant litera- 
 
 " ture, below his attention." 
 
 " I was lately induced to attend one of his lectures: 
 
 " rather, to say the truth, thro curiosity, than with the 
 " hope of being entertained. His appearance, however, 
 " interested me in his favour. His address was striking ; 
 " and his eye marked intelligence. My expectations were 
 " raised. He began ; — I was attentive : a clear voice — 
 " select expression — elevated sentiment. He divides his 
 " subject; — I perceive his distinctions: Nothing perplexed; 
 " nothing insipid ; nothing languid. He unfolds the web of 
 " his argument; — I am enthralled. He refutes the sophism; 
 u — I am freed. He introduces a pertinent narrative ; — I 
 11 am interested; He modulates his voice; — I am charm- 
 ed. — He is jocular ; — I smile. He presses me with serious 
 truths; — I yield to their force. He addresses the passions; 
 — the tears glide down my cheeks. He raises his voice 
 in anger;— I tremble, and wish myself away." 
 
 a 
 
thelwall's selections. 49 
 
 THE FANATIC— eoscoe. 
 
 Although the citizens of Florence admired the talents, 
 and respected the virtues of Mariano, their attention was 
 much more forcibly excited by a preacher of a very different 
 character ; — who possessed himself of their confidence, and 
 intitled himself to their homage, by foretelling their des- 
 truction. This was the famous Girolamo Savonarola; 
 who, afterwards, acted so conspicuous a part in the popular 
 commotions at Florence ; and contributed, so essentially, to 
 the accomplishment of his own predictions. Savonarola 
 was a native of Ferrara; but the reputation which he had 
 acquired, as a preacher, induced Lorenzo de' Medici to 
 invite him to Florence ; where he took up his residence in 
 the year 1488, and was appointed prior of the monastery of 
 St. Marco. By pretensions to superior sanctity, and by a fervid 
 and over-powering elocution, he soon acquired an astonishing 
 ascendancy over the minds of the people ; and, in propor- 
 tion as his popularity increased, his disregard of his patron 
 became more apparent, and was soon converted into the 
 most vindictive animosity. It had been the custom of those 
 who had preceded Savonarola in this office, to pay parti- 
 cular respect to Lorenzo de' Medici, as the supporter of 
 the institution.- Savonarola, however, not only rejected 
 this ceremony, as founded in adulation ; but, as often as 
 Lorenzo frequented the gardens of the monastery, retired 
 from his presence ; — pretending that his intercourse was with 
 God, and not with man. At the same time, in his public 
 discourses, he omitted no opportunity of attacking the re- 
 putation, and diminishing the credit of Lorenzo ; by prog- 
 nosticating the speedy termination of his authority, and his^ 
 banishment from his native place. The divine word, from 
 the lips of Savonarola^ descended not amongst his. audience 
 
50 thelwall's selections. 
 
 like the dews of heaven ; it was the piercing hail,— the 
 destroying sword, — the herald of destruction. The friends 
 of Lorenzo frequently remonstrated with him, on his suf- 
 fering the monk to proceed to such an extreme of arro- 
 gance ; but Lorenzo had either more indulgence, or more 
 discretion, than to adopt hostile measures against a man, 
 whom, though morose and insolent, he probably considered 
 as sincere. On the contrary, he displayed his usual pru- 
 dence and moderation ; by declaring — that whilst* the 
 preacher exerted himself to reform the citizens of Florence, 
 he should readily excuse his incivility to himself. This 
 extraordinary degree of lenity, if it had no influence on the 
 mind of the fanatic, prevented, in a great degree, the ill 
 effects of his harangues ; and it was not till after the death 
 of Lorenzo, that Savonarola excited those disturbances ire 
 Florence, which led to his own destruction, and terminated 
 in the ruin of the republic. 
 
 NATHAN'S PARABLE. 
 
 And the Lord sent Nathan unto David: and he came 
 unto him, and said unto him, — 
 
 u There were two men in one city ; the one rich, and the 
 other poor. The rich man had exceeding many flocks and 
 herds : But the poor man had nothing, save one little ewe 
 lamb, which he had brought and nourished up ; — and it 
 grew up together with him, and with his children : it did 
 eat of his own meat, and drink of his own cup, and lay in 
 his bosom, and was unto him as a daughter. 
 
 " And there came a traveller unto the rich man ; and he 
 spared to take of his own flock and of his own herd, to 
 dress for the wayfaring man that was come unto him ; but 
 took the poor man's lamb, and dressed it, for the man that 
 was come to him." 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 51 
 
 And David's anger was greatly kindled against the man : 
 and he said to Nathan, — 
 
 " As the Lord liveth ! the man that hath done this thing 
 shall surely die : And he shall restore the lamb fourfold, 
 because he did this thing, and because he had no pity." 
 
 And Nathan said unto David, — " Thou art the man!" 
 
 AN ARGUMENT FOR A FUTURE STATE. 
 
 Nature has given to man an instinctive sentiment of 
 the existence of God, in inspiring him, as she does, with 
 a contempt of earthly, and fleeting advantages, and a desire 
 of things heavenly, and immortal. It is this sublime attrac- 
 tion that makes courage a virtue ; and that induces us to rush 
 on death, amid so many cares for the preservation of life. 
 
 Brave D'Assas ! what did you hope for on earth, when, 
 for the salvation of the French army, you poured forth your 
 blood, by night, unseen, on the plains of Klosterkam ? — And 
 you, generous Eustace de St. Pierre ! what recompence did 
 you expect from your country, when you appeared before 
 her tyrants, with a halter on your neck, ready to die an 
 infamous death to save your fellow-citizens ? Of what im- 
 portance to your insensible ashes could be the statues and 
 the elogies one day to be offered you ? Unknown, or covered 
 with opprobrium, as you were, could you even hope for 
 this reward of your sacrifices ? — could you reckon, for the 
 future, upon the empty praises of a world, separated from 
 , you by eternal barriers r And you — still more glorious in 
 the sight of God ! — obscure citizens ! who fall without glory ; 
 — ye, whose virtues draw down upon you — shame, calumny, 
 persecution, poverty, contempt, from those even who dis- 
 pense honours among mankind, — could you tread paths thus 
 flinty and uneven, did not a beam of divinity shine before 
 rcur eves ? 
 
52 thelwall's selections. 
 
 AN HYMN.— addison. 
 
 When all thy mercies, O, my God ! 
 
 My rising soul surveys, 
 Transported with the view, I'm lost 
 
 In wonder, love, and praise ! 
 
 O ! how shall words, with equal warmth, $ 
 
 The gratitude declare 
 That glows within my ravished heart f — ■ 
 
 But thou canst read it there. 
 
 Thy providence my life sustain'd, 
 
 And all my wants redrest, JO 
 
 When in the silent womb I lay, 
 
 And hung upon the breast. 
 
 To all my weak complaints and cries, 
 
 Thy mercy lent an ear, 
 Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learnt J 5 
 
 To form themselves in prayer. 
 
 Unnumber'd comforts to my soul 
 
 Thy tender care bestow'd, 
 Before my infant heart conceiv'd 
 
 From whence those comforts flow'd. 20 
 
 When, in the slippery paths of youth, 
 
 With heedless steps, I ran, 
 Thine arm, unseen, convey'd me safe, 
 
 And led me up to man. 
 
THELWALL^S SELECTIONS* 53 
 
 Thro hidden dangers, toils and death, 25 
 
 It gently clear'd my way ; 
 And thro the pleasing snares of vice : — 
 • More to foe fear'd than they. 
 
 When worn with sickness, oft hast thou 
 
 With health renew'd my face ; SO 
 
 And, when in sins and sorrows sunk, 
 Reviv'd my soul with grace. 
 
 Thy bounteous hand, with worldly bliss 
 
 Has made my cup run o'er ; 
 And, in a kind and faithful friend, 35 
 
 Has doubled all my store ! 
 
 Ten thousand thousand precious gifts 
 
 My daily thanks employ ; 
 Nor is the least — a cheerful heart, 
 
 That tastes those gifts with joy. 40 
 
 Thro every period of my life, 
 
 Thy goodness I'll pursue ; 
 And, after death, — in distant words, 
 
 The glorious theme renew. 
 
 When nature fails, and day and night 45 
 
 Divide thy works no more, 
 My ever-grateful heart, O Lord I 
 
 Thy mercy shall adore. 
 
 Through all eternity, to thee 
 
 A joyful song I'll raise ; oQ 
 
 For, Oh ! eternity's too short 
 
 To utter all thy praise. o2 
 
54 thelwall's selections. 
 
 SPEECH OF LORD CHATHAM, 
 
 ON THE SUBJECT OF EMPLOYING INDIANS TO FIGHT AGAINST 
 THE AMERICANS. 
 
 I cannot, my lords, — I will not join in congratulation 
 on misfortune and disgrace. This, my lords, is a perilous 
 and tremendous moment : it is not a time for adulation : the 
 smoothness of flattery cannot save us, in this rugged and 
 awful crisis. 
 
 The desperate state of our army abroad, is, in part, 
 known. No man more highly esteems and honours the 
 English troops than I do : I know their virtues and their 
 valour: I know they can achieve any thing but impossibili- 
 ties ; and I know that the conquest of English America is 
 an impossibility. 
 
 You cannot my lords ! you cannot conquer America. 
 
 • — What is your present situation there ? We do not know 
 the worst ; but we know, that, in three campaigns, we have 
 done nothing, and suffered much. You may swell every 
 expence, accumulate every assistance, and extend your traffic 
 to the shambles of every German despot ; your attempts 
 will be fo» ever vain and impotent : — doubly so, indeed, 
 from this mercenary aid on which you rely ; for it irritates, 
 to an incurable resentment, the minds of your adversaries, 
 to overrun them with the mercenary sons of rapine and 
 plunder ; devoting them and their possessions to the rapacity 
 of hireling cruelty. 
 
 But, my lords ! who is the man, that, in addition to the 
 disgraces and mischiefs of the war, has dared to authorise, 
 and associate to our arms, the tomahawk and scalping knife 
 pf the savage? — to call, into civilized alliance, the wild and 
 inhuman inhabitants of the woods? — to delegate, to the 
 
THELWALL S SELECTIONS. oj 
 
 merciless Indian, the defence of disputed rights ? and to 
 wage the horrors of his barbarous warfare against our 
 brethren ? 
 
 My lords ! — these enormities cry aloud for redress and 
 punishment. 
 
 But, this barbarous measure has been defended, not only 
 on the principles of policy and necessity, but, also, on those 
 of morality ; " for it is perfectly allowable," says a noble 
 Lord, " to use all the means that God and Nature have 
 put into our hands." 
 
 I am astonished, — I am shocked, to hear such principles 
 confessed : — to hear them avowed in this house, or in this 
 country. 
 
 My lords, I did not intend to encroach so much on 
 your attention ; but I cannot repress my indignation : — I 
 feel myself impelled to speak. We are called upon, as 
 members of Tnis house, — as men, — as Christians, to protest 
 against such horrible barbarity ! — 
 
 " That God and Nature have put into our hands !" — 
 What ideas of God and Nature, that noble lord may enter- 
 tain, I know not ; but I know, that such detestable princi- 
 ples, are equally abhorrent to religion and humanity. What ! 
 — attribute the sacred sanction of God and Nature to the 
 massacres of the Indian scalping knife ! — to the cannibal- 
 savage, torturing, murdering, devouring, drinking the blood of 
 his mangled victims ! Such notions shock every precept of 
 morality — every feeling of humanity — every sentiment of 
 honour. These abominable principles, and this more abomi- 
 nable avowal of them, demand the most decisive indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 I call upon that right reverend, and this most learned 
 Bench, — to vindicate the religion of their God ; — to support 
 the justice of their country. I call upon the bishops to in- 
 terpose the unsullied sanctity of their lawn, — upon the judge* 
 
56 thelwall's selections^ 
 
 to interpose the purity of their ermine, — to save us from* 
 this pollution. I call upon the honour of your lordships, 
 to reverence the dignity of your ancestors, and to maintain 
 your own. I call upon the spirit and humanity of my 
 country, to vindicate the national character. I invoke the 
 genius of the constitution. 
 
 From the tapestry that adorns these walls, the immortar 
 ancestor of this noble lord frowns, with indignation, at the 
 disgrace of his country. In vain did he defend the liberty, 
 and establish the religion of Britain, against the tyranny of 
 Rome ; if these worse than Popish cruelties and inquisitorial 
 practices are endured among us. To send forth the mer- 
 ciless cannibal, thirsting for blood ! — against whom ? — Your 
 protestant brethren! — to lay waste their country — to deso- 
 late their dwellings, and extirpate their race and name, by 
 the aid and instrumentality of these horrible savages ! — 
 
 Spain can no longer boast pre-eminence in barbarity. 
 She armed herself with blood-hounds, to extirpate the 
 wretched natives of Mexico ; we, more ruthless, loose those 
 brutal warriors against our countrymen in America, — en- 
 deared to us by every tie that can sanctify humanity. 
 
 I solemnly call upon your lordships, and upon every order 
 of men in the state, to stamp upon this infamous procedure 
 the indelible stigma of public abhorrence. More particu- 
 larly, I call upon the venerable prelates of our religion, to 
 do away this iniquity. Let them perform a lustration to 
 purify the country from this deep and deadly sin. 
 
 My Lords, I am old and weak ; and, at present, unable 
 to say more ; but my feelings and indignation were too 
 strong to have allowed me to say less. I could not have: 
 slept this night in my bed, nor reposed my head upon my 
 pillow, without giving vent to my steadfast abhorrence of" 
 such enormous and preposterous principles* 
 
57 
 
 .ST. PAUL BEFORE AGRIPPA. 
 
 ACTS XXVI. 
 
 I think myself happy, king Agrippa, because I shall answer 
 for myself this day before thee, touching all the matters whereof 
 I am accused of the Jews : especially because I know thee to 
 be expert in all customs and questions which are among the 
 Jews : wherefore I beseech thee to hear me patiently. 
 
 My manner of life, from my youth, which was, at the first, 
 among mine own nation, at Jerusalem, know all the Jews; 
 who knew me, from the beginning, if they would testify, that, 
 after the most rigid sect of our religion, I lived a Pharisee. 
 And now I stand and am judged for the hope of the promise 
 made of God unto our fathers : unto which promise our twelve 
 tribes, instantly serving God, day and night, hope to come. 
 For which hope's sake, king Agrippa, I am accused of the 
 Jews! 
 
 Why should it be thought a thing incredible to you, that God 
 should raise the dead ? 
 
 I, verily, thought with myself, that I ought to do many things 
 contrary to the name of Jesus of Nazareth. Which things I 
 also did, in Jerusalem : and many of the saints did I shut up in 
 prison, — having received my authority from the chief priests ; 
 and when they were put to death, I gave my voice against them. 
 And I punished them oft, in every synagogue, and compelled 
 them to blaspheme ; and, being exceedingly mad against them, 
 I persecuted them even unto strange cities. 
 
68 THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 
 
 Whereupon, as I went to Damascus, with authority and com- 
 mission from the chief priests, at mid day, O King ! I saw, in 
 the way, a light from heaven, above the brightness of the 
 sun, shining round about me, and them which journeyed with 
 me. And when we were all fallen to the earth, I heard a voice 
 speaking unto me, and saying, in the Hebrew tongue, " Saul ! 
 Saul ! why persecutest thou me ? It is hard for thee to kick against 
 the goads." 
 
 And I said, " Who art thou Lord?" And he said, "-I am 
 " Jesus whom thou persecutest. But arise, and stand upon 
 " thy feet : for I have appeared unto thee for this purpose — to 
 " make thee a minister, and a witness, both of these things 
 " which thou hast seen, and of those things in which, hereafter, 
 "I will appear unto thee: for I will deliver thee from the 
 u people, and from the Gentiles, unto whom now I send thee, 
 " to open their eyes, and to turn them from darkness to light, and 
 " from the power of Satan unto God ; to the end that they may 
 " receive forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among them which 
 " are sanctified by the faith that is in me." 
 
 Whereupon, O king Agrippa, I was not disobedient to the 
 heavenly vision ; but shewed, first unto them of Damascus, and 
 at Jerusalem, and throughout all the coasts of Judea, and then 
 to the Gentiles, that they should repent, and turn to God, and 
 do works meet for repentance. 
 
 For these causes the Jews caught me in the temple, and went 
 about to kill me ! 
 
 Having, therefore, obtained help of God, I continue unto 
 this day, witnessing both to small and great — saying none other 
 things than those which the Prophets and Moses did say should 
 come : u That Christ should suffer, and that he should be the 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 59 
 
 " first that should rise from the dead, and should shew light 
 " unto the people, and to the Gentiles." 
 
 And as he thus spake for himself, Festus said, with a loud 
 voice, " Paul, thou art beside thyself; much learning doth 
 " make thee mad" 
 
 But he said- 
 
 I am not mad, most noble Festus ; but speak forth the words 
 of truth and soberness. For the king knoweth of these things, 
 before whom, also, I speak freely : for I am persuaded that none 
 of these things are hidden from him ; — for this thing was not 
 done in a corner. 
 
 King Agrippa ! — believest thou the Prophets ? — I know that 
 thou believest ! 
 
 Then Agrippa said unto Paul, " Almost thou persuadest me 
 to be a Christian" 
 
 And Paul said 
 
 I would to God that not only thou, but all that hear me this 
 day, were both almost, and altogether such as I am — except 
 these bonds ! 
 
60 
 
 THE AGE OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 GIBBON. 
 
 BETWEEN the age of Charlemagne and that of the crusades, 
 a revolution had taken place among the Spaniards, Normans, 
 and French ; which was gradually extended to the rest of Europe. 
 The service of the infantry, was degraded to the plebeians ; the 
 cavalry formed the strength of the armies ; and the honourable 
 name of miles, or soldier, was confined to the gentlemen ; who 
 served on horseback, and were invested with the character of 
 knighthood. 
 
 The dukes and counts, who had usurped the rights of sove- 
 reignty, divided the provinces among their faithful barons ; the 
 barons distributed among their vassals, the fiefs, or benefices, of 
 their jurisdiction ; and these military tenants (the peers of each 
 other and of their lord) composed the noble, or equestrian, 
 order, — which disdained to conceive the peasant, or burgher, as 
 of the same species with themselves. The dignity of their birth 
 was preserved by pure aud equal, alliances ; their sons, alone, 
 who could produce four quarters, or lines, of ancestry, without 
 spot, or reproach, might legally pretend to the honour of knight- 
 hood; but a valiant plebeian was sometimes enriched, and en- 
 nobled, by the sword ; and became the father of a new race. A 
 single knight could impart, according to his judgment, the cha- 
 racter which he received ; and the warlike sovereigns of Europe, 
 derived more glory from this personal distinction, than from the 
 lustre of their diadem. 
 
 This ceremony was, in its origin, simple and profane : the 
 candidate, after some previous trial, was invested with his sword 
 and spurs ; and his cheek, or shoulder, was touched with a slight 
 blow, as an emblem of the last affront which it was lawful for 
 him to endure. But superstition mingled in every public and 
 private action of life ; in the holy wars, it sanctified the profes- 
 sion of arms ; and the order of chivalry was assimulated, in its 
 
thelwall's selections. 6\ 
 
 rights and privileges, to the sacred order of priesthood. The 
 bath, and the white garment of the novice, were an indecent 
 copy of the regeneration of baptism: his sword, which he 
 offered on the altar, was blessed by the ministers of religion ; his 
 solemn reception was preceded by feasts and vigils ; and he was 
 created a knight in the name of God, of St. George, and of St. 
 Michael the archangel. He swore to accomplish the duties 
 of his profession; and education, example and the public 
 opinion, were the inviolable guardians of his oath. As the cham- 
 pion of God and the ladies, he devoted himself to speak the 
 truth ; to maintain the right ; to protect the distressed ; to practice 
 courtesy, — a virtue less familiar to the infidels ; to despise the al- 
 lurements of ease and safety ; and to vindicate, in every perilous 
 adventure, the honour of his character. 
 
 The abuse of the same spirit provoked the illiterate knight to 
 disdain the arts of luxury and peace ; and to esteem himself the 
 sole judge and avenger of his own injuries ; and, proudly, to neg- 
 lect — the laws of civil society, and military discipline. 
 
 Yet the benefits of this institution, to refine the temper of 
 barbarians, and to infuse some principles of faith, justice and 
 humanity, were strongly felt, and have been often observed. 
 The asperity of national prejudice was softened ; and the com- 
 munity of religion and arms spread a similar colour, and gene- 
 rous emulation, over the face of Christendom. Abroad, in en- 
 terprize and pilgrimage, — at home, in martial exercise, the 
 warriors of ever} 7 country were perpetually associated : and im- 
 partial taste must prefer a gothic tournament to the Olympic 
 games of classic antiquity. Instead of the naked spectacles, 
 which corrupted the manners of the greeks, and banished from the 
 stadium, the virgins and matrons ; the pompous decoration of 
 the lists was crowned with the presence of chaste and high-born 
 beauty, — from whose hands the conqueror received the prize of 
 his dexterity and courage. 
 
6$ thelwall's selections. 
 
 THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 
 
 GOLDSMITH. 
 
 As for my misfortunes, master, I can't pretend to have 
 gone through any more than other folks ; for, except the loss 
 of my limb, and my being obliged to beg, I don't know 
 any reason, thank heaven, that I have to complain. There 
 is Bill Tibbs, of our regiment, he has lost both his legs, 
 and an eye to boot ; but, thank heaven, it is not so bad with 
 me yet. 
 
 I was born in Shropshire; my father was a labourer, and 
 died when I was five years old ; so I was put upon the parish. 
 As he had been a wandering sort of a man, the l parish folks' 
 were not able to tell to what parish I belonged, or where I 
 was born, so they sent me to another parish, and that parish 
 sent me to ' another.' I thought in my heart, they kept send- 
 ing me about so long, that they would not let me be born in 
 any parish at all ; but at last, however, they fixed me. I had 
 some disposition to be a scholar, and was resolved, at least, 
 to know my letters; but the master of the work-house put 
 me to business, as soon as I was able to handle a mallet ; and 
 here I lived an easy kind of life for five years. I only wrought 
 ten hours in the day, and had my meat and drink provided for 
 my labour. 
 
 It is true, I was not suffered to stir out of the house for fear, 
 as they said, I should run away ; but what of that, I had the 
 liberty of the whole house, and the yard before the door ; and 
 that was enough for me. 
 
 I was then bound out fo a farmer, where I was up both 
 early and late ; but I ate and drank well, and liked my business 
 well enough, till he died; when I was obliged to provide for 
 myself: so I was resolved to go seek my fortune. 
 
thelwall's selections. 62 
 
 In this manner I went from town to town, worked when 
 I could get employment, and starved when I could get none ; 
 when happening, one day, to go through a field, belonging to 
 a justice of peace, I spied a hare crossing the path just before 
 me ; and I believe the devil put it in my head to fling my stick 
 at it. 
 
 Well, what will you have on't? I killed the hare, and was 
 bringing it away, then the justice himself met me : he called me 
 a poacher, and a villain ; and, collaring me, desired I would 
 give an account of myself. I fell upon my knees, begged his 
 worship's pardon, and began to give a full account of all that 
 I knew of my breed, seed, and generation ; but though I gave 
 a very true account the Justice said I gave no account ; so I 
 was indicted at the sessions, found guilty of being poor, and 
 sent up to London, to Newgate, in order to be transported, as 
 a vagabond. 
 
 People may say this and that of being in jail, but, for my 
 part, I found Newgate as agreeable a place as ever I was 
 in in all my life. I had my belly full to eat and drink, and 
 didn't work at all. This kind of life was too good to last for 
 ever ; so I was taken out of prison, after five months, put on 
 board a ship, and sent off, with two hundred more, to the Plan- 
 tations. 
 
 We had but an indifferent passage ; for, being all confined 
 in the hold, more than a hundred of our people died, for want 
 of sweet air • and those that remained were sickly enough, God 
 knows. 
 
 When we came a-shore, we were sold to the planters ; and 
 I was bound for seven years more. As I was no scholar, 
 for I did not know my letters, I was obliged to work among 
 the negroes; and I served out my time, as in duty bound 
 to do. 
 
 When my time was expired, I worked my passage home ; 
 and glad I was to see Old England again, because I lovec^my 
 
64 thelwall's selections. 
 
 country. I was afraid, however, that I should be indicted for 
 a vagabond, once more, so did not much care to go down into 
 the country, but kept about the town, and did little jobs when I 
 could get them. 
 
 I was very happy, in this manner, for some time; till one 
 evening, coming home from work, two men knocked me down, 
 and then desired me to stand. They belonged to a press gang. 
 I was carried before the justice ; and, as I could give no ac- 
 count of myself, I had my choice left, whether to go on board 
 a man of war ; or list for a soldier. I chose the latter ; and, 
 in this post of a gentleman, I served two campaigns in Flanders ; 
 was at the battles of Val and Fontenoy, and received but one 
 wound, thro' the breast here ; but the doctor of our regiment 
 soon made me well again. 
 
 When the peace came on, I was discharged; and, as I 
 could not work, because my wound was sometimes trouble- 
 some, I listed for a landman, in the East-India Company's 
 service. 
 
 I have fought the French in six pitched battles; and *I 
 verily believe, that if I could read or write, our captain 
 would have made me a corporal. But it was not my good 
 fortune to have any promotion, for I soon fell sick, and so 
 got leave to return home again, with forty pounds in my 
 pocket. 
 
 This was at the beginning of the present war ; and I 
 hoped to be set on shore, and to have the pleasure of spend- 
 ing my money; but the government wanted men, and so 
 I was pressed, for a sailor, before ever I could set foot on 
 shore. 
 
 The boatswain found me, as he said, an obstinate fellow : 
 he swore he knew that I understood my business well, but 
 that I shammed Abraham, to be idle ; but God knows, I 
 knew nothing of sea-business ; and he beat me without con- 
 sidering what he was about. I had still, however, my forty 
 
65 
 
 pounds, and that was some comfort to me under every beating ; 
 and the money I might have had to this day, but that our ship 
 was taken by the French, and so I lost all. 
 
 Our crew was earned into Brest, and many of them died, 
 because they were not used to live in a jail ; but, for my part, it 
 was nothing to me, for I was seasoned. 
 
 One night, as I was asleep on the bed of boards, with a warm 
 blanket about me (for 1 always loved to lie well) I w%s awaken- 
 ed by the boatswain, who had a dark lanthorn in his hand. 
 " Jack," says he to me, " will you knock out the French cen- 
 try's brains ?" I don't care, says I, striving to keep myself awake, 
 if I lend a hand. " Then follow me," says he, " and I hope we 
 shall do the business." So, up I got, i nd tied a blanket, which 
 [was all the cloaths I had, about my middle, and went with him to 
 ight the Frenchman. I hate the French, because they are all 
 Saves, and wear wooden shoes. 
 
 \ So we went down to the door, where both the cen tries were 
 posted ; and, rushing upon them, seized their arms, in a moment, 
 and knocked them down. From thence, nine of us ran together 
 to the quay, and seizing the first boat we met, got out of the 
 harbour and put to sea. 
 
 We had not been here three days before we were taken up 
 by the Dorset privateer, who were glad of so many good hands : 
 and we consented to run our chance. 
 
 However, we had not as much luck as we expected. In three 
 days we fell in with the Pompadour privateer of forty guns, 
 while %e had but twenty-three: so, to it we went, yard-arm 
 and yard-arm. The fight lasted for three hours; and I verily 
 believe we should have taken the Frenchman, had we but had 
 some mofe men left behind ; but, unfortunately, we lost all our 
 men just as we were going to get the victory. 
 
 I was <ince more in the power of the French, and I be- 
 lieve it would have gone hard with me had I been brought 
 back to Brest ; but by good fortune, we were retaken by the 
 Viper. i 
 
66 thelwall's selections. 
 
 I had almost forgot to tell you, that, in that engagement, I was 
 wounded in two places : I lost four fingers off the left hand, 
 and my leg was shot off. 
 
 If I had had the good fortune to have lost my leg and use 
 of my hand on board a king's ship, and not aboard a pri- 
 vateer, I should have been entitled to cloathing and main- 
 tenance during the rest of my life; but that was not my 
 chance: ofie man is born with a silver spoon in his mouth, 
 and another with a wooden ladle However, blessed be 
 God, I enjoy good health, and will for ever love liberty and 
 Old England. Liberty, property, and Old England, for ever, 
 huzza ! 
 
THELWALL's SELECTIONS. 67 
 
 The SIX-FOOT SUCKLING. 
 (From the rosgiad) — churchill. 
 
 With that low cunning which, in fools, supplies, 117 
 
 And amply too, the place of being wise, 
 Which Nature, kind indulgent parent ! gave 
 To qualify the blockhead for a knave; 120 
 
 With that smooth falsehood whose appearance charms, 
 And reason of each wholesome doubt disarms, — 
 Which to the lowest depths of guile descends, 
 By vilest means pursues the vilest ends, 
 
 Wears Friendship's mask for purposes of spite, 19,5 
 
 Fawns iu the day, and butchers in the night ; 
 With that malignant envy which turns pale 
 And sickens even if a friend prevail, — 
 Which merit aiid success pursues with hate, 
 And damns the worth it cannot imitate ; J 30 
 
 With the cold caution of a coward's spleen, 
 Which fears not guilt, but always seeks a screen, 
 Which keeps this maxim ever in her view — 
 What's basely done, should be done safely too ; 
 With that dull, rooted, callous impudence 135 
 
 Which, dead to shame and every nicer sense, 
 Ne'er blush'd, unless, in spreading Vice's snares, 
 She blunder'd on some virtue unawares ; 
 With all these blessings, which we seldom find 
 Lavish'd by nature on one happy mind, 140 
 
 A motley figure, of the fribble tribe, 
 Which heart can scarce conceive or pen describe, 
 Came simp'ring on ; to ascertain whose sex 
 Twelve sage impannell'd matrons would perplex ; 
 Nor male nor female ; neither, and yet both ; 14 $ 
 
 Of neuter gender, tho' of Irish growth ; 
 
68 THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 
 
 A six-foot suckling, mincing in its gait, 
 
 Affected, peevish, prim, and delicate ; 
 
 Fearful it seem'd, though of athletic make, 
 
 Lest brutal breezes should too roughly shake 1 50 
 
 Its tender form, and savage motion spread 
 
 O'er its pale cheeks the horrid manly red. 
 
 Much did it talk, in its own pretty phrase, 
 Of genius and of taste, of play'rs and plays ; 
 Much too of writings which itself had wrote, 15.5 
 
 Of special merit, tho' of little note, — 
 For Fate, in a strange humour, had decreed 
 That what it wrote none but itself should read : 
 Much, too, it chatter'd of dramatic laws, 
 
 Misjudging critics, and misplac'd applause j 160 
 
 Then, with a self-complacent jutting air, 
 It smil'd, it smirk'd, it wriggled to the chair ; 
 And, with an awkward briskness not its own, 
 Looking around, and perking on the throne, 
 Triumphant seem'd : when that strange savage dame, 
 Known but to few, or only known by name, 166 
 
 Plain Common Sense, appear'd — by Nature there 
 Appointed, with Plain Truth, to guard the chair : — 
 The pageant saw ; and, blasted with her frown, 
 To its first state of nothing melted down. 170 
 
 Nor shall the Muse, (for even there the pride 
 Of this vain nothing shall be mortify'd) 
 Nor shall the Muse, (should Fate ordain her rhymes- 
 Fond, pleasing thought ! to live in after times) 
 With such a trifler's name her pages blot ; 175 
 
 Known be the character, the thing forgot : 
 Let it, to disappoint each future aim, 
 Live without sex, and die without a name. 178 
 
thelwall's selections. 69 
 
 NORVAL'S ACCOUNT OF THE HERMIT 
 
 from whom he learned the Art of War, — Home, 
 
 Beneath a mountain's brow, the most remote 
 
 And inaccessible by shepherds trod, 
 
 In a deep cave, dug by no mortal hand, 
 
 A hermit lived ; a melancholy man, 
 
 Who was the wonder of our wandering swains. 5 
 
 Austere and lonely, cruel to himself, 
 
 Did they report him ; the cold earth his bed, 
 
 Water his drink, his food the shepherd's alms. 
 
 I went to see him, and my heart was touch 'd 
 With reverence and with pity. Mild he spake, 10 
 
 And, entering on discourse, such stories told 
 As made me oft revisit his sad cell. 
 For he had been a soldier, in his youth, 
 And fought in famous battles, where the peers 
 Of Europe, (by the bold Godfredo led !) 15 
 
 Against the usurping infidel display 'd 
 The blessed cross, and won the Holy Land. 
 
 Pleas'd with my admiration, and the fire 
 His speech struck from me, the old man would shake 
 His years away, and act his young encounters : 20 
 
 Then having shew'd his wounds, he'd sit him down, 
 And, all the live-long day, discourse of war. 
 To help my fancy, in the smooth green turf 
 He cut the figures of the marshalFd hosts ; 
 Describ'd their motions ; and explain'd the use 25 
 
 Of the deep column, and the lengthen'd line, 
 The square, the crescent, and the phalanx firm. 
 
70 thelwall's selections. 
 
 For all that Saracen or Christian knew 
 
 Of war's vast art, was to this hermit known. 
 
 Why this brave soldier, in a desert hid 30 
 
 Those qualities that should have grac'd a camp ? 
 At last, I leaned. 
 
 Unhappy man! 
 Returning homewards, by Messina's port, — 
 Loaded with wealth and honours, bravely won, 
 A rude and boisterous captain of the sea ii.5 
 
 Fasten'd a quarrel on him. Fierce they fought. — 
 The stranger fell ; and, with his dying breath, 
 Declar'd his name and lineage. Mighty power! 
 The soldier cry'd, — My brother! # Oh my brother! 
 Yes, his brother : of the same parents born ; 40 
 
 His only brother. They exchanged forgiveness : 
 And happy, in my mind, was he that died ; 
 For many deaths has the survivor suffer'd. 
 In the wild desert, on a rock, he sits, 
 
 Or on some nameless stream's untrodden banks, 45 
 
 And ruminates all day his dreadful fate. 
 At times, alas ! not in his perfect mind, 
 Holds dialogues with his lov'd brother's ghost ; — 
 And oft, each night, forsakes his sullen couch, 
 To make sad orisons for him he slew. 50 
 
 THE INCURIOUS BENCHER. 
 
 ALTERED FROM SOMERVILE. 
 
 At Jenny Mann's, where heroes meet, 
 And lay their laurels at her feet, — 
 The modern Pallas, at whose shrine 
 They bow, and by whose aid they dine,— 
 
THELWALL S SELECTIONS. 71 
 
 Colonel Brocade, among the rest, 5 
 
 Was every day a welcome guest. 
 One night, as carlessly he stood, 
 
 Cheering his reins before the fire, 
 (So every true born Briton should) 
 
 Like that, he chaf'd, and fum'd, with ire. 10 
 
 " Jenny," said he, " 'tis very hard, 
 " That no man's honour can be spared. 
 " If I but sup with Lady Duchess, 
 u Or play a game at ombre,— such is 
 
 " The malice of the world, 'tis said,^ 1 5 
 
 M Although his Grace lay drunk in bed, 
 " 'Twas I that caus'd his aching head. 
 " If Madam Doodle would be witty, 
 " And I am summon'd to the city, 
 
 " To play at blind-man's-buff, or so, 20 
 
 " What won't such hellish malice do ? 
 u If I but catch her in a corner, 
 " Humph — 'tis, Your servant, Colonel Horner. 
 " But rot the sneering fops, — if e'er 
 
 " I prove it, it shall cost them dear : G5 
 
 " 1 swear, by this dead-doing blade, 
 " Dreadful examples shall be made. 
 " What — can't they drink bohea and cream, 
 " But (d — n them) I must be their theme ? 
 u — Other men's business let alone, 30 
 
 " Why should not coxcombs mind their own ?" 
 
 As, thus, he rav'd, with all his might, 
 Fierce Vuican, (from an ancient spite 
 He bears the blustering sons of Mars) 
 Thrust forth his flames between the bars ; 35 
 
 And, by approximation tempted, 
 Seized on the part from name exempted ; — 
 Stuck to his skirts, insatiate varlet! 
 And fed with pleasure on the scarlet. 
 
72 thelwall's selections. 
 
 Hard by, and in the corner, sate 40 
 
 A Bencher grave, with look sedate, 
 
 Smoaking his pipe, warm as a toast, 
 
 And reading over last week's post. 
 
 He saw the foe the fort invade, 
 
 And soon smelt out the breach he made : 45 
 
 But not a word. — A little sly 
 
 He look'd, 'tis true ; and, from each eye, 
 
 A side-long glance sometimes he sent, 
 
 To bring him news, and watch the event. 
 
 At length, upon that tender part 50 
 
 Where honour lodges (as, of old, 
 
 Authentic Hudibras has told) 
 The blustering colonel felt a smart. 
 — Sore griev'd for his affronted bum, 
 
 He frisk'd, skip'd, bounc'd about the room ; 55 
 
 Then, turning short, " Zounds, sir !" he cries — 
 " Pox on him ! had the fool no eyes ? 
 " What ! let a man be burnt alive !" 
 
 " I am not,' sir, inquisitive" 
 (Reply'd Sir Gravity) " to know 60 
 
 " Whate'er your honour's pleased to do : 
 " If you will burn your tail to tinder, 
 
 "■ Pray what have I to do to hinder ? 
 " Other men's business let alone, 
 " Why should not coxcombs mind their own ?" 65 
 
73 
 
 THE HERMIT. 
 
 BEATTIE. 
 
 AT the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, 
 
 And mortals? the isweets of forgetfulness' prove, 
 
 When nought but thef torrent is heard on the hill, 
 
 And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove : 
 
 It was thus, by the cave of the mountain afar, 5 
 
 While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began ; 
 
 No more with himself, or with nature at war, 
 
 He thought as a sage, tho he felt as a man. 
 
 " Ah why, all abandon'd to darkness and wo, 
 
 Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall ? 10 
 
 For spring shall return, and a lover bestow, 
 
 And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthral. 
 
 But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay ; 
 
 Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn ; 
 
 O sooth him, whose pleasures, like thine, pass away: 15 
 
 Full quickly they pass ; — but they never return. 
 
 " Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky, 
 
 The moon, half extinguished, her crescent displays ; 
 
 But lately I marked, when majestic onjhigh^ 
 
 She shone, and the planets were lost in the blaze, [ 20 
 
 K 
 
74 THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 
 
 Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue 
 The path that conducts thee to splendour again. 
 But man's faded glory, what change shall renew ? 
 Ah fool ! to exult in a glory so vain ! 
 
 " Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more ; 25 
 
 I mourn, but ye woodlands, I mourn not for you ; 
 For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, 
 Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew. 
 Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn ; 
 Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save, 30 
 
 But when shall Spring visit the mouldering urn ! 
 O when shall it dawn on the night of the grave !" 
 
 < 'It was thus, by the glare of false science betray'd, 
 
 That leads, to bewilder; and dazzles, to blind: 
 
 My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade, 
 
 Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. 36 
 
 " Oh pity, great father of light, then I cry'd, 
 
 Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee ; 
 
 Lo ! humble in dust, I relinquish my pride : 
 
 From doubt and from darkness, thou only canst free." 40 
 
 ( And darkness and doubt are now flying away. 
 No longer I roam in dejection forlorn. 
 So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, 
 The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 75 
 
 See truth, love and mercy, in triumph descending, 45 
 
 And nature all glowing in Eden's rirst bloom ! 
 On the cold cheek of death, smiles and roses are blending, 
 And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb/ 
 
 ON VISITING A SCENE IN ARGYLESH1RE. 
 CAMPBELL. 
 
 AT the silence of twilight's contemplative hour, 
 
 I have mused, in a sorrowful mood, 
 On the wind-shaken weeds that embosom the bower, 
 
 Where the home of my forefathers stood. 
 All ruin'd and wild is their roofless abode, 5 
 
 And lonely the dark raven's sheltering tree ; 
 And travell'd by few is the grass-covered road, 
 Where the hunter of deer and the warrior strode 
 
 To his hills that encircle the sea. 
 
 Yet wandering, I found on my ruinous walk, 10 
 
 By the dial-stone aged and green, 
 One rose of the wilderness left on its stalk, 
 
 To mark where a garden had been : 
 Like a brotherless hermit, the last of its race, 
 
 All wild in the silence of nature, it drew 15 
 
 From each wandering sun-beam a lonely embrace ; 
 
76 THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 
 
 For the night-weed aud thorn overshadowed the place 
 Where the flower of my forefathers grew. 
 
 Sweet bud of the wilderness ! emblem of all 
 
 That remains in this desolate heart ! 20 
 
 The fabric of bliss to its centre may fall ; 
 
 But patience shall never depart ! 
 Tho the wilds of enchantment, all vermii and bright, 
 
 In the days of delusion, by fancy combin'd 
 With the vanishing phantoms of love and delight, 25 
 
 Abandon my soul, like a dream of the night, 
 
 And leave but a desert behind. 
 
 Be hush'd my dark spirit ! for wisdom condemns 
 
 When the faint and the feeble deplore : 
 Be strong as the rock of the ocean that stems 30 
 
 A thousand wild waves to the shore ! 
 Thro' the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdain, 
 
 May thy front be unaltered, thy courage elate ! 
 Yea ! even the name I have worshipp'd in vain 
 Shall awake not the sigh of rememberance again. 
 
 To bear is to conquer our fate. 36 
 
THELWALL S SELECTIONS. 77 
 
 THE EXILE OF ERIN. 
 
 T. CAMPBELL. 
 THERE came to the beach a poor exile of Erin. 
 The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill ; 
 For his country he sigh'd,' when, at twilight, repairing 
 To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill. 
 But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion ; — 5 
 
 For it rose on his own native isle of the ocean, 
 Where once, in the fervour of youth's warm emotion, 
 He sung the bold anthem of Erin go bragh. 
 
 Sad is my fate !; (said the heart-broken stranger) — 
 
 The wild-deer and wolf to a cover can flee ; ] 
 
 But I have no refuge from famine and danger : 
 
 A home and a country remain not to me. 
 
 Never again in the green sunny bowers 
 
 Where my forefathers liv'd, shall I spend the sweet hours, 
 
 Or cover my harp with the wild-woven flowers, ] 5 
 
 And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragh. 
 
 Erin ! my country !" tho sad and forsaken, 
 In dreams, I revisit thy sea-beaten shore ; 
 But, alas ! in a far foreign land I awaken, 
 And sigh for the friends that can meet me no more. 20 
 
 Oh ! cruel fate ! wilt thou never replace me 
 In a mansion of p^a e, whence no perils can chase me ? 
 Never again shall my brothers embrace me ! — ■ 
 They died to defend me, or live to deplore. 
 
78 THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 
 
 Where is my cabin-door, fast by the wild wood ? — 25 
 Sisters and sire, did ye weep for its fall ? 
 Where is the mother that look'd on my childhood? 
 And where is the bosom-friend, dearer than all ! 
 Ah ! my sad soul, long abandon'd by pleasure ! 
 Why did it dote on a fast-fading treasure ? 30 
 
 Tears, like the rain-drops, may fall without measure, 
 But rapture and beauty they cannot recal. 
 
 Yet, — all its fond recollections suppressing, 
 
 One dying wish my lone bosom shall draw. — 
 
 Erin ! — an exile bequeaths thee his blessing : 35 
 
 Land of my forefathers ! — Erin go bragh ! 
 
 Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion, 
 
 Green be thy fields, sweetest isle of the ocean, 
 
 And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud, with devotion, 
 
 Eriflf «navournin ! Erin go bragh ! 40 
 
 THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. 
 
 BURNS. 
 
 THE small-birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, 
 The murmuring streamlet winds cleai thro' the vale ; 
 
 The hawthorn-trees blow in the dews of the morning, 
 And wild scattered cowslips bedeck the sweet dale. 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 79 
 
 But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, 5 
 
 While the lingering moments are number'd by care ? 
 — No flowers gaily' springing, nor birds sweetly singing. 
 Can sooth the sad bosom of joyless despair. 
 
 The deed that I dar'd, could it merit their malice ? 
 
 A king and a father to^place on his throne ? 10 
 
 His right are these hills, and his right are these vallies, 
 
 Where the • wild beasts find shelter, but 1 can find none. 
 
 But 'tis not my sufferings,— thus wretched, forlorn ! — 
 
 My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn : 
 
 Your deeds prov'd so loyal in hot bloody trial ! — 
 
 Alas ! can I make you no sweeter return ! 16 
 
 THE SONG OF CONSTANCE 
 
 SCOTT'S MARMION. 
 WHERE shall the lover rest, 
 
 Whom the fates sever 
 From his true maiden's breast, 
 
 Parted for ever ? 
 Where, thro' groves deep and high, 
 
 Sounds the far billow, 
 Where early violets die, 
 
 Under the willow, 
 Soft shall be his pillow. 
 
80 
 
 There, thro' the summer day, 10 
 
 Cool streams are laving : 
 There, whiles the tempests sway, 
 
 Scarce are boughs waving ; 
 There, thy rest shalt thou take, 
 
 Parted for ever ; 1 5 
 
 Never again to wake ; 
 
 Never, Oh never. 
 
 Where shall the traitor rest, 
 
 He, the deceiver, 
 Who could win maidens breast, £0 
 
 Ruin and leave her i 
 In the lost battle, 
 
 Borne down by the flying, 
 Where mingles war's rattle, 
 
 With groans of the dying, 25 
 
 There shall he be lying. 
 Her wing shall the eagle flap, 
 
 O'er the false hearted ; 
 His warm blood the wolf shall lap, 
 
 Ere life be parted. 30 
 
 Shame and dishonour sit 
 
 By his grave ever: 
 Blessings shall' hallow it, — 
 
 Never, Oh never. 34 
 
thelwall's selections. 81 
 
 THE SPEECH OF ACHITHOPHEL TO 
 ABSALOM. 
 
 DRYDEN. 
 
 AUSPICIOUS Prince, at whose nativity 230 
 
 Some royal planet rul'd the southern sky ! 
 
 Thy longing country's darling and desire, 
 
 Their cloudy pillar, and their guardian fire ; 
 
 Their second Moses, whose extended wand 
 
 Divides the seas, and shews the Promis'd Land ; c l 3.3 
 
 Whose dawning day, in every distant age, 
 
 Has exercis'd the sacred prophet's rage : 
 
 The people's prayer, the glad diviner's theme, 
 
 The young men's vision, and the old men's dream ! 
 
 Thee, Saviour, thee the nation's vows confess, 240 
 
 And never satisfy'd with seeing bless : 
 
 Swift unbespoken pomps thy steps proclaim, 
 
 And stammering babes are taught to lisp thy name. 
 
 How long wilt thou the general joy detain, 
 
 Starve, and defraud the people of thy reign ; 245 
 
 Content ingloriously to pass thy days, 
 
 Like one of Virtue's fools, that feed on praise ; 
 
 Till thy fresh glories, which now shine so bright, 
 
 Grow stale and tarnish with our daily sight ? 
 
82 thelwall's selections. 
 
 Believe me, royal Youth ! thy fruit must be 250 
 
 Or gather'd ripe, or rot upon the tree : 
 
 Heav'n has to all allotted, soon or late, 
 
 Some lucky revolution of their fate; 
 
 Whose motions, if we watch and guide with skill, 
 
 (For human good, depends on human will) 255 
 
 Our fortune rolls as from a smooth descent, 
 
 And from the first impression takes the bent ; 
 
 But if unseiz'd, she glides away like wind, 
 
 And leaves repenting Folly far behind. 
 
 Now, now she meets you with a glorious prize, 260 
 
 And spreads her locks before you as she flies. 
 
 Had thus old David, from whose loins you spring, 
 
 Not dar'd, when Fortune call'd him, to be king, 
 
 At Gath an exile he might still remain, 
 
 And Heaven's anointing oil had been in vain. 265 
 
 Let his successful youth your hopes engage, 
 
 But shun the example of declining age ; 
 
 Behold him setting in his western skies, 
 
 The shadows lengthening as the vapours rise. 
 
 He is not now as when on Jordan's sand 27< 
 
 The joyful people throng'd to see him land, 
 
 Covering the beach, and blackening all the strand ; 
 
 But, like the prince of angels, from his height, 
 
 Comes tumbling downward with diminish'd light, 
 
 Betray 'd by one poor plot to public scorn, 275 
 
 (Our only blessing since his curs'd return !)— 
 
 } 
 
Those heaps of people, which one sheaf did bind, 
 
 Blown off, and scatter'd by a puff of wind. 
 
 What strength can he to your designs oppose, 
 
 Naked of friends, and round beset with foes ? 280 
 
 If Pharaoh's doubtful succour he should use, 
 
 A foreign aid would more incense the Jews : 
 
 Proud Egypt would dissembled friendship bring, 
 
 Foment the war, but not support the King : 
 
 Nor would the royal party e'er unite 285 
 
 With Pharaoh's arms to assist the Jebusite ; 
 
 Or if they should, their interest soon would break, 
 
 And, with such odious aid, make David weak. 
 
 All sorts of men, by my successful arts, 
 
 Abhorring kings, estrange their alter'd hearts 290 
 
 From David's rule : and 'tis their general cry, 
 
 Religion, Commonwealth, and Liberty ! 
 
 If you, as champion of the public good, 
 
 Add to their arms a chief of royal blood, 
 
 What may not Israel hope, and what applause 29.5 
 
 Might such a general gain by such a cause ? 
 
 Not barren praise alone,' that gaudy flower, 
 
 Fair only to the sight, but solid power ; 
 
 And nobler is a limited command, 
 
 Giv'n by the love of all your native land, 300 
 
 Than a successive title, long and dark, 
 
 Drawn from the mouldy rolls of Noah's ark. 
 
34 
 
 CANDOUR. 
 
 POPE'S ESSAY ON CRITICISM. 
 
 BE thou the first true merit to befriend ; 474 
 
 His praise is lost, who stays till all commend. 
 
 Short is the date, alas, of modern rhymes, 
 
 And 'tis but just to let them live betimes. 
 
 No longer now that golden age appears, 
 
 When patriarch wits surviv'd a thousand years : 
 
 Now length of fame (our second life) is lost, 480 
 
 And bare threescore is all even that can boast ; 
 
 Our sons their father's failing language see. 
 
 And such as Chaucer is, shall Dryden be. 
 
 So when the faithful pencil has design'd 
 
 Some bright idea of the master's mind, 485 
 
 Where a new world leaps out at his command, 
 
 And ready Nature waits upon his hand ; 
 
 When the ripe colours soften and unite, 
 
 And sweetly melt into just shade and light ; 
 
 When mellowing years their full perfection give, 490 
 
 And each bold figure just begins to live, 
 
 The treacherous colours the fair art betray, 
 
 And all the bright creation fades away ! 
 
 Unhappy Wit, like most mistaken things, 495 
 
 Atones not for that envy which it brings. 
 
85 
 
 In youth alone, its empty praise we boast, 
 
 But soon the short-liv'd vanity is lost : 
 
 Like some fair flower the early spring supplies, 
 
 That gaily blooms, but even in blooming dies. 500 
 
 What is this wit which must our cares employ ? 
 
 The owner's wife that other men enjoy ; 
 
 Then most our trouble still when most admir'd, 
 
 And still the more we give, the more requir'd, 
 
 Whose fame, with pains we gain, but lose with ease, 505 
 
 Sure some to vex, but, never all to please ; 
 
 'Tis what the vitious fear, the virtuous shun ; 
 
 By fools 'tis hated, and by knaves undone ! 
 
 If Wit so much from Ignorance undergo, 
 Ah let not Learning too commence its foe i 510 
 
 Of old, those met rewards who could excel, 
 And such were prais'd who but endeavour'd well : 
 Tho triumphs were to generals only due, 
 Crowns were reserv'd to grace the soldiers too. 
 Now, they who reach Parnassus' lofty crown, 515 
 
 Employ their pains to spurn some others down ; 
 And while self love each jealous writer rules, 
 Contending wits become the sport of fools : 
 But still the worst with most regret commend, 
 For each ill author is as bad a friend. 520 
 
 To what base ends, and by what abject ways, 
 Are mortals urg'd thro' sacred lust of praise ! 
 
86 THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 
 
 Ah ne'er so dire a thirst of glory boast, 
 
 Nor in the critic let the man be lost. 
 
 Good nature and good sense must ever join ; 525 
 
 To err is human ; to forgive divine. 
 
 But if in noble minds some dregs remain 
 Not yet purg'd off, of spleen and sour disdain ; 
 Discharge that rage on more provoking crimes, 
 Nor fear a dearth in these flagitious times. 530 
 
 No pardon vile obscenity should find, 
 Though wit and art conspire to move your mind ; 
 But dulness with obscenity, must prove 
 As shameful sure as impotence in love. 
 In the fat age of pleasure, wealth and ease, 535 
 
 Sprung the rank weed, and thriv'd with large increase : 
 When love was all an easy monarch's care ; 
 Seldom at council, never in a war : 
 Jilts rul'd the state, and statesmen farces writ ; 
 Nay wits had pensions, and young lords had wit : 540 
 
 The fair sat panting at a courtier's play, 
 And not a mask went unimprov'd away : 
 The modest fan was lifted up no more, 
 And virgins smiPd at what they blush'd before. 
 The following licence of a foreign reign 545 
 
 Did all the dregs of bold Socinus drain ; 
 Then unbelieving priests reform'd the nation, 
 And taught more pleasant methods of salvation ; 
 
thelwall's selections. 87 
 
 Where Heav'n's free subjects might their rights dispute, 
 
 Lest God himself should seem too absolute ; 550 
 
 Pulpits their sacred satire learn'd to spare, 
 
 And vice admir'd to find a flatterer there ! 
 
 Encourag'd thus, Wit's Titans brav'd the skies, 
 
 And the press groan'd with licens'd blasphemies. 
 
 These monsters, critics! with your darts engage, 555 
 
 Here point your thunder, and exhaust your rage ! 
 
 Yet shun their fault, who, scandalously nice, 
 
 Will needs mistake an author into vice : 
 
 All seems infected that the infected spy, 
 
 As all looks yellow to the jaundic'd eye. 560 
 
 THE THAMES. 
 
 DENHAM'S COOPER' S-HILL. 
 
 MY eye descending from the Hill, surveys 159 
 
 Where Thames among the wanton vallies strays : 
 
 Thames ! the most lov'd of all the Ocean's sons 
 
 By his old sire, to his embraces runs, 
 
 Hasting to pay his tribute to the sea, 
 
 Like mortal life to meet eternity ; 
 
 Tho with those streams he no resemblance hold, 165 
 
 Whose foam is amber, and their gravel gold : 
 
 His genuine and less guilty wealth to explore, 
 
 Search not his bottom, but survey his shore, 
 
88 
 
 O'er which he kindly spreads his spacious wing, 
 
 And hatches plenty for the ensuing spring; 170 
 
 Nor then destroys it with too fond a stay, 
 
 Like mothers which their infants overlay ; 
 
 Nor with a sudden and impetuous wave, 
 
 lake profuse kings, resumes the wealth he gave. 
 
 No unexpected inundations spoil 175 
 
 The mower's hopes, nor mock the ploughman's toil ; * 
 
 But godlike his unweary'd bounty flows ; 
 
 First loves to do, then loves the good he does. 
 
 Nor are his blessings to his banks confin'd, 
 
 But free and common as the sea or wind ; 180 
 
 When he, to boast or to disperse his stores, 
 
 Full of the tributes of his grateful shores, 
 
 Visits the world, and in his flying towers 
 
 Brings home to us, and makes both Indies ours ; 
 
 Finds wealth where 'tis, bestows it where it wants, 185 
 
 Cities in deserts, woods in cities, plants. 
 
 So that to us no thing, no place, is strange, 
 
 While his fair bosom is the world's exchange. 
 
 O could I flow like thee ! and make thy stream 
 
 My great example, as it is my theme ; 190 
 
 Tho deep, yet clear ; tho gentle, yet not dull ; 
 
 Strong without rage ; without o'erflowing full. 
 
so 
 
 THE SEA FIGHT. 
 
 DRYDEN'S ANNUS MIRABILIS. 
 
 OUR fleet divides, and straight the Dutch appear, 
 
 In number, and a fam'd commander, bold ; 
 
 The narrow seas can scarce their navy bear, 
 
 Or crowded vessels can their soldiers hold. 2 H> 
 
 The Duke, less numerous; but in courage more, 
 
 On wings of all the winds to combat flies : 
 
 His murdering guns a loud defiance roar, 
 
 And bloody crosses on his flag-staffs rise. 22(* 
 
 Both furl their sails and strip them for the fight ; 
 
 Their folded sheets dismiss the useless air : 
 
 The Elean plains could boast no nobler sight, 
 
 When struggling champions did their bodies bare. 224 
 
 Borne each by other in a distant line, 
 
 The sea-built forts in dreadful order move ; ■ 
 
 So vast the noise, as if not fleets did join, 
 
 But lands unfiYd, and floting nations strove. 2Q.& 
 
 The night comes on, we eager to pursue 
 
 The combat still, and they asham'd to leave; 
 
 Till the last streaks of dying day withdrew, 
 
 And doubtful moonlight did our rage deceive. 272 
 
 M 
 
 
90 thelwall's selections. 
 
 In the English fleet each ship resounds with joy, 
 
 And loud applause of their great leader's fame : 
 
 In fiery dreams the Dutch they still destroy, 
 
 And, slumbering, smile at the imagin'd flame. 2/6 
 
 The mighty ghosts of our great Harrys rose, 
 
 And armed Edwards looked, with anxious eyes, 
 
 To see this fleet among unequal foes, 
 
 By which Fate promis'd them their Charles should rise. 324 
 
 Mean time the Belgians tack upon our rear, 
 
 And raking chase guns thro' our sterns they send ; 
 
 Close by, their fire-ships, like jackals, appear, 
 
 Who on their lions for the prey attend. 328 
 
 Silent in smoke of cannon they come on, 
 
 (Such vapours once did fiery Cacus hide) 
 
 In these the height of pleas'd revenge is shown, 
 
 Who burn contented by another's side. 332 
 
 Sometimes, from lighting squadrons of each fleet, 
 
 Deceiv'd themselves, or to preserve some friend, 
 
 Two grappling iEtnas on the ocean meet, 
 
 And English fires with Belgian flames contend. 336 
 
 Now, at each tack, our little fleet grows less, 
 
 And like maim'd fowl swim lagging on the main ; 
 
 Their greater loss their numbers scarce confess, 
 
 While they lose cheaper than the English gain. 340 
 
91 
 
 Have you not seen, when, whistled from the fist, 
 Some falcon stoops at what her eye design'd, 
 And, with her eagerness the quarry miss'd, 
 — Straight flies at check, and clips it down the wind ? 344 
 
 The dastard crow, that to the wood made wing, 
 
 And sees the groves no shelter can afford, 
 
 With her loud kaws, her craven kind does bring, 
 
 Who safe in numbers cufY the noble bird. 343 
 
 Among the Dutch thus Albemarle did fare. 
 
 He could not conquer, and disdain'd to flie : 
 
 Past hope of safety, 'twas his latest care, 
 
 Like falling Caesar, decently to die. 352 
 
 The foe approach'd ; and one, for his bold sin, 
 
 Was sunk ; as he that touch'd the ark was slain : 
 
 The wild waves master'd him, and suck'd him in, 
 
 And smiling eddies dimpled on the main. 376 
 
 This seen, the rest at awful distance stood, ' 
 
 As if they had been there as servants set, 
 
 To stay, or to go on, as he thought good, 
 
 And not pursue, but wait on his retreat. 380 
 
 So Libyan huntsmen, on some sandy plain, 
 
 From shady covers rous'd, the lion chase ; 
 
 The kingly beast roars out with ioud disdain, 
 
 And slowly moves, unknowing to give place. 384 
 
92 
 
 But if some one approach to dare his force, 
 
 He swings his tail, and swiftly turns him round ; 
 
 With one paw seizes on his trembling horse, 
 
 And with the other tears him to the ground. 388 
 
 Amidst these toils succeeds the balmy night; 
 
 Now hissing waters the quench'd guns restore, 
 
 Afpl weary waves, withdrawing from the fight, 
 
 Lie luird and panting on the silent shore. 3\)% 
 
 The moon shone clear on the becalmed flood, 
 
 Where, while her beams like glittering silver play, 
 
 Upon the deck our careful 'General stood, 
 
 And deeply mus'd on the succeeding day. 39t> 
 
 " That happy sun," said he, " will rise again, 
 
 " Who twice victorious did our navies see ; 
 
 " And I alone must view him rise in vain, 
 
 " Without one ray of all his star for me. 400 
 
 " Yet, like an English general will I die, 
 
 " And all the ocean make my spacious grave : 
 
 " Women and cowards on the land may lie ; 
 
 " The sea's a tomb that's proper for the brave." 404 
 
 Restless he pass'd the remnant of the night, 
 
 Till the fresh air proclaimed the morning J nigh, 
 
 And burning ships, the martyrs of the fight, 
 
 With paler fires beheld the eastern sky. 408 
 
 I 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 93 
 
 But now, his stores of ammunition spent, 
 
 His naked valour is his only guard : 
 
 Rare thunders are from his dumb cannons sent, 
 
 And solitary guns are scarcely heard. 412 
 
 But now brave Rupert from afar appears, 
 
 Whose waving streamers the glad General knows : 
 
 With full-spread sails his eager navy steers, 
 
 And every ship in swift proportion grows. 420 
 
 The anxious Prince had heard the cannon long, 
 
 And from that length of time dire omens drew 
 
 Of English overmatch'd, and Dutch too strong, 
 
 Who never fought three days, but to pursue. 424 
 
 Then, as an eagle, who, with pious care, 
 
 Was beating widely on the wing for prey, 
 
 To her now silent eiry does repair, 
 
 And finds her callow infants forced away : 428 
 
 Stung with her love, she stoops upon the plain, 
 
 The broken air loud whistling as she flies : 
 
 She stops, and listens, and shoots forth again, 
 
 And guides her pinions by her young ones' cries. 432 
 
 With such kind passion hastes the Prince to fight, 
 
 And spreads his flying canvass to the sound : 
 
 Him whom no danger, were he there, could fright, 
 
 Now absent, every little noise can wound. 436 
 
-■■*-. 
 
 94 
 
 As in a drought the thirsty creatures cry, 
 
 And gape upon the gather'd clouds for rain, 
 
 And first the martlet meets it in the sky, 
 
 And with wet wings joys all the feather'd train. 440 
 
 With such glad hearts did our despairing men 
 
 Salute the appearance of the Prince's fleet ; 
 
 And each ambitiously would claim the ken, 
 
 That with first eyes did distant safety meet. 444 
 
 The Dutch, who came like greedy hinds before, 
 
 To reap the harvest their ripe ears did yield, 
 
 Now look like those, when rolling thunders roar, 
 
 And sheets of lightning blast the standing field. 44 8 
 
 Thus reinforc'd, against the adverse fleet, 
 
 Still doubling ours, brave Rupert leads the way ; 
 
 With the first blushes of the morn they meet, 
 
 And bring night back upon the new-born day. 470 
 
 Behind, the General mends his weary pace, 
 
 And sullenly to his revenge he sails : 
 
 So glides some trodden serpent on the grass, 
 
 And long behind his wounded volume trails. 492 
 
 The increasing sound is borne to either shore, 
 
 And for their stakes the throwing nations fear : 
 
 Their passions double with the cannons' roar, 
 
 And with warm wishes each man combats there. 496 
 
95 
 
 Ply'd thick and close as when the fight begun, 
 
 Their huge unweildy navy wastes away : 
 
 So sicken waining moons too near the sun, 
 
 And blunt their crescents on the edge of day. 500 
 
 TRUTH. 
 
 BRITTANIA'S PASTORALS, B. 1. Song IV. 
 W. BROWNE. 
 
 O THOU Eterne ! by whom all beings move, 
 
 Giving the springs beneath, and springs above ; IQO 
 
 Whose finger doth this universe sustaine, 
 
 Bringing the former and the latter raine : 
 
 Who dost with plenty meades and pastures fill, 
 
 By drops distil'd like dew on Hermon hill : 
 
 Pardon a silly swaine (who farre unable 195 
 
 In that which is so rare, so admirable) 
 
 Dares on an oaten-pipe, thus meanely sing 
 
 Her praise immense, worthy a silver string. 
 
 And thou which through the desart and the deepe, 
 
 Didst lead thy chosen like a flocke of sheepe : 200 
 
 As sometimes by a star thou guided'st them, 
 
 Which fed upon the plaines of Bethelem ; 
 
 So by thy sacred spirit direct my quill, 
 
 When I shall sing ought of thy holy hill, 
 
96 thelwall's selections. 
 
 That times to come, when they my rimes rehearse, 205 
 
 May wonder at me, and admire my verse : 
 
 For who but one rapt in coelestiall fire, 
 
 Can by his muse to such a pitch aspire r 
 
 That from aloft he might behold and tell 
 
 Her worth, whereon an iron pen might dwell. 210 
 
 O had I Virgil's verse, or Tullie's tongue ! 2^5 
 
 Or raping numbers like the Thracian's song, 
 I have a theame would make the rockes to dance, 
 And surly beasts that through the desart prance, 
 Hie from their caves, and every gloomy den, 
 To wonder at the excellence of men. 230 
 
 Nay, they would thinke their states for ever raised, 
 But once to looke on one, so highly praised. 
 
 Out of whose maiden brests (which sweetly rise) 
 The Seers suckt their hidden prophecies : 
 And tolde that for her love in times to come, 235 
 
 Many should seeke the crown of martyrdom, 
 By fire, by sword, by tortures, duugeons, chaines, 
 By stripes, by famine, and a worlde of paines ; 
 Yet constant still remaine (to her they loved) 
 Like Syon mount, that cannot be removed. 240 
 
 Proportion on her armes and hands recorded, 
 The world for her no fitter place afforded. 
 Praise her who list, he still shall be her debtor : 
 For Art ne'er fain'd, nor Nature fram'd a better. 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 97 
 
 THE PANEGYRIC OF QUEEN 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 FROM THE SAME. B. I. Song. V. 
 
 O HAPPY Queene ! for ever, ever praise 365 
 
 Dwell on thy tombe ; the period of all dayes 
 
 Onely seal up thy fame ; and as thy birth 
 
 Inrich'd thy temples on the fading earth, 
 
 So have thy vertues crown'd thy blessed soule, 
 
 Where the first Mover with his word's controule, 370 
 
 As with a girdle the huge ocean bindes, 
 
 Gathers into his fist the nimble windes, 
 
 Stops the bright courser in his hot careere, 
 
 Commandes the moone twelve courses in a yeere : 
 
 Live thou with him in eadlesse blisse ; while we S75 
 
 Admire all virtues in admiring thee. 
 
 Thou, thou, the fautresse of the learned well ; 
 Thou nursing mother of God's Israel ; 
 Thou, for whose loving truth, the heaven raines 
 Sweet mel and manna on our flowery plaines : 380 
 
 Thou, by whose hand the sacred Trine did bring 
 Us out of bonds from bloudy Bonnering. 
 Ye suckling babes, for ever blesse that name — 
 
 Releas'd your burning in your mother's flame ! 
 
 N 
 
98 thelwall's selections. 
 
 Thrice blessed maiden, by whose hand was given —385 
 
 Free libertie to taste the foode of heaven. 
 
 Never forget her (Albion's lovely daughters) 
 
 Which led you to the springs of living waters ! 
 
 And if my muse her glory faile to sing, 
 
 May to my mouth my tongue for ever cling ! 390 
 
 THE PATTEN. 
 
 GA Y'S TRIVIA. B. I. v. 223. 
 
 WHERE Lincoln wide extends her fenny soil, 
 
 A goodly yeoman liv'd, grown white with toil ; 
 
 One only daughter blest his nuptial bed, 225 
 
 Who from her infant hand the poultry fed : 
 
 Martha (her careful mother's name) she bore, 
 
 But now her careful mother was no more. 
 
 Whilst on her father's knee the damsel play'd, 
 
 Patty he fondly call'd the smiling maid ; 230 
 
 As years increas'd, her ruddy beauty grew, 
 
 And Patty's fame o'er all the village flew. 
 
 Soon as the grey-eyM Morning streaks the skies, 
 
 And in the doubtful day the woodcock flies, 
 
 Her cleanly pail the pretty housewife bears, 235 
 
 And singing to the distant field repairs ; 
 
 And when the plains with evening dews are spread, 
 
 The milky burthen smokes upon her head : 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 99 
 
 Deep thro' a miry lane she pick'd her way, 
 
 Above her ankle rose the chalky clay. 240 
 
 Vulcan by chance the bloomy maiden spies, 
 With innocence and beauty in her eyes : 
 He saw, he lov'd ; for yet he ne'ei had known 
 Sweet innocence and beauty meet in one. 
 Ah ! Mulciber ! recall thy nuptfal vows, 245 
 
 Think on the graces of thy Paphian spouse ; 
 Think how her eyes dart inexhausted charms, 
 And canst thou leave her bed for Patty's arms ? 
 
 The Lemnian power forsakes the realms above, 
 His bosom glowing with terrestrial love. 250 
 
 Far in the lane a lonely hut he found, • 
 No tenant ventur'd on the unwholesome ground. 
 Here smokes his forge, he bares his sinewy arm, 
 And early strokes the sounding anvil warm : 
 Around his shop the steely sparkles flew, 255 
 
 As for the steed he shap'd the bending shoe. 
 
 When blue-ey'd Patty near his window came, 
 His anvil rests, his forge forgets to flame ; 
 To hear his soothing tales she feigns delays; 
 What woman can resist the force of praise ? 260 
 
 At first, she coyly every kiss withstood, 
 And all her cheek was flush'd with modest blood : 
 With headless nails he now surrounds her shoes, 
 To save her steps from rains and piercing dews. 
 She lik'd his soothing tales, his presents wore, 265 
 
 And granted kisses, but would grant no more. 
 
100 thelwall's selections. 
 
 Yet winter chill'd her feet, with cold she pines, 
 
 And on her cheek the fading rose declines ; 
 
 No more her humid eyes their lustre boast, 
 
 And in hoarse sounds her melting voice is lost. 270 
 
 This Vulcan saw, and in his heavenly thought 
 A new machine mechanic fancy wrought, 
 Above the mire her shelter'd steps to raise, 
 And bear her safely thro' the wintry ways. 
 Strait the new engine on his anvil glows, 275 
 
 And the pale virgin on the patten rose. 
 No more her lungs are shook with dropping rheums, 
 And on her cheek reviving beauty blooms. 
 The god obtain'd his suit : tho flattery fail, 
 Presents with female virtue must prevail, 280 
 
 The patten now supports each frugal dame, 
 Which from the blue-ey'd Patty takes the name. 
 
 KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 PRIOR'S SOLOMON, B. I. v. 627. 
 
 NOW, when my mind has all this world survey'd, 
 
 And found that nothing by itself was made ; 
 
 When thought has rais'd itself by just degrees, 
 
 From vallies crown'd with flowers, and hills with trees, 630 
 
 From smoking minerals, and from rising streams, 
 
 From fattening Nilus, or victorious Thames ; 
 
thelwall's selections. 101 
 
 From all the living that four-footed move 
 
 Along the shore, the meadow, or the grove ; 
 
 From all that can with tins or feathers fly 635 
 
 Thro the aerial or the watery sky ; 
 
 From the poor reptile with a reasoning soul, 
 
 That miserable master of the whole ; 
 
 From this great object of the body's eye, 
 
 This fair half-round, this ample azure sky, 640 
 
 Terribly large, and wonderfully bright, 
 
 With stars unnumber'd, and unmeasur'd light ; 
 
 From essences unseen, celestml names, 
 Enlightening spirits, and ministerial flames, 
 
 Angels, Dominions, Potentates, and Thrones, 645 
 
 All that in each degree the name of creature owns ; 
 
 L-ift we our reason to that sovereign Cause 
 
 Who blest the whole with life, and bounded it with laws ; 
 
 Who forth from nothing cail'd this comely frame, 
 
 His will and act, his word and work the same ; 650 
 
 To whom a thousand years are but a day : 
 
 Who bade the light her genial beams display, 
 
 And set the moon, and taught the sun his way ; 
 
 Who waking Time, his creature, from the source 
 
 Primeval, order'd his predesthVd course, 655 
 
 Himself, as in the hollow of his hand, 
 
 Holding, obedient to his high command, 
 
 The deep abyss, the long continu'd store, "J 
 
 Where months, and days, and hours, and minutes, pour > 
 
 Their floating parts, and thenceforth are no more: 66o3 
 
 6, 
 
102 THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 
 
 This Alpha and Omega, First and Last, 
 
 Who, like the potter, in a mould has cast 
 
 The world's great frame, commanding it to be 
 
 Such as the eyes of Sense and Reason see, 
 
 Yet if he wills may change or spoil the whole, } 665 
 
 May take yon beauteous, mystic, starry roll, > 
 
 And burn it like an useless parchment scroll; J 
 
 May from its basis in one moment pour 
 
 This melted earth — 
 
 Like liquid metal, and like burning ore ; 670 
 
 Who, sole in pow'r, at the beginning said, 
 
 Let sea, and air, and earth, and heav'n, be made, 
 
 And it was so — And when he shall ordain 
 
 In other sort, has but to speak again, 
 
 And they shall be no more : of this great theme, 675 
 
 This glorious, hallo w'd, everlasting Name, 
 
 This God, I would discourse — 
 
 PLEASURE. 
 
 FROM THE SAME, B. II. v. 74. 
 
 I SPAKE my purpose, and the cheerful choir 
 Parted their shares of harmony : the lyre 
 Soften'd the timbrel's noise ; the trumpets' sound 
 Provok'd the Dorian flute (both sweeter found 
 When mix'd) the fife the viol's notes refin'd, 
 And every strength with every grace was join'd : 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 103 
 
 Each morn they wak'd me with a sprightly lay ; 80 
 
 Of opening heaven they sung, and gladsome day : 
 
 Each evening their repeated skill exprest 
 
 Scenes of repose and images of rest : 
 
 Yet still in vain ; for music gather'd thought ; 
 
 But how unequal the effects it brought ; 85 
 
 The soft ideas of the cheerful note, 
 
 Lightly receiv'd, . were easily forgot ; 
 
 The solemn violence of the graver sound 
 
 Knew to strike deep, and leave a lasting wound. 
 
 And now reflecting, I with grief descry 90 
 
 The sickly lust of the fantastic eye ; 
 How the weak organ is with seeing cloy'd, 
 Flying ere night what it at noon enjoy'd. 
 And now (unhappy search of thought !) I found 
 The fickle ear soon glutted with the sound, 95 
 
 Condemn'd eternal changes to pursue, 
 Tir'd with the last, and eager of the new. 
 
 I bade the virgins and the youth advance, 
 To temper music with the sprightly dance. 
 In vain ! too low the mimic motions seem ; 100 
 
 What takes our heart must merit our esteem. 
 Nature, I thought, perform'd too mean a part, 
 Forming her movements to the rules of art ; 
 And, vex'd, I found that the musician's hand 
 Had o'er the dancer's mind too great command. 105 
 
 I drank ; I lik'd it not : 'twas rage ; 'twas noise ; 
 An airy scene of transitory joys. 
 
104 THELWALL's SELECTIONS?. 
 
 In vain I trusted that the flowing bowl 
 
 Would banish sorrow and enlarge the soul. 
 
 To the late revel and protracted feast 1 10 
 
 Wild dreams succeeded and disorder'd rest ; 
 
 And as at dawn of morn fair Reason's light 
 
 Broke thro the fumes and phantoms of the night, 
 
 What had been said, I ask'd my soul, what done ? 
 
 How flow'd our mirth, and whence the source begun ? 115 
 
 Perhaps the jest that charm'd the sprightly crowd, 
 
 And made the jovial table laugh so loud, 
 
 To some false notion ow'd its poor pretence, 
 
 To an ambiguous word's perverted sense, 
 
 To a wild sonnet, or a wanton air, 120 
 
 Offence and torture to the sober ear. 
 
 Perhaps, alas ! the pleasing stream was brought 
 
 From this man's error, from another's fault ; 
 
 From topics which good nature would forget, 
 
 And prudence mention with the last regret, 125 
 
 Add yet unnumber'd ills that lie unseen 
 In the pernicious draught ; the word obscene, 
 Or harsh, which once elanc'd, must ever fly 
 Irrevocable ; the too prompt reply, 
 
 Seed of severe distrust and fierce debate, ISO 
 
 What we should shun and what we ought to hate. 
 
 Add too, the blood impov'rish'd, and the course 
 Of health suppress'd by wine's continu'd force. 
 
 Unhappy man ! whom sorrow thus and rage 
 To different ills alternately engage ; 135 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 105 
 
 Who drinks, alas ! but to forget ) nor sees 
 
 That melancholy sloth, severe disease, 
 
 Memory confus'd, and interrupted thought, 
 
 Death's harbingers, lie latent in the draught ; 
 
 And in the flowers that wreath the sparkling bowl, 140 
 
 Fell adders hiss, and poisonous serpents roll. 
 
 Great Heav'n ! how frail thy creature man is made ! 523 
 How by himself insensibly betray'd ! 
 In our own strength unhappily secure, 525 
 
 Too little cautious of the adverse pow'r, 
 And by the blast of self-opinion mov'd, 
 We wish to charm, and seek to be belov'd. 
 On Pleasure's flowing brink we idly stray, 
 Masters as yet of our returning way ; 530 
 
 Seeing no danger, we disarm our mind, 
 And give our conduct to the waves and wind ; 
 Then in the flowery mead or verdant shade 
 To wanton dalliance negligently laid, 
 
 We weave the chaplet and we crown the bowl, 535 
 
 And smiling see the nearer waters roll, 
 Till the strong gusts of raging passion rise, 
 Till the dire tempest mingles earth and skies, 
 And swift into the boundless ocean borne, 
 Our foolish confidence too late we mourn ; 540 
 
 Round our devoted heads the billows beat, 
 And from our troubled view the lessen'd lands retreat. 
 
106 thelwall's selections. 
 
 GRAYS ELEGY 
 
 IN A 
 
 COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. 
 Reprinted according to the Original Copy. 
 
 THE curfew tolls ! — the knell of parting day ! 
 The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, 
 
 The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 
 And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 4 
 
 Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
 And all the air a solemn stillness holds, — ■ 
 
 Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
 And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; 8 
 
 Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 
 The moping owl does to the moon complain 
 
 Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
 Molest her ancient solitary reign. 12 
 
 Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 
 Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 
 
 Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 
 The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 16 
 
 The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, 
 The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 
 
 The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoiug horn, 
 No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 20 
 
THELWALl/s S^LRCTIONS. 107 
 
 For them no more the blazing r nth shall burn, 
 Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; — 
 
 No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
 Or climb his knees, the envy'd kiss to share. 24 
 
 Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield ; 
 Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 
 
 How jocund did they drive their team afield ! 
 How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 28 
 
 Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 
 Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 
 
 Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile, 
 The short and simple annals of the poor : 32 
 
 The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, 
 And all that beauty, all that wealth, e'er gave, 
 
 Await, alike, the inevitable hour : — 
 The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 36 
 
 Nor you, ye Proud ! impute to these the fault, 
 If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 
 
 Where, thro' the long-drawn aisle, and fretted vault, 
 The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 40 
 
 Can storied urn, or animated bust, 
 Back to its mansion call the fleeted breath ? — 
 
 Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust — 
 Or Flattery sooth the dull, cold ear of death ? 44 
 
J08 thelwalx's selections. 
 
 Perhaps, in this neglec I spot, is laid 
 Some heart once pregnanfcwith celestial fire ;— 
 
 Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, 
 Or wak'd to ecstaey the living lyre. 48 
 
 But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
 Rich with the spoils of Time, did ne'er unroll ; 
 
 Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, 
 
 *. 
 
 And froze the genial current of the soul. 52 
 
 Full mam a gem of purest ray serene 
 The dark, unfathom'd caves of ocean bear \ 
 
 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
 And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 56 
 
 Some village-Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, 
 The little tyrant of his fields withstood; 
 
 Some mute inglorious Milton, here may rest, — 
 Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 60 
 
 The applause of listening senates to command, — 
 The threats of pain and ruin to despise, — 
 
 To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, — 
 And read their history in a nation's eyes, 64 
 
 Their lot forbad : — nor circumscrib'd, alone, 
 Their growing virtues, — but their crimes confin'd ; 
 
 Forbade to wade thro slaughter to a throne, 
 And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; 68 
 
thelwall's selections. 109 
 
 The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide ; 
 To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame ; 
 
 Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride 
 With incense kindled at the Muse's flame ! 72 
 
 Yet, even these bones from insult to protect, 
 Some frail memorial, still, erected nigh, 
 
 With uncouth rhymes, and shapeless sculpture, deck'd, 
 Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 76 
 
 Their^names, their years, spelt by the unletter'd Muse, 
 The place of fame and elegy supply ; 
 
 And many a holy text around she strews — 
 That teach the rustic moralist to die. 80 
 
 For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, 
 This pleasing, anxious being e'er resign'd, 
 
 Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
 Nor cast one longing — lingering look behind ? 84 
 
 On some fond breast the parting sou 1 , relies ; 
 Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 
 
 Even from the tomb, the voice of Nature cries, 
 Even in our ashes, live their wonted fires. 88 
 
 For thee, who, mindful of the unhonourd dead, 
 Dost, in these lines, their artless tale relate, 
 
 By chance and lonely Contemplation led, 
 To wander in the gloomy walks of fate ; — 92 
 
1 JO THELWALI/S SELECTIONS. 
 
 Hark ! how the sacred calm that breathes around, 
 Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease ; 
 
 In still small accents whispering from the ground 
 A grateful earnest of eternal peace ! 96 
 
 No more, with nature and thyself at strife, 
 Give anxious cares and endless wishes room, 
 
 But thro the cool sequester'd vale of life 
 Pursue the noiseless tenor of thy doom. 100 
 
 FOX HUNTING. 
 
 SOMERVILLE'S CHASE. B. III. 
 
 FOR these nocturnal thieves, Huntsman ! prepare 
 Thy sharpest vengeance. Oh ! how glorious 't is 56 
 
 To right the oppress'd, and bring the felon vile 
 To just disgrace ! Ere yet the morning peep, 
 Or stars retire from the first blush of day, 
 With thy far-echoing voice alarm thy pack, 40 
 
 And rouse thy bold compeers ; then to the copse, 
 Thick with entangling grass or prickly furze, 
 With silence lead thy many-colour'd hounds, 
 In all their beauty's pride. See ! how they range 
 Dispers'd, how busily this way and that 45 
 
 They cross, examining with curious nose 
 Each likely haunt. Hark ! on the drag I hear 
 Their doubtful notes, preluding to a cry 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. Ill 
 
 More nobly full, and swell'd with every mouth. 
 
 As straggling armies, at. the trumpet's voice, 5Q 
 
 Press to their stand; uer all repair, 
 
 And hurry thro the woods with hasty step, 
 
 Rustling, and full of hope ; now driven on heaps 
 
 They push, they strive, while from his kennel sneaks 
 
 The conscious villain. See ! he skulks along, 55 
 
 Sleek at the shepherd's cost, and plump with meals 
 
 Purloin'd : so thrive the wicked here below. 
 
 Tho high his brush he bear, tho tipt with white 
 
 It gaily shine, yet ere the sun declin'd 
 
 Recall the shades of night, the pamper'd rogue rjO 
 
 Shall rue his fate revers'd, and at his heels 
 
 Behold the just avenger, swift to seize 
 
 His forfeit head, and thirsting for his blood. 
 
 Heav'ns ! what melodious strains ! how beat our hearts 
 Big with tumultuous joy ! the loaded gales 65 
 
 Breathe harmony ! and as the tempest drives 
 From wood to wood, thro every dark recess 
 The forest thunders, and the mountains shake. 
 The chorus swells ; less various and less sweet 
 The trilling notes when in those very groves 70 
 
 The feather'd choristers salute the spring, 
 And every bush in concert joins : or when 
 The master's hand, in modulated air, 
 Bids the loud organ breathe, and all the powers 
 Of music in one instrument combine, 75 
 
 An universal minstrelsy. And now 
 In vain each earth he tries ; the doors are barr'd 
 
112 THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 
 
 Impregnable ; nor is the covert safe. 
 
 He pants for purer air. Hark ! what loud shouts 
 
 Re-echo thro the groves ! he br vay : 80 
 
 Shrill horns proclaim his flight. Each straggling hound 
 
 Strains o'er the lawn to reach the distant pack. 
 
 Tis triumph all and joy. Now, my brave Youths ! 
 
 Now give a loose to the clean generous steed ; 
 
 Flourish the whip, nor spare the galling spur ; §5 
 
 But in the madness of delight forget 
 
 Your fears. Far o'er the rocky hills we range, 
 
 And dangerous our course ; but in the brave 
 
 True courage never fails. In vain the stream 
 
 In foaming eddies whirls ; in vain the ditch, 90 
 
 Wide-gaping, threatens death. The craggy steep, 
 
 Where the poor dizzy shepherd crawls with care, 
 
 And clings to every twig, gives us no pain, 
 
 But down we sweep, as stoops the falcon bold 
 
 To pounce his prey. Then up the opponent hill, 95 
 
 By the swift motion slung, we mount aloft : 
 
 So ships in winter-seas now sliding sink 
 
 Adown the steepy wave, then toss'd on high 
 
 Ride on the billows, and defy the storm. 
 
thelwall's selections. 113 
 
 THE COMMENCEMENT 
 
 OF 
 
 YOUNG'S NIGHT THOUGHTS. 
 
 TIR'D Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep ! 
 
 He, like the world, his ready visit pays 
 
 Where Fortune smiles ; the wretched he forsakes ; 
 
 Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe, 
 
 And lights on lids unsully'd with a tear. 5 
 
 From short, (as usual) and disturb'd repose, 
 I wake : how happy they, who wake no more ! 
 Yet that were vain, if dreams infest the grave. 
 I wake, emerging from a sea of dreams 
 Tumultuous ; where my wreck'd desponding thought, 10 
 From wave to wave of fansy'd misery, 
 At random drove, her helm of reason lost. 
 Tho now restor'd, 'tis only change of pain, 
 (A bitter change !) severer for severe. 
 
 The Day too short for my distress ; and Night, J ,5 
 
 Even in the zenith of her dark domain, 
 Is sunshine to the colour of my fate. 
 
 Night, sable goddess ! from her ebon throne, 
 In rayless majesty, now stretches forth 
 Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world. 20 
 
 Silence, how dead : and darkness, how profound ! 
 
1.14 thelwall's selections. 
 
 Nor eye, nor listening ear, an object finds ; 
 
 Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse 
 
 Of life stood still, and nature made a pause ; 
 
 An awful pause ? prophetic of her end. 25 
 
 And let her prophesy be soon fulfill'd ; 
 
 Fate ! drop the curtain ; I can lose no more. 
 
 Silence and darkness ! solemn sisters ! twins 
 From ancient Night, who nurse the tender thought 
 To Reason, and on Reason build Resolve, 30 
 
 (That column of true majesty in man) 
 Assist me : I will thank you in the grave ; 
 The grave, your kingdom : there this frame shall fall 
 A victim sacred to your dreary shrine. 34 
 
 THE SPLENDID SHILLING. 
 
 J. PHILLIPS. 
 
 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, 
 
115 
 
 Cloe or Phillis, he each circling glass 
 
 Wisheth her health, and joy and equal love ; 10 
 
 Meanwhile he smoaks, 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 1 5 
 
 (Wretched repast !) my meagre corpse sustain, 
 
 Then solitary walk, or doze at home 
 
 In garret vile, and with a warming puff 
 
 Regale chill'd ringers, or from tube as black 
 
 As winter-chimney or well-polish'd jet 20 
 
 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 romantick tale) when he 25 
 
 O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff 
 
 Upon a cargo of fam'd Cestrian cheese 
 
 High overshadowing rides, with a design 
 
 To vend his wares or at the Arvoman mart 
 
 Or Maridunum, or the ancient town 30 
 
 Yclep'd Berchinia, or where Vaga's stream 
 
 Encircles Aricontum, fruitful soil ! 
 
 Whence flow nectareous wines that well may vie 
 
 With Massick, Setin, or renown'd Falern. 
 
 Thus while my joyless minutes tedious flow, 35 
 
116 
 
 With looks demure and silent pace a Dun, 
 
 Horrible monster ! hated by gods and men, 
 
 To my aenal citadel ascends. 
 
 With vocal heel thrice thundering at my gate, 
 
 With hideous accent thrice he calls. I know 40 
 
 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 45 
 
 My shuddering 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 conick beard, 
 
 And spreading band, admir'd by modern saints, 50 
 
 Disastrous acts forebode. In his rigfit 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, 56 
 
 Sullen of aspect, by the vulgar calFd 
 
 A catchpole, whose polluted hands the gods 
 
 With force incredible and magick charms 
 
 First have endu'd : if he his ample palm 60 
 
 Should haply on ill-fated shoulder lay 
 
 Of debtor, straight his body, to the touch 
 
• 117 
 
 Obsequious, (as whilom knights were wont) 
 
 To some enchanted castle is convey'd, 
 
 Where gates impregnable and coercive chains 65 
 
 In durance strict detain him till, in form 
 
 Of Money, Pallas sets the captive free. 
 
 MANAGEMENT OF THE MIND. 
 
 ARMSTRONG'S ART OF PRESERVING 
 HEALTH. B. IV. 
 
 IT is not thought, (for still the soul's employ 'd) 
 
 'Tis painful thinking, that corrodes our clay. 
 
 All day the vacant eye without fatigue 
 
 Strays o'er the heav'n and earth, but long intent 
 
 On microscopick arts its vigour fails. 
 
 Just so the mind, with various thoughts amus'd, 40 
 
 Nor akes itself nor gives the body pain ; 
 
 But anxious study, discontent and care, 
 
 Love without hope, and hate without revenge, 
 
 And fear and jealousy, fatigue the soul, 
 
 Engross the subtile ministers of life, 45 
 
 And spoil the labouring functions of their share : 
 
 Hence the lean gloom that Melancholy wears, 
 
 The lover's paleness, and the sallow hue 
 
 Of Envy, Jealousy ; the meagre stare 
 
118 THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 
 
 Of sore Revenge : the canker 'd body hence 50 
 
 Betrays each fretful motion of the mind. 
 
 The strong-built pedant, who both night and day 
 Feeds on the coarsest fare the schools bestow, 
 And crudely fattens at gross Burman's stall, 
 O'erwhelm'd with phlegm lies in a dropsy drown'd, 55 
 Or sinks in lethargy before his time. 
 With useful studies you and arts that please 
 Employ your mind ; amuse but not fatigue. 
 Peace to each drowsy metaphysick sage, 
 And ever may all heavy systems rest ! 60 
 
 Yet some there are, even of elastic parts, 
 Whom strong and obstinate ambition leads 
 Thro all the rugged roads of barren lore, 
 And gives to relish what their generous taste 
 Would else refuse ; but may nor thirst of fame 65 
 
 Nor love of knowledge urge you to fatigue 
 With constant drudgery the liberal soul. 
 Toy with your books ; and as the various fits 
 Of humour seize you from philosophy 
 To fable shift, from serious Antonine 70 
 
 To Rabelai's ravings, and from prose to song. 
 
 While reading pleases, but no longer, read ; 
 And read aloud, resounding Homer's strain, 
 And wield the thunder of Demosthenes. 
 The chest, so exercis'd, improves its strength, 75 
 
 And quick vibrations thro the bowels drive 
 The restless blood, which in unactive days 
 
THELWALLS SELECTIONS. 119 
 
 Would loiter else thro unelastic tubes. 
 
 Deem it not trifling, while I recommend 
 What posture suits : to stand and sit by turns, 80 
 
 As nature prompts, is best ; but o'er your leaves 
 To lean for ever cramps the vital parts, 
 And robs the fine machinery of its play. 
 
 ? Tis the great art of life to manage well 
 The restless mind ; for ever on pursuit 85 
 
 Of knowledge bent it starves the grosser powers : 
 Quite unemploy'd, against its own repose 
 It turns its fatal edge, and sharper pangs 
 Than what the body knows embitter life ; 
 Chiefly where Solitude, sad nurse of Care, $Q 
 
 To sickly musing gives the pensive mind : 
 There madness enters; and the dim-ey'd fiend, 
 Sour Melancholy, night and day provokes 
 Her own eternal wound : the sun grows pale, 
 A mournful visionary light o'erspreads 95 
 
 The cheerful face of Nature, earth becomes 
 A dreary desert, and Heaven frowns above : 
 Then various shapes of curs'd illusion rise : 
 Whate'er the wretched fears, creating Fear 
 Forms out of nothing, and with monsters teems 100 
 
 Unknown in hell. The prostrate soul beneath 
 A load of huge imagination heaves, 
 And all the horrours that the murderer feels 
 With anxious flutterings wake the guiltless breast. 
 
 Such phantoms Pride, in solitary scenes, 105 
 
120 thelwall's selections. 
 
 Or Fear on delicate Selflove creates. 
 
 From other cares absolv'd the busy mind 
 
 Finds in yourself a theme to pore upon ; 
 
 It finds you miserable, or makes you so : 
 
 For while yourself you anxiously explore 110 
 
 Timorous Selflove, with sickening Fancy's aid, 
 
 Presents the danger that you dread the most, 
 
 And ever galls you in your tender part : 
 
 Hence some for love, and some for jealousy, 
 
 For grim religion some, and some for pride, 1 1 5 
 
 Have lost their reason ; some for fear of want 
 
 Want all their lives ; and others every day 
 
 For fear of dying suffer worse than death. 
 
 Ah ! from your bosoms banish if you can 
 Those fatal guests, and first the demon Fear, 120 
 
 That trembles at impossible events, 
 Lest aged Atlas should resign his load, 
 And heaven's eternal battlements rush down. 
 Is there an evil worse than fear itself! 
 And what avails it that indulgent Heav'n 125 
 
 From mortal eyes has wrapt the woes to come, 
 If we, ingenious to torment ourselves, 
 Grow pale at hideous fictions of our own ? 
 
 Enjoy the present, nor with needless cares 
 Of what may spring from blind Misfortune's womb 
 Appal the surest hour that life bestows. 131 
 
 Serene, and master of yourself, prepare 
 For what may come, and leave the rest to Heav'n. 
 
121 
 
 THE NEW-FALLEN LAMB. 
 
 DYER'S FLEECE. B. I. 
 
 AH ! gentle shepherd ! thine, the lot to tend, 
 Of all that feel distress, the most assail'd, 410 
 
 Feeble, defenceless : lenient be thy care ; 
 But spread around thy tenderest diligence 
 In flowery spring-time, when the new-dropp'd lamb, 
 Tottering with weakness by his mother's side, 
 Feels the fresh world about him, and each thorn, 4 1 5 
 
 Hillock, or furrow, trips his feeble feet : 
 O ! guard his meek sweet innocence from all 
 The innumerous ills that rush around his life ; 
 Mark the quick kite, with beak and talons prone, 
 Circling the skies to snatch him from the plain ; 420 
 
 Observe the lurking crows ; beware the brake, 
 There the sly fox the careless minute waits ; 
 Nor trust thy neighbour's dog, nor earth, nor sky : 
 Thy bosom to a thousand cares divide. 
 Eurus oft slings his hail ; the tardy fields 425 
 
 Pay not their promis'd food ; and oft the dam 
 O'er her weak twins with empty udder mourns, 
 Or fails to guard, when the bold bird of prey 
 Alights, and hops in many turns around, 
 And tires her, also turning : to her aid 430 
 
 9 
 
122 thelwall's selections. 
 
 Be nimble, and the weakest in thine arms 
 
 Gently convey to the warm cot, and oft, 
 
 Between the lark's note and the nightingale's, 
 
 His hungry bleating still with tepid milk : 
 
 In this soft office may thy children join, 435 
 
 And charitable habits learn in sport : 
 
 Nor yield him to himself, ere vernal aiis 
 
 Sprinkle thy little croft with daisy flowers : 
 
 Nor yet forget him ; life has rising ills : 
 
 Various as ether is the pastoral care : 440 
 
 Thro slow experience, by a patient breast, 
 
 The whole long lesson gradual is attain'd, 
 
 By precept after precept, oft receiv'd 
 
 With deep attention ; such as Nuceus sings 
 
 To the full vale near Soar's enamour 'd brook, 445 
 
 While all is silence : sweet Hinclean swain ! 
 
 Whom rude Obscurity severely clasps : 
 
 The Muse, howe'er, will deck thy simple cell 
 
 With purple violets and primrose flowers, 
 
 Well-pleas'd thy faithful lessons to repay. , 450 
 
thelwall's selections. 123 
 
 THE CLIMATE OF BRITAIN. 
 
 FROM THE SAME. 
 
 WITH gratefull heart, ye British Swains ! enjoy 
 
 Your gentle seasons and indulgent clime. 
 
 Lo ! in the sprinkling clouds your bleating hills 
 
 Rejoice with herbage, while the horrid rage 465 
 
 Of winter irresistible o'erwhelms 
 
 The Hyperborean tracks : his arrowy frosts, 
 
 That pierce thro' flinty rocks, the Lappian flies, 
 
 And burrows deep beneath the snowy world ; 
 
 A drear abode ! from rose-diffusing hours, 470 
 
 That dance before the wheels of radiant day, 
 
 Far, far remote ; where, by the squalid light 
 
 Of fetid oil inflam'd, sea-monsters' spume, 
 
 Or fir-wood, glaring in the weeping vault, 
 
 Twice three slow gloomy months with various ills 475 
 
 Sullen he struggles ; such the love of life ! 
 
 His lank and scanty herds around him press, 
 
 As, hunger-stung, to gritty meal he grinds 
 
 The bones of fish, or inward bark of trees, 
 
 Their common sustenance ; while ye, O Swains ! 480 
 
 Ye, happy at your ease, behold your sheep, 
 
 Feed on the open turf, or crowd the tilth, 
 
 Where, thick among the greens, with busy mouths 
 
124 THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 
 
 They scoop white turnips : little care is yours ; 
 
 Only at morning hour to interpose 485 
 
 Dry food of oats, or hay, or brittle straw, 
 
 The watery juices of the bossy root 
 
 Absorbing ; or from noxious air to screen 
 
 Your heavy teeming ewes with wattled fence 
 
 Of furze or copse-wood in the lofty field, 490 
 
 Which bleak ascends among the whistling winds : 
 
 Or, if your sheep are of Silurian breed, 
 
 Nightly to house them dry on fern or straw, 
 
 Silkening their Fleeces. Ye nor rolling hut 
 
 Nor watchful dog require, where never roar 495 
 
 Of savage tears the air, where careless Night 
 
 In balmy sleep lies lull'd, and only wakes 
 
 To plenteous peace. Alas ! o'er wanner zones 
 
 Wild terror strides, their stubborn rocks are rent, 
 
 Their mountains sink, their yawning caverns flame, 500 
 
 And fiery torrents roll impetuous down, 
 
 Proud cities deluging ; Pompeian towers, 
 
 And Herculanean, and what riotous stood 
 
 Jn Syrian valley, where now the Dead Sea 
 
 ? Mong solitary hills infectious lies. 505 
 
 See the swift furies, famine, plague, and war, 
 In frequent thunders rage o'er neighbouring realms, 
 And spread their plains with desolation wide ! 
 Yet your mild homesteads ever-blooming smile 
 Among embracing woods, and waft on high 510 
 
THELWALL S SELECTIONS. 125 
 
 The breath of plenty, from the ruddy tops 
 
 Of chimneys curling o'er the gloomy trees 
 
 In airy azure ringlets to the sky. 
 
 Nor ye by need are urg'd, as Attic swains, 
 
 And Tarentine, with skins to clothe your sheep, 515 
 
 Expensive toil, howe'er expedient found 
 
 In fervid climates, while from Phoebus' beams 
 
 They fled to rugged woods and tangling brakes. 
 
 But those expensive toils are now no more, 
 
 Proud tyranny devours their flocks and herds : 520 
 
 Nor bleat of sheep may now, nor sound of pipe, 
 
 Sooth the sad plains of once sweet Arcady, 
 
 The shepherd's kingdom : dreary solitude 
 
 Spreads o'er Hymettus, and the shaggy vale 
 
 Of Athens, which in solemn silence sheds 525 
 
 Her venerable ruins to the dust. 
 
 ANSON'S VOYAGE. 
 FR M THE SA ME. B. IV. 
 
 YE adventurous Mariners ! 
 Be firm ; take courage from the brave : it was there 
 Perils and conflicts inexpressible 600 
 
 Anson, with steady undespairing breast, 
 Endur'd, when o'er the various globe he chas'd 
 
126 thelwall's selections. 
 
 His country's foes. Fast-gathering tempests rouz'd 
 
 Huge ocean, and involv'd him : all around 604 
 
 Whirlwind, and snow, and hail, and horror : now, 
 
 Rapidly, with the world of waters, down 
 
 Descending to the channels of the deep, 
 
 He view'd the uncover'd bottom of the abyss, 
 
 And now the stars, upon the loftiest point 
 
 Toss'd of the sky-mix'd surges. Oft* the burst &10 
 
 Of loudest thunder, with the dash of seas, 
 
 Tore the wild-flying sails and tumbling masts, 
 
 While flames, thick-flashing in the gloom, reveal'd 
 
 Ruins of decks and shrouds, and sights of death. 
 
 Yet on he far'd, with fortitude his cheer, 615 
 
 Gaining, at intervals, slow way, beneath 
 Del Fuego's rugged cliffs, and the white ridge 
 Above all height, by opening clouds reveal'd, 
 Of Montegorda, and inaccessible 
 
 Wreck-threatening Staten Land's o'erhanging shore, 620 
 Enormous rocks on rocks, in ever-wild 
 Posture of falling ; as when Pelion rear'd 
 On Ossa, and on Ossa's tottering head 
 Woody Olympus, by the angry gods 
 Precipitate on earth were doom'd to fall. 625 
 
 At length, thro every tempest, as some branch 
 Which from a poplar falls into a loud 
 Impetuous cataract, thodeep immers'd, 
 Yet re-ascends, and glides, on lake or stream, 
 
thelwall's selections. 127 
 
 Smooth thro the vallies ; so his way he won 630 
 
 To the serene Pacific, flood immense ! 
 
 And rear'd his lofty masts, and spread his sails. 
 
 Then Paita's walls, in wasting flames involv'd, 
 His vengeance felt, and fair occasion gave 
 To shew humanity and continence, 635 
 
 To Scipio's not inferior. Then was left 
 No corner of the globe secure to Pride 
 And Violence, altho the far-stretch'd coast 
 Of Chili, and Peru, and Mexico, 
 
 Arm'd in their evil cause ; tho fell Disease, 640 
 
 Un'bating Labour, tedious Time, conspir'd, 
 And Heat inclement to unnerve his force ; 
 Tho^that wide sea, which spreads o'er half the world, 
 Deny'd all hospitable land or port ; 
 
 Where, seasons voyaging, no road he found 645 
 
 To moor, no bottom in the abyss whereon 
 To drop the fastening anchor ; tho his brave 
 Companions ceas'd, subdu'd by toil extreme ; 
 Tho solitary left in Tinian seas, 
 
 Where never was before the dreaded sound 650 
 
 Of Britain's thunder heard ; his wave-worn bark 
 Met, fought the proud Iberian, and o'ercame. 
 So fare it ever with our country's foes ! 
 
128 I'helwall's selections. 
 
 THE SELF-DEVOTION OF LEONIDAS. 
 
 GLOVER. B. I. 
 
 AS, when the hand of Perseus had disclos'd 
 
 The snakes of dire Medusa, all, who view'd 
 
 The Gorgon features, were congeal'd to stone, 
 
 With ghastly eye-balls on the hero bent, 
 
 And horrour living in their marble form ; 100 
 
 Thus with amazement rooted, where they stood, 
 
 And froze with speechless terrour, on their kings 
 
 The Spartans gaz'd : but soon their anxious looks 
 
 All on the great Leonidas unite, 
 
 Long known his country's refuge. He alone 115 
 
 Remains unshaken. Rising he displays 
 
 His godlike presence. Dignity and grace 
 
 Adorn his frame, and manly beauty, join'd 
 
 With strength Herculean. On his aspect shines 
 
 Sublimest virtue, and desire of fame, 120 
 
 Where justice gives the laurel ; in his eye 
 
 The inextinguishable spark, which fires 
 
 The souls of patriots ! while his brow supports 
 
 Undaunted valour, and contempt of death, 
 
 Serene he rose, and thus addressM the throng. 125 
 
 Why this astonishment on every face, 
 Ye men of Sparta ? Does the name of death 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 129 
 
 Create this fear and wonder ? O my friends ! 
 
 Why do we labour thro the arduous paths, 
 
 Which lead to virtue ? Fruitless were the toil, 130 
 
 Above the reach of human feet were plac'd 
 
 The distant summit, if the fear of death 
 
 Could intercept our passage. But in vain 
 
 His blackest frowns and terrors he assumes 
 
 To shake the firmness of the mind, which knows, 135 
 
 That wanting virtue, life is pain and woe, — 
 
 That wanting liberty, even virtue mourns, 
 
 And looks around for happiness in vain. 
 
 Then Speak, O Sparta, and demand my life ; 
 
 My heart exulting answers to thy call, 140 
 
 And smiles on glorious fate. To live with fame 
 
 The gods allow to many ; but to die 
 
 With equal lustre, is a blessing, Heaven 
 
 Selects from all the choicest boons of fate, 
 
 And, with a sparing hand, on few bestows. 145 
 
130 thelwall's selections. 
 
 INVOCATION 
 TO GRECIAN ENERGY. 
 
 Conclusion of the first book o/Akenside's Pleasures 
 of Imagination, collated from the original and the 
 enlarged edition. 
 
 GENIUS of ancient Greece ! whose faithful steps, 
 Well pleas'd, I follow thro the sacred paths 
 Of Nature and of Science ; — Nurse divine 
 Of generous counsels and heroic deeds ! 
 
 let the breath of thy extended praise 5 
 Inspire my kindling bosom to the height 
 
 Of this untempted theme ! Nor be my thoughts 
 Presumtuous counted, if, amid the calm 
 Which Hesper sheds along the vernal heaven, 
 
 1 steal, impatient, from the sordid haunts 10 
 Of Strife and low Ambition, and the gloom 
 
 Of vulgar Superstition, to attend, 
 
 With hymns, thy presence, in the sylvan shade 
 
 By their malignant footsteps ne'er profan'd. 
 
 Descend, propitious, to my favour'd eye ! 15 
 
 Such in thy mien — thy warm exalted air, 
 
 As when the Persian tyrant, foil'd, and stung 
 
 With shame and desperation, gnash'd his teeth 
 
thelwall's selections. 131 
 
 To see thee rend the pageants of his throne ; 
 
 And, at the lightning of thy lifted spear, 20 
 
 Crouch'd like a slave. 
 
 Bring all thy martial spoils, , 
 
 Thy palms, thy laurels, thy triumphal songs ; 
 Thy smiling band of arts ; thy godlike sires 
 Of civil wisdom ; thy heroic youth, 25 
 
 Warm from the schools of glory ! Guide my way 
 Thro* fair Lyceum's walk, the olive shades 
 Of Academus, — and the sacred vale, 
 Haunted by steps divine ! where, once, beneath 
 That ever-living plantane's ample boughs, 30 
 
 Ilissus, by Socratic sounds detain'd, 
 On his neglected urn, attentive, lay ; — 
 While Boreas, lingering on the neighbouring steep, 
 With beauteous Orithyea, his love tale, 
 In silent awe, suspended : there let me, 35 
 
 With blameless hand, from thy unenvious fields 
 Transplant some living blossoms, to adorn 
 My native clime ; while, far above the flight 
 Of Fancy's plume aspiring, I unlock 
 
 The springs of ancient wisdom ; while I join 40 
 
 Thy name, thrice honoured ! with the immortal praise 
 Of nature ; — while to my compatriot youth 
 I point the high example of thy sons, 
 And tune to Attic themes the British lyre. 45 
 
132 
 
 SATAN 
 
 Calling the fallen Angels from the Oblivious Pool. 
 MILTON. P.L. B.I. 
 
 HE scarce had ceas'd, when the superior fiend 
 
 Was moving tow'rd the shore ; his ponderous shield 
 
 (Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round) 
 
 Behind him cast ; the broad circumference 
 
 Hung on his shoulders, like the moon, whose orb. 
 
 Thro optic glass, the Tuscan artist views, 
 
 At evening, from the top of Fiesol6, 
 
 Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, 290 
 
 Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe. 
 
 His spear (to equal which the tallest pine 
 
 Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast 
 
 Of some great ammiral, were but a wand) 
 
 He walk'd with to support uneasy steps C 2Q5 
 
 Over the burning marl — (not like those steps 
 
 On heaven's azure !) — and the torrid clime 
 
 Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire. 
 
 Nathless he so endur'd, till on the beach 
 
 Of that inflamed sea he stood, and call'd 300 
 
 His legions, angel forms, who lay, intranc'd, 
 
 Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks 
 
 In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades, 
 
thelwall's selections. 133 
 
 High over-arch'd, imbower ; or scatter'd sedge 
 
 Afloat, when, with fierce winds, Orion, arm'd, 305 
 
 Hath vex'd the Red Sea coast —whose waves o'erthrew 
 
 Busiris and his Memphian chivalry, 
 
 While with perfidious hatred they pursu'd 
 
 The sojourners of Goshen, — who beheld, 
 
 From the safe shore, their floating carcases 310 
 
 And broken chariot wheels : so thick bestrown, 
 
 Abject, and lost, lay these, covering the floods 
 
 Under amazement of their hideous change. 
 
 He call'd so loud, that all the hollow deep 
 Of hell resounded. 
 
 " Princes! potentates! 315 
 
 u Warriors ! the flower of heaven, once yours ; now lost, 
 " If such astonishment as this can seize 
 11 Eternal spirits : or have ye chosen this place, 
 " After the toil of battle, to repose 
 
 " Your wearied virtue, — for the ease you find 320 
 
 m To slumber here, as in the vales of heaven ? 
 " Or in this abject posture have ye sworn 
 " To adore the conqueror ? who now beholds 
 " Cherub and Seraph rolling in the flood, 
 w With scatter'd arms and ensigns ; till, anon, 325 
 
 lt His swift pursuers, from heaven-gates, discern 
 " The advantage, and, descending, tread us down, 
 
134 
 
 " Thus drooping ; or, with linked thunderbolts, 
 
 " Tranfix us to the bottom of this gulf. 
 
 " Awake ! arise ! — or be for ever fallen I" 330 
 
 OTHELLO'S 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE SENATE. 
 
 SHAKESPERE. 
 
 MOST potent, grave, and reverend signors,, 
 
 My very noble and approv'd good masters ; 
 
 That I have taken away this old man's daughter, 
 
 It is most true ; true, I have married her ; — 
 
 The very head and front of my offending 5 
 
 Hath this extent — no more. Rude am I in speech, 
 
 And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace ; 
 
 For since these arms of mine had seven years pith, 
 
 'Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have us'd 
 
 Their dearest action in the tented field ; 10 
 
 And little of this great world can I speak 
 
 More than pertains to feats of broil and battle ; 
 
 And, therefore, little shall I grace my cause, 
 
 In speaking for myself: yet, by your patience, 
 
 I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver 15 
 
 Of my whole course of love : — what drugs, what charms, 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 135 
 
 What conjuration, and what mighty magic, 
 (For such proceeding I am charg'd withal) 
 I won his daughter with. 
 
 Her father lov'd me ; oft invited me ; 20 
 
 Still question'd me the story of my life, 
 
 From year to year ; the battles, sieges, fortunes, 
 
 That I have past. 
 
 I run it thro, even from my boyish days, 
 
 To the very moment that he bade me tell it. 25 
 
 Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances ; 
 
 Of moving accidents, by flood and field ; 
 
 Of hair-breadth 'scapes in the imminent deadly breach ; 
 
 Of being taken by the insolent foe, 
 
 And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence ; — 30 
 
 Of battles bravely, hardly fought ; of victories, 
 
 For which the conqueror mourn'd — so many fell ! 
 
 Sometimes I told the story of a siege, 
 
 Wherein I had to combat plagues and famine : 
 
 Soldiers unpaid ; fearful to fight, yet bold 35 
 
 In dangerous mutiny. 
 
 These things to hear 
 Would Desdemona seriously incline : 
 But still the house affairs would draw her thence ; — 
 ' Which ever as she could widi haste despatch, 
 She'd come again, and with a greedy ear 40 
 
 Devour up my discourse : which I observing, 
 
136 THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 
 
 Took once a pliant hour ; and found good means 
 
 To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, 
 
 That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, — - 
 
 Whereof by parcels she had something heard, 45 
 
 But not distinctively, I did consent, 
 
 And often did beguile her of her tears, 
 
 When I did speak of some distressful stroke 
 
 That my youth suifer'd. My story being done, 
 
 She gave me, for my pains, a world of sighs ! 50 
 
 She swore, " In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange ; 
 
 Twas pitiful, 'twas wonderous pitiful :" 
 
 She wish'd she had not heard it ; — yet she wish'd 
 
 That heaven had made her such a man : — She thank'd me ; 
 
 And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, 55 
 
 I should but teach him how to tell my story, 
 
 And that would woo her. On this hint, I spake. 
 
 She lov'd me for the dangers I had past ; 
 
 And I lov'd her that she did pity them. 
 
 — This, only, is the witchcraft I have us'd, 60 
 
thelwall's selections. 1S7 
 
 HENRY V. BEFORE HARFLEUR. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 ONCE more unto the breach, dear friends ! once more; — 
 
 Or close the wall up with our English dead. 
 
 In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man 
 
 As modest stillness and humility : 
 
 But, when the blast of war blows in our ears, 5 
 
 Then imitate the action of the tiger : 
 
 Stiffen the sinews, — summon up the blood, — - 
 
 Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage : 
 
 Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ; 
 
 Let it pry through the portage of the head, 10 
 
 Like the brass cannon ; — let the brow o'erwhelm it, 
 
 As fearfully, as doth a galled rock 
 
 O'er-hang and jutty his confounded base, 
 
 SwilFd with the wild and wasteful ocean. 
 
 Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide; 15 
 
 Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 
 To his full height ! — On, on, you noble English, 
 Whose blood is set from fathers of war-proof ! 
 Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, 
 Have, in these parts, from morn 'till even fought, 20 
 
 And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument. 
 Dishonour not your mothers. Now attest 
 
138 THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 
 
 That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you ! 
 
 Be copy now to men of grosser blood, 
 
 And teach them how to war ! — And you, good yeomen, 25 
 
 Whose limbs were made in England, shew us here 
 
 The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear 
 
 That you are worth your breeding : which I doubt not : 
 
 For there is none of you so mean and base, 
 
 That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. 3Q 
 
 I see you stand, like greyhounds in the slips, 
 
 Straining upon the start. 
 
 The game's afoot. 
 Follow your spirit : and, upon this charge, 
 Cry — God for Harry ! England ! and Saint George ! 35 
 
 TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 
 
 BURNS. 
 
 THOU lingering star, with lessening ray, 
 
 That lov'st to greet the early morn, 
 Again thou usherest in the day 
 
 My Mary from my soul was torn. 4 
 
 O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest? — - 
 See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans* that rend his breast? 8 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 139 
 
 That sacred hour can I forget ! — 
 
 Can I forget the hallow'd grove, 
 Where, by the winding Ayr, we met/ 
 
 To live one day of parting love ! ■ 12 
 
 Eternity will not efface 
 
 Those records dear of transports past ! 
 Thy image at our last embrace : — 
 
 Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! 16 
 
 Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore, 
 
 O'erhung with wild woods, thickening, green ; 
 The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 
 
 Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene. 20 
 
 The flowers sprang wonton to be prest ; 
 
 The birds sang love on every spray, 
 Till too, too soon, the glowing* west j 
 
 Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. 24 
 
 Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, 
 
 And fondly broods, with miser care : 
 Time but the impression deeper makes, — 
 
 As streams their channels deeper wear. £8 
 
 My Mary ! dear departed shade ! 
 
 Where is thy blissful place of rest ? — 
 See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ?f 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 32 
 
140 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF LOVE, 
 
 SOUTHEY'S CURSE OF KEHAMA. 
 
 THEY sin who tell us Love can die. 
 
 With life, all other passions fly, 
 
 All others, are but vanity. 
 
 In Heaven, Ambition^ cannot dwell, 
 
 Nor? Avarice in the vaults of Hell ; 
 
 Earthly these passions of the Earth $ 
 
 They, perish where they/ have their birth ; 
 
 But Love is indestructible. 
 
 Its holy flame for ever burnetii, 
 
 From Heaven it' came, to Heaven returneth; 
 
 Too oft, on earth, a troubled guest, 
 
 At times deceiv'd, at times opprest, 
 
 It here is tried and purified ; 
 
 Then hath in Heaven its perfect rest: 
 
 It soweth here with toil and care, 
 
 But the harvest-time of Love is there. 
 
 Oh ! when a Mother meets on high 
 
 The Babe she lost in infancy, 
 
 Hath she not then, for pains and fears, 
 
 The day of woe, the watchful night, 
 
 For all her sorrows, all her tears, 
 
 An over-payment of delight ! 
 
THELWALL's SELECTIONS. 141 
 
 ENGLISH HEXAMETERS. 
 
 THE FOLLOWING SPECIMEN FROM 
 
 ODELL'S ELEMENTS OF ENGLISH PROSODY, 
 
 Though not by any means a fair specimen of the capabilities of 
 the English language, in this species of metre, may serve the 
 purpose of an Elocutionary Exercise. 
 
 HOMER'S ILIAD. B. I. v. 1. &c. 
 
 SING, O inuse, the destructive wrath of Pelead Achilles ; 
 Source of abundant toil and grief to the host of Achaians ; 
 Wasted by frequent deaths of heroes hurl'd, prematurely, 
 Down to the shades, whose limbs were left, unburied, a prey to 
 Dogs and birds of prey ; (as Jove's high will predetermine.) 
 From that time, when a fatal contention first disunited 
 Great Atrides, prince of the league, and godlike Achilles : 
 Say, too, which of the gods had "excited the quarrel between them ? 
 
 Jove's and Leto's son, provok'd by the king, he infected 
 All their camp with a deadly disease, and perishing thousands 
 Fell for the scorn which Chryses bore from the haughty Atrides : 
 When, to redeem his captive daughter, the priest, as a suitor, 
 
142 thelwall's selections. 
 
 Came to the fleet, presenting a ransom richly abundant: 
 Holding, in outstretch'd hands, the crown of beaming Apollo, 
 Join'd with the sceptre of gold, he solicited all the Achaians, 
 But the Atridai first, their two confederate leaders. 
 
 " Sons of Atreus, hear ! and all ye war-clad Achaians ! 
 Soon may the gods, who inhabit Olympus, grant you to level 
 Priam's walls, and safely return to your country in triumph. 
 But — restore my child — and deign to accept of the ransom, 
 Duly revering a son of Jove, — far-beaming Apollo/' 
 
 Well dispos'd to consent were all the assembled Achaians, 
 Duly the priest to respect, and take his generous ransom ; 
 But not so was the mind appeas'd of proud Agamemnon. 
 He, to a harsh repulse, superadded a menacing answer : 
 
 "Here, old dotard, let me no more, in our naval encampment, 
 Find thee, either lingering now, or hereafter returning ; 
 When that sceptre and crown divine should little avail thee. 
 Her, be assur'd, I ne'er shall release, till age overtake her; 
 Still my domestic, a captive in Argos, far from her country, 
 Daily employ'd at the loom, and sharing the bed of hermaster. 
 Make no reply, but go, while safely to go is permitted." 
 
 Thus he spake, and Chryses, alarm'd, obey'd his injunction. 
 Silent, he pac'd the resounding shore of the boisterous ocean ; 
 There, when alone, in fervent prayer to his patron Apollo, 
 Thus exclaim'd the grief-worn senior, venting his anguish : 
 
THELWALL 3 SELECTION'S. 143 
 
 " Hear me, God of the Silver Bow, protector of Chrysa, 
 Mighty defence of Tenedos, guardian of heavenly Killa, 
 Smintheus ! If I have duly adorn'd thy beautiful temple, 
 Duly to thee burnt thighs presented of well-fatted victims, 
 Bulls and goats, O deign to receive and grant my petition ; 
 Let thine arrows quickly avenge my tears on the Grecians !" 
 
 Thus he pray'd, and his pray'r was received by Phoebus Apollo : 
 Down from the heights of Olympus he comes, indignant avenger, 
 Bearing his bow and well-stored quiver slung from his shoulders. 
 Thus as, in anger, he pass'd unseen, with darkness encircled, 
 Shrill, from the shoulders pending, clash the celestial armour. 
 
 Seated apart from the ships, he now gives flight to an arrow; 
 Awful and loud resounds the twang of the tremulous bowstring. 
 First their mules and hounds were alone the sport of his vengeance ; 
 Now at the Greeks themselves, he draws a shaft of destruction* 
 Shoots-— and piles funereal fill the gleaming Horizon. 
 
144 theiwall's selections. 
 
 ENGLISH SAPPHICS. 
 
 The same may be said of the following specimen from 
 
 HERRIE'S ELEMENTS OF SPEECH, 
 
 as of the former article,. 
 
 0- 
 
 PLACE me in regions of eternal winter, 
 Where not a blossom to the breeze can open, but 
 Darkening tempests, closing all around me, 
 Chill the creation. 
 
 Place me where sun-shine ever more me scorches ; 
 Climes where no mortal builds his habitation ; 
 Yet with my charmer, fondly will I wander, 
 Fondly conversing. 
 
 The true rhythmical division of the first stanza would 
 be thus: 
 
 Place me in regions of eternal winter, 
 Where not a blossSm to the breeze can open ; 
 But darkening tempests cl5slng all around me, 
 Chill the creation. 
 
 These are no sapphics. The third line is an English 
 spondaical heroic, or rather dramatic, verse. 
 
thelwall's selections. 145 
 
 THE SHIP OF HEAVEN. 
 
 THE FOLLOWING SPECIMEN FROM 
 
 SOUTHEY'S CURSE OF KEHAMA, 
 
 Tho not a genuine Sapphic, is a beautiful variety of lyrical 
 measure, well worthy of elocutionary analysis. 
 
 SWIFT thro' the sky the vessel of the Suras 
 
 Sails up the fields of ether like an angel ; 
 
 Rich is the freight, O vessel ! that thou bearest — 
 
 Beauty and virtue, 
 
 Fatherly cares and filial veneration, 
 
 Hearts which are prov'd and strengthen^ by affliction, 
 
 Manly resentment, fortitude and action, 
 
 Womanly goodness: 
 
 All with which nature halloweth her daughters, 
 Tenderness, truth, and purity and meekness, 
 Piety, patience, faith, and resignation, 
 
 Love and devotement. 
 
 Ship of the Gods ! how richly art thou laden ! 
 Proud of the charge, thou voyagest rejoicing, 
 Clouds float around to honour thee, and evening 
 
 Lingers in heaven 
 
146 thelwall's selections. 
 
 SPECIMEN 
 
 OF 
 
 INCOHERENT RHYTHMUS: 
 
 Principally from redundancy and misapplication of the 
 Pyrrhic foot, and admixture of Sapphic cadences in 
 spondaical Heroics. 
 
 CAMPBELL'S PLEASURES OF HOPE. Part II. 
 
 UNFADING Hope! when life's last embers burn, 
 When s5ul to soul, and dust to dust, return, 236 
 
 Heav'n to thy charge resigns the awful hour : 
 Oh ! then, thy klngd5m comes, — Imm5rtal Power ! 
 
 What tho each spark of earth-born rapture fly 
 The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye ? 240 
 
 Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey 
 The morning dream of life's eternal day : — 
 Then — then, the triumph and the trance begin ! 
 And all the phoenix spirit burns within ! 
 
 Oh ! deep-enchanting prelude to repose ! 245 
 
 The dawn of bliss ! the twilight of our woes ! 
 — Yet, half I hear the parting spirit sigh — 
 It is a dread and awful thing to die ! 
 
 Mysterious worlds, untravell'd by the sun, 
 Where Time's far-wandering tide has never run! 250 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 147 
 
 From your unfathom'd shades and viewless spheres 
 
 A warning comes, unheard by other ears. 
 
 "lis heav'n's commanding trumpet, long and loud, 
 
 Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud ! 
 
 While Nature hears, with terror-mingled trust, 255 
 
 The shock that hurls her fabric to die dust ; 
 
 And, like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod 
 
 The roaring waves, and call'd upon his God, 
 
 With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss, 
 
 And shrieks, and hovers o'er the dark abyss ! 260 
 
 Daughter of Faith, awake ! arise ! illume 
 The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb ! 
 Melt and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll 
 Cimmerian darkness 6n the parting soul ! 
 Fly, like the moon-ey'd herald of dismay, %Q5 
 
 Chas'd on his night-steed by the star of day ! 
 
 The strife is o'er — the pangs of nature close, 
 And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes. 
 Hark ! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze, 
 The noon of heav'n, undazzled by the blaze, 270 
 
 On heav'nly winds that waft her to the sky, 
 Float the sweet tones of star-born melody ; 
 Wild as that hallo w'd anthem sent to hail 
 Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale, 
 When Jordan hush'd his waves, and midnight still 275 
 
 Watch'd on the holy towers of Zion hill ! 
 
148 THELWALI/S SELECTIONS. 
 
 Soul of the just ! companion of the dead ! 
 Where is thy home ? and whither art thou fled ? 
 
 Back to its heav'nly source thy being goes ; 
 Swift as the comet wheels to w-hence he rose ; — 280 
 
 Doom'd on hts airy path a while to burn, 
 And doom'd, like thee, to travel and return : — 
 Hark ! from the world's exploding centre driv'n, 
 With sounds that shook the firmament of Heav'n, 
 Careers the fiery giant, fast and far, 285 
 
 On bickering wheels and adamantine car ; 
 From planet whirl'd to planet more remote, 
 He visits realms beyond the reach of thought ; 
 But, wheeling homeward, when his course is run, 
 Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the sun. 290 
 
 So hath the traveller of earth unfurl'd 
 Her trembling wings, emerging from the world; 
 And, o'er the path by mortal never trod, 
 Sprung to her source — the bosom of her God ! 
 
 Oh ! lives there, Heav'n ! beneath thy dread expanse, 
 One hopeless, dark Idolator of Chance, 296 
 
 Content to feed with pleasures unrefm'd 
 The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind ; 
 Who, mouldering earthward, 'reft of every trust, 
 In joyless union wedded to the dust, 300 
 
 Could all his parting energy dismiss, 
 And call this barren world sufficient bliss ?— - 
 There live, alas ! of Heav'n-directed mien, 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 149 
 
 Of cultur'd soul, and sapient eye serene, 
 
 Who hail thee, Man, the pilgrim of a day, 305 
 
 Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay ! 
 
 Frail as the leaf in Autumn's yellow bower, 
 
 Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower ! 
 
 A friendless slave ; a child without a sire ; 
 
 Whose mortal life and momentary fire 3 10 
 
 Light to the grave his chance-created form ; 
 
 As ocean- wrecks illuminate the storm ; 
 
 And, when the gun's tremendous flash is o'er, 
 
 To Night and Silence sink for ever more !— 
 
 Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim, 315 
 
 Lights of the world, and demi-gods of Fame ! — 
 Is this your triumph — this your proud applause, 
 Children of Truth, and champions of her cause f 
 
 PAPER: 
 
 A CONVERSATIONAL PLEASANTRY. 
 
 DR. FRANKLIN. 
 
 SOME wit of old — such wits of old there were — 
 Whose hints shew'd meaning, whose allusions care,— 
 By one brave stroke to mark all human kind, 
 Call'd clear blank paper every infant mind; 
 Where still, as opening sense her dictates wrote, 
 
150 thelwall's selections. 
 
 Fair .Virtue put a seal, or Vice a blot. 
 
 The thought wasfhappy, pertinent and true ! — 
 
 Methinks a genius might the plan pursue. I 
 
 I — (can youf pardon my presumption ?) — I, 
 
 No wit, no genius, yet, for once, will try. 10 
 
 Various the papers various wants produce : 
 The wants, of fashion, * elegance, and use. 
 Men are as various ; and, if right I scan, 
 Each sort of paper represents some man. 14 
 
 Pray note the fop : — half powder, and half lace ! 
 Nice as a bandbox were his dwelling-place. 
 He's the gilt-paper which apart you store, 
 And lock from vulgar hands in the scrutoire. 18 
 
 Mechanics, servants,, farmers, and so forth, 
 Are copy -paper of inferior worth ; 
 Less priz'd ; more useful ; for your desk decreed ; 
 Free to all pens, and prompt at every need. 22 
 
 The zoretch whom avarice bids to pinch and spare, 
 Starve, cheat and pilfer, to enrich an heir, 
 Is coarse brown-paper ; such as pedlars choose 
 To wrap up wares which better men will use, 26 
 
 Take next the miser's contrast ; who destroys 
 Health, fame and fortune in a round of joys. 
 Will any paper match him ? Yes, throughout : 
 He's a true sinking paper, past all doubt. 30 
 
 The retail politicians anxious thought 
 Deems this side always right, and that stark naught : 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 151 
 
 He foams with censure ; with applause he raves ; 
 
 A dupe to rumours, and a tool to knaves : 
 
 He'll want no type his weakness to proclaim, 
 
 While such a thing as fools-cap has a name. 36 
 
 The hasty gentleman, whose blood runs high ; 
 Who picks a quarrel if you step awry ; 
 Who can't a jest, a hint, or look endure ! — 
 What is he ? What ! — Touch-paper to be sure. 40 
 
 What are our poets f| (take them as they fall — 
 Good, bad, rich, poor ; much read ; not read at all ?) 
 Them and their works in the same class you'll rind : 
 They are — the mere waste-paper of mankind. 44 
 
 Observe the maiden, innocently sweet ! 
 She's fair zvhite-paper ! an unsullied sheet; 
 On which the happy man whom fate ordains 
 May write his name, and take her for his pains. 48 
 
 One instance more, and only one, I'll bring ! 
 ? Tis the great man zvho scorns a little thing ; 
 Whose thought, whose deeds, whose maxims are his own ; 
 Form'd on the feelings of his heart alone. 
 True, genuine, royal-paper, is his breast : 
 Of all the kinds most precious, purest, best. 54 
 
1.52 thelwall's selections. 
 
 THE OLD CHEESE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE HUSBAND ONLY FIT TO BE RULED. 
 
 DR. KING. 
 
 YOUNG Slouch, the farmer, had a jolly wife, 
 That knew all the conveniences of life ; — 
 Whose diligence and cleanliness supply'd 
 The wit which nature had to him deny'd : 
 But then — she had a tongue that would be heard, 5 
 
 And make a better man than Slouch afeard. 
 This made censorious persons of the town 
 Say Slouch could hardly call his soul his own ; 
 For if he went abroad too much, she'd use 
 To give him slippers, and lock up his shoes. 10 
 
 Talking he lov'd, and ne'er was more afflicted 
 Than when he was disturb'd, or contradicted ; 
 Yet still into his story she would break 
 With " 'Tis not so — Pray give me leave to speak." 
 
 His friends thought this was a tyrannick rule, 15 
 
 Not differing much from calling him a fool ; 
 Told him he must exert himself, and be, 
 In fact, the master of his family. 
 
thelwall's selections. 153 
 
 He said " That the next Tuesday noon would show 
 " Whether he were the lord at home, or no, 20 
 
 " When their good company he would entreat 
 " To well- brew'd ale, and clean, if homely, meat." 
 
 With aking heart, home to his wife he goes, 
 And on his knees does his rash act disclose, 
 And prays dear Sukey — that, one day, at least, 25 
 
 He might appear as master of the feast. 
 
 " I'll grant your wish," cries Sue, " that you may see 
 " 'Twere wisdom to be govern'd still by me/' 
 
 The guests, upon the day appointed, came ; 
 Each bowsy farmer with his simpering dame. 30 
 
 " Ho, Sue !" cries Slouch, " why dost thou not appear ? 
 " Are these thy manners when aunt Snap is here ?" 
 
 " I pardon ask," says Sue ; " I'd not offend 
 " Any my dear invites ; — much less his friend." 
 
 Slouch, by his kinsman GrufTy, had been taught 35 
 To entertain his friends with finding fault, 
 And make the main ingredient of his treat 
 His sayiug " There was nothing fit to eat : 
 " The boil'd pork stinks — the roast beef 's not enough ; 
 " The bacon 's rusty, and the hens are tough ; 40 
 
 " The veal 's all rags ; the butter 's turn'd to oil ; 
 u And thus I buy good meat for sluts to spoil, 
 
 u 
 
]54 thelwall's selections*. 
 
 u 'Tis we are the first Slouches ever sat 
 " Down to a pudding without plums or fat. 
 " What teeth, or stomach 's strong enough to feed 45 
 
 " Upon a goose my grannum kept to breed ? 
 " Why must old pigeons, and they stale, be drest, 
 " When there 's so many squab ones in the nest ? 
 " This beer is sour ; — this musty, thick, and stale, — 
 " And worse than any thing, except the ale." 50 
 
 Sue, all this while, many excuses made ; 
 Some things she own'd ; at other times she laid 
 The fault on chance ; but oftener jQn^the maid. 
 
 Then Cheese was brought. Says Slouch, "This e'en shall roll; 
 " I'm sure 'tis hard enough to make a bowl. 55 
 
 " This is skim'd milk ; and, therefore, it shall go ; 
 " And this, because \ is Suffolk, follow too." 
 
 But now Sue's patience did begin to waste ; 
 Nor longer could dissimulation last. 
 " Pray let me rise," says' she, " my Dear ! — I'll tfind 
 " A Cheese, perhaps, may be to Lovy's mind !" 6l 
 
 Then, in an entry standing close, where he 
 Alone, and none of all his friends, might see, 
 And brandishing a cudgel he had felt, 
 And far enough, on this occasion, smelt, 65 
 
 "I'll try, my Joy!" she cried, " if I can please 
 " My dearest with a taste of his Old Cheese !" 
 
thelwall's selections. 155 
 
 Slouch, turning round, saw his wife's vigorous hand 
 Wielding her oaken sapling of command. 
 He knew the twang. " Is't the Old Cheese, my Dear! 70 
 " No need, no need of Cheese/' cries Slouch, " I'll swear : 
 " I think I've din'd as well as my Lord Mayor f 
 
 BATTLE ROYAL; 
 
 OR 
 
 THE GROCER'S LADY-WIFE AND THE 
 BASKET : 
 
 A TALE FOR THE LADIES. 
 
 THERE flour ish'd in a market town, 
 
 To plenty born, to affluence grown, 
 
 A pair who, free from flagrant strife, 
 
 Had reach'd the middle age of life. 
 
 The man was sprung of gentle kind; 5 
 
 > 
 
 Not ill the passions of his mind ; 
 
 Expert at fishing and at fowling, 
 
 At hunting, racing, and at bowling. 
 
 He knew whate'er Esquire should know Sir : 
 
 But then, hard fate ! he was a Grocer ! 10 
 
 — His wife was not unworthy praise, — 
 
 As women went in former days ; 
 
156 THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 
 
 Her beauty, envy must confess ; 
 
 Exact her breeding and her dress. 
 
 In short,— all slander she defy'd : 15 
 
 Exempt from every fault — but pride. 
 
 Her Lord's superior in degree, 
 — As something better born than he — 
 She could not to her state submit, 
 
 Or to her interest bend her wit. 20* 
 
 Her hands for sugars were too nice ; 
 She fainted at " the stink of spice ;" — 
 Soap — vulgar soap, or greasy candle, 
 She rather could have died than handle : 
 Nay spouse himself, when girt with apron, 25 
 
 She scarcely could endure to gape on : 
 For tho the Man was passing well, 
 The Tradesman made her stomach swell. 
 
 This somewhat griev'd our busy elf, 
 Who lov'd his wife— yet lov'd the pelf— 30 
 
 And, tho he wish'd his rank were higher, 
 He could not bear the word retire : 
 (For who with Hyson could compare 
 For trade ? Each market was ziFair!) 
 Nay, when the throng of business prest him, 35 
 
 Fine madam's pride, at times, distress'd him. 
 " Unblest," in whispers, then, oft said he, 
 " The trading wight who weds a lady !" 
 
THELWALL's SELECTIONS. 157 
 
 One day — 'twas near the Christmas season — 
 Rare time for sweetmeat, spice and raisin ! — 40 
 
 So quick his customers' demands, 
 He needed more than all his hands. 
 Down comes his wife, with careless air : 
 But not to help him ?— Never fear !; 
 
 — Far be from her a thought so mean ! — 45 
 
 She came, — to see and to be seen ; 
 Nor e'er intended to do good, 
 But stood i' the way of those that-wou'd. 
 That instant in a Footman comes, 
 
 Post haste, for sugar and for plumbs. 50 
 
 The Grocer peevish 'gan to grow 
 To see bis dearest loiter so. 
 " Why stand you there, good wife ? I pray 
 " Or lend a hand or go away." 
 
 In vain he touch'd her on that ear : 55 
 
 She did not, — or she would not hear. 
 " Nay weigh the things : let pride come down." 
 She answer'd, only, with a frown : 
 But such a frown as might express 
 Her dower, her beauty, and her dress. • r3o 
 
 He weighs, and weighs. — " Then take the ware 
 " And put it in the Basket there." 
 She turn'd away : — he plac'd them in it : 
 " Well then, at least, be pleas'd to pin it ?" 
 The dame indignant makes reply, $5 
 
158 thelwall's selections. 
 
 " Wait on a footman ! no not I. 
 " But I deserv'd degrading so Sir, 
 " For condescending to a Grocer." 
 
 When business throngs, we often find 
 'Twill disconcert the calmest mind ; 70 
 
 And sages, on all hands, agree 
 Hot blood and opportunity 
 Few can resist. The footman's stick 
 With Hyson's rage was just in nick. 
 
 He snatch'd it, in his ire, and cried, 75 
 
 " Not pin the basket Mrs. Pride ! 
 " But faith I'll make you in a crack/' 
 The cane (arch rhymester) echo'd " zohack!" 
 
 The verse requir'd no prosing comment j 
 She pinn'd the basket in a moment. 80 
 
 The man tripp'd off, in merry mood, 
 And laugh'd and titter'd as he rode. 
 He had a mistress quite as fine 
 As her that suffer'd discipline ! — 
 
 As proud, as high-born, and as rich ; 85 
 
 But not so continent of speech ; 
 With whom he thought, if 't so could be, 
 Hyson's stick-liquorice might agree. 
 
 At dinner time, the waggish knave, 
 By turns was fleering and was grave ; 90 
 
 Now lick'd his lips, and quickly after 
 
THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 159 
 
 Burst out, unwitting, into laughter. 
 
 Quoth madam, with majestic air, 
 
 " What ails that saucy fellow there !" 
 
 But angry words and looks are vain ; — 95 
 
 Again Tom giggles ; and again. 
 
 " Nay," says his master, '". Tom, at least, 
 
 " If you must laugh, pray tell the jest." 
 
 Tom up and told the story roundly — 
 
 How a fair dame was cudgell'd soundly. 100 
 
 Scarce madam heard the whole narration, 
 Before she rose in monstrous passion : — 
 " 'Was ever any thing so base ! 
 " At noonday ! In the market-place 1 
 " A woman so well bred as she ! 105 
 
 " Her fortune ! and her family \" 
 Tom laugh'd the more the more she rail'd ; 
 Till madam's small discretion fail'd, 
 And, starting in a fury, straight, 
 
 She vow'd she'd break the rascal's pate. 1 10 
 
 Her husband, rising to aswage 
 The o'er bearing tempest of her rage, 
 And, happening not her hands to mind, 
 He caught the rap for Tom design'd ; 
 But not approving of the jest, lid 
 
 Return'd it soon with interest. — 
 
 Tom saw in cases of this nature, 
 'Twas dangerous to be mediator, 
 
160 
 
 So ran down stairs (as was but fitting) 
 
 And left the Lady to her beating. 120 
 
 Below stairs was the kitchen maid, 
 
 To whom our Tom had courtship paid. 
 
 Says Moll, " above stairs what's the matter ? 
 
 " I never heard so loud a clatter." — 
 
 The story, soon as out it came, 125 
 
 Put Mary's womanhood in flame. 
 
 " Pho !— pho !"— says Tom, " your fury stifle. 
 
 " Why all this fuss at such a trifle ?" — 
 
 u Aitrifle ! ! !" — so their strife begun ; 
 And one word brought another on. 1 30 
 
 Apace their passions higher rose ; 
 From words they quickly came to blows ; 
 And, as above stairs, so below stairs, 
 Threat follow'd threat, blow folio w'd blow sirs. 
 
 The story, told in different ways, 135 
 
 Set the whole neighbourhood in a blaze. 
 For 'Squire and Madam some contended ; 
 Some Hyson ; some his wife defended ; 
 The Cook-maid some ; her croney others ; 
 Till Sisters, daughters, wives and mothers 140 
 
 Had brought the Grocer's cause to tryal, 
 And fought it out in battle royal. 
 
 So quick the progress is of strife, 
 Twixt realm and realm ; or man and wife : 
 
^ trelwall's selections. 161 
 
 If but continued by a train, 
 Sufficient the first spark is found; 
 Fire sudden skims along the ground, 
 And flashes lightning all around. 
 
 Ye high-born dames who tradesmen marry, 150 
 
 My moral in remembrance carry — 
 No neighbourhoods set in conflagration 
 With supercilious ostentation ; 
 But, when your busy husbands ask it, 
 Stoop to your state,, and pin the basket. 155 
 
 AFFECTATION OF GALLICISMS. 
 
 AARON HILL. 
 
 MAY that mistaken taste be starv'd to reason 
 
 That does not think French fashions, English treason. 
 
 Souse their cook's talent, and cut short their Tailors : 
 
 Wear your own lace ; eat beef, like Vernon's sailors ; 
 
 Or good sound mutton's manly juice delight in : 5 
 
 Your Chicken a la daub 's no food for fighting. 
 
 Seem we not slaves, while, to their language leaning, 
 We teach our sons' first words to lisp French meaning? 
 War on their modes ; or bow, beneath their feather ; 
 Sweep out French tongues, tails, fops and faith together. 10 
 
162 THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 
 
 Laugh at their Jargon; bid disdainful Satire 
 Blot from your style, tapis and recognoitre: 
 Gout and Escort — to taste and guard restore; 
 And act and talk plain English evermore. 
 
 A MOONLIGHT SCENE. 
 
 POPE'S HOMER. ILIAD VIII. v. 673. 
 
 THE leader spoke. From all his host around 
 Shouts of applause along the shores resound. 
 Each from the yoke the smoking steeds unty'd, 675 
 
 And fix'd their headstalls to his chariot side. 
 Fat sheep and oxen from the town are led, 
 With generous wine, and all-sustaining bread. 
 Full hecatombs lay burning on the shore ; 
 The winds to heav'n the curling vapours bore. 680 
 
 Ungrateful offering to the immortal powers! 
 Whose wrath hung heavy o'er the Trojan towers ; 
 Nor Priam nor his sons obtain'd their grace ; 
 Proud Troy they hated, and her guilty race. 
 
 The troops exulting sat in order round, 685 
 
 And beaming fires iUumin'd all the ground. 
 As when the Moon, refulgent lamp of night ! 
 O'er heav'n's clear azure spreads her sacred lights 
 
thelwall's selections. 163 
 
 "JVhen not a breath disturbs the deep serene, 
 
 And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene ; 690 
 
 Around her throne the vivid planets roll, 
 
 And stars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole, 
 
 O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed, 
 
 And tip with silver every mountain's head ; 
 
 Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise, 69o 
 
 A flood of glory bursts from all the skies : 
 
 The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight, 
 
 Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light, 
 
 So many flames before proud I lion blaze, 
 
 And lighten glimmering Xanthus with her rays ; 700 
 
 The long reflections of the distant fires 
 
 Gleam on the walls, and tremble on the spires. 
 
 A thousand piles the dusky horrours gild, 
 
 And shoot a shady lusture o'er the field. 
 
 Full fifty guards each flaming pile attend, 705 
 
 Whose umber'd arras, by fits, thick flashes send, 
 
 Loud neigh the coursers o'er their heaps of corn. 
 
 And ardent warriours wait the rising morn. 
 
164 thelwall's selections. 
 
 REPLY OF MR. PITT 
 
 (The late Earl of Chatham) 
 TO THE CHAHGE OF YOUTHFUL INEXPERIENCE, 
 
 AND THEATRICAL ANIMATION. 
 
 THIS illustrious father of English Oratory, having 
 expressed himself in the House of Commons, with his ac- 
 customed energy, in opposition to one of the measures then 
 in agitation, his speech produced an answer from Mr. 
 WalpolEj who, in the course of it, said, ' Formidable 
 e sounds, and furious declamation, confident assertions, 
 1 and lofty periods, may affect the young and unexperienc- 
 ( ed ; and perhaps, the honourable gentleman may have 
 ( contracted his habits of oratory by conversing more with 
 6 those of his own age, than with such as have had more 
 ( opportunities of acquiring knowledge, and more success- 
 ' ful methods of communicating their sentiments/ And he 
 made use of some expressions, such as vehemence of gesture, 
 theatrical emotion, fyc. applying them to Mr. Pitt's man- 
 
thelwall's selections. 165 
 
 tier of speaking. As soon as .Mr. Walpole sat down, 
 Mr. Pitt got up, and replied: 
 
 The atrocious crime of being a young man, which the 
 honourable gentleman has, with such spirit and decency, 
 charged upon me, I shall neither attempt to palliate, nor 
 deny; but content myself with wishing — that I may be 
 one of those whose follies cease with their youth ; and not 
 of that number who are ignorant in spite of experience. 
 
 Whether youth can be imputed to any man as a re- 
 proach, I will not assume the province of determining : 
 but, surely, age may become justly contemptible, — if the 
 opportunities which it brings have past away without im- 
 provement, and vice appears to prevail when the passions 
 have subsided. The wretch that, after having seen the 
 consequences' of a thousand errors, continues still to blun- 
 der, — and whose age has only added obstinacy to stupidity, 
 is surely the object of either abhorrence or contempt ; and 
 deserves not that his grey head should secure him from in- 
 sults. Much more is he to be abhorred — who, as he has 
 advanced in age, has receded from virtue, and becomes 
 more wicked with less temptation : who prostitutes himself 
 for money which he cannot enjoy, and spends the remains 
 of his life in the ruin of his country. 
 
 But youth is not my only crime. I have been accused 
 of acting a theatrical part. 
 
 A theatrical part, may either imply— some peculiarities 
 
166 thelwall's selections. 
 
 of gesture, — or a dissimulation of my real sentiments, and an 
 adoption of the opinions and language of another man. 
 
 In the first sense, the charge is too trifling to be con- 
 futed ; and deserves only to be mentioned that it may be 
 despised. I am at liberty (like every other man) to use 
 my own language : and tho I may, perhaps, have some am- 
 bition, — yet, to please this gentleman, I shall not lay my- 
 self under any restraint, or very solicitously copy his dio 
 tion, or his mien ;— however matured by age, or modelled 
 by experience. If any man shall, by charging me with 
 theatrical behaviour, imply that I utter any sentiments but 
 my own, I shall treat him as a calumniator and a villain : 
 nor shall any protection shelter him from the treatment 
 which he deserves. I shall, on such an occasion, without 
 scruple, trample upon all those forms with which wealth 
 and dignity entrench themselves ; nor shall any thing but 
 age restrain my resentment: age, which always brings one 
 privilege — that of being insolent and supercilious without 
 punishment. 
 
 But — with regard to those whom I have offended, I am 
 of opinion — that, if I had acted a borrowed part, I should 
 have avoided their censure. The heat that offended them 
 is the ardour of conviction, and that zeal for the service of 
 my country, which neither hope, nor fear, shall influence 
 me to suppress. 1 will not sit unconcerned while my li- 
 berty is invaded ; nor look in silence upon public robbery. 
 I will exert my endeavours (at whatever hazard) to repel 
 
thelwall's selections. 167 
 
 the aggressor, and drag the thief to justice,— what power 
 soever may protect the villany, and whoever may partake 
 of the plunder. 
 
 APOSTROPHE TO THE QUEEN OF 
 FRANCE. 
 
 BURKE. 
 
 IT is now, sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the 
 queen of France, then the dauphiness, at Versailles ; and 
 surely, never lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed 
 to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her just above 
 the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere 
 she just began to move in : — glittering, like the morning- 
 star ; full of life, and splendour, and joy. 
 
 Oh! what a revolution! — and what an heart must I 
 have, to contemplate without emotion that elevation and 
 that fall! 
 
 Little did I dream — that, when she added titles of vene- 
 ration to those of enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, that 
 she should ever be obliged to carry the sharp antidote 
 against disgrace concealed in that bosom ; — little did I 
 dream — that I should have lived to see such disasters fallen 
 
168 THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 
 
 upon her in a nation of gallant men, — in a nation of men 
 of honour and of cavaliers. I thought ten thousand swords 
 must have leaped from their scabbards, to avenge even a 
 look that threatened her with insult. — But the age of chi- 
 valry is gone. — That of sophisters, economists, and calcu- 
 lators, has succeeded ; and the glory of Europe is extin- 
 guished for ever. Never, never more, shall we behold 
 that generous loyalty to rank and sex, — that proud submis-* 
 sion, — that dignified obedience, — that subordination of the 
 heart, which kept alive, even in servitude itself, the spirit 
 of an exalted freedom. The unbought grace of life, the 
 cheap defence of nations, the nurse of manly sentjment 
 and heroic enterprise is gone ! It is gone, — that sensibility 
 of principle, — that chastity of honour, which felt a stain 
 like a wound, — which inspired courage whilst it mitigated 
 ferocity, — which ennobled whatever it touched ; and under 
 which vice itself lost half its evil, by losing all its gross- 
 ness. 
 
thelwall's selections. 169 
 
 THE CAPTIVE. 
 
 STERNE. 
 
 " Beshrew the sombre pencil !" said I, vaimtingly 
 
 ■ — " for I envy not its powers, which paints the evils of life 
 with so hard and deadly a colouring. The mind sits terri- 
 fied at the objects she has magnified herself, and blacken- 
 ed : reduce them to their proper size and hue, she over- 
 looks them. — 
 
 "'Tistrue," said I, correcting the proposition — "the 
 Bastile is not an evil to be despised : — but strip it of its 
 towers — fill up the fosse — unbarricade the doors — call it, 
 simply, a confinement, and suppose 'tis some tyrant of a 
 distemper — and not of a man — which holds you in it — half 
 the evil vanishes; and you bear the other half without 
 complaint. 
 
 I was interrupted, in the hey-day of this soliloquy, with 
 a voice, which I took to be that of a child, which com- 
 plained, " it could not get out." — I looked up and down 
 the passage ; and seeing neither man, woman, nor child, I 
 went out, without further attention. 
 
 In my return back, thro' the passage, I heard the same 
 words repeated twice over : and, looking up, I saw it was 
 a Starling, hung in a little cage. 
 
 — " I can't get out — I can't get out," said the Starling. 
 
 Y 
 
170 THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 
 
 I stood looking at the bird ; and, to every person who 
 came thro' the passage, it ran, fluttering, to the side to- 
 wards which they approached it, with the same lamentation 
 of its captivity. — 
 
 " I can't get out," said the Starling. — 
 
 " God help thee!" said I, "but I will let thee out— 
 cost what it will." So I turned about the cage, to get to 
 the door. It was twisted, and double twisted, so fast/ 
 with wire, there was no getting it open, without pulling the 
 cage to pieces. — I took both hands to it. 
 
 The bird flew to the place where I was attempting 
 his deliverance ; and, thrusting his head thro' the trellis, 
 pressed his breast against it, as if impatient. — " I fear, 
 poor creature !" said I, " I cannot set thee at liberty." 
 
 — " No," said the Starling — " I can't get out — I can't 
 get out," said the Starling. 
 
 I vow, I never had my affections more tenderly awakened ; 
 nor do I remember an incident in my life, where the dissi- 
 pated spirits, to which my reason had been a bubble, were 
 so suddenly called home. 
 
 Mechanical as the notes were, yet so true in tune to na- 
 ture were they chaunted, that, in one moment, they over- 
 threw all my systematic reasonings on the Bastile ; and I 
 heavily walked up stairs, unsaying every word I had said in 
 going down them. 
 
 " Disguise thyself as thou wilt, still slavery !" said I — 
 
171 
 
 ''still thou art a bitter draught! and tho thousands, in all 
 ages, have been made to drink of thee, thou art no less 
 bitter on that account. Tis thou, thrice sweet and graci- 
 ous goddess !" (addressing myself to Liberty,) " whom all, 
 in public, or in private, worship, — whose taste is grateful, 
 and ever will be so, till nature herself shall change ! — No 
 tint of words can spot thy snowy mantle, or chemic power 
 turn thy sceptre into iron. — With thee to smile upon him, 
 as he eats his crust, the swain is happier than the monarch 
 from whose, court thou art exiled. — 
 
 " Gracious Heaven!" cried I, kneeling down upon the 
 last step but one in my ascent — " grant me but health, thou 
 great bestower of it ! and give me but this fair goddess as 
 my companion — and shower down thy mitres, if it seems 
 good unto thy Divine Providence, upon those heads which 
 are aching for them !" 
 
 The bird in his cage pursued me into my room. I sat 
 down, close to my table ; and, leaning my head upon my 
 hand, I began to figure to myself the miseries of confine- 
 ment ; 1 was in a right frame for it ; and so I gave full 
 
 scope to my imagination. 
 
 I was going to begin with the millions of my fellow- 
 creatures born to no inheritance but slavery ; but find- 
 ing, however affecting the picture was, that I could not 
 bring it near me, and that the multitude of sad groupes in 
 it did but distract me — I took a single captive, and, having 
 
]/2 thelwall's selections. 
 
 first shut him up into his dungeon, I then looked thro 5 
 the twilight of his grated door, to take his picture. 
 
 I beheld his body half wasted away with his long expec- 
 tation and confinement ; and felt what kind of sickness of 
 the heart it was which arises from hope deferred. 
 
 On looking nearer, I saw him pale and feverish. In 
 thirty years, the western breeze had not once fanned his 
 blood : — he had seen no sun, no moon, in all that time ; — * 
 nor had the voice of friend or kinsman breathed through 
 his lattice. His children — 
 
 But, here, my heart began to bleed — and I was forced 
 to go on with another part of the portrait. 
 
 He was sitting upon the ground, upon a little straw, in 
 the farthest corner of his dungeon, which was, alternately, 
 his chair and bed : a little calendar of small sticks were 
 laid at the head, notched all over with the dismal days and 
 nights he had passed there : — he had one of these little 
 sticks in his hand ; and, with a rusty nail, he was etching 
 another day of misery to add to the heap. 
 
 As I darkened the little light he had, he lifted up a 
 hopeless eye towards the door ; then cast it down — shook 
 his head, and went on with his work of affliction. I heard 
 his chains upon his legs, as he turned his body, to lay his 
 little stick upon the bundle. — He gave a deep sigh. — I saw 
 the iron enter into his soul, I burst into tears. — I could 
 not sustain the picture of confinement which my imagina- 
 tion had drawn. 
 
thelwall's selections. 173 
 
 PART OF THE BURIAL SERVICE. 
 
 (From the Book of Common Prayer.) 
 
 I AM the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord ; he 
 that believeth in me, tho he were dead, yet shall he live : 
 and whosoever liveth, and believeth in me, shall never 
 die. 
 
 I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand 
 at the latter day upon the earth : and tho worms destroy 
 this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God. 
 
 Behold, thou hast made my days, as it were, a span 
 long : and miue age is even as nothing in respect of thee ; 
 and verily every man living is altogether vanity : for man 
 walketh in a vain shadow, and disquieteth himself in vain : 
 he heapeth up riches, and cannot tell who shall gather 
 them. 
 
 A thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday : see- 
 ing that is past as a watch in the night. As soon as thou 
 scatterest them, they are even as a sleep : and fade away 
 suddenly like the grass. In the morning it is green, and 
 groweth up ; but in the evening it is cut down, dried up, 
 and withered. 
 
 We consume away in thy displeasure ; and are afraid at 
 
174 
 
 thy wrathful indignation : for when thou art angry, all our 
 days are gone, and we bring our years to an end, as it were 
 a tale that is told. So teach us to number our days: that 
 we may apply our hearts unto wisdom. 
 
 Now is Christ risen from the dead, and become the first 
 fruits of them that slept : for since by man came death, by 
 man came, also, the resurrection of the dead. As in Adam 
 all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive. But some 
 man will say, " How are the dead raised up ? and with 
 what body do they come ?" Thou fool, that which thou 
 sowest is not quickened except it die : and that which thou 
 so west, thou sowest not that body that shall be, but bare 
 grain, — it may chance of wheat, or of some other grain : 
 but God giveth it a body, as it hath pleased him ; and to 
 every seed his own body. So, also, is the resurrection of 
 the dead : It is sown in corruption ; it is raised in incor- 
 ruption : It is sown in dishonour ; it is raised in glory : It 
 is sown in weakness ; it is raised in power : It is sown a 
 natural body ; it is raised a spiritual body. Now this I 
 say, brethren, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the king- 
 dom of God: neither doth corruption inherit incorrup- 
 tion. 
 
 Behold, I shew you a mystery. Wejshall not all sleep ; 
 but we shall all be changed in a moment, — in the twinkling 
 of an eye, at the last trump : for the trumpet shall sound, 
 and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be 
 
thelwall's selections. 175 
 
 changed. For this corruptible must put on incorruption, 
 and this mortal must put on immortality. So when this 
 corruptible shall have put on incorruption ; and this morta- 
 lity shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to 
 pass the saying that is written — " Death is swallowed up in 
 victory." O Death ! where is thy sting ? O Grave ! where 
 is thy victory ? The sting of death is sin ; and the strength 
 of sin is the law. 
 
 Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to 
 live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut 
 down like a flower : he fleeth, as it were a shadow, and 
 never continueth in one stay. In the midst of life we are 
 in death : of whom may we seek for succour, but of thee, 
 O Lord ! who for our sins art justly displeased ? Yet, O 
 Lord God most holy ! O Lord most mighty ! O holy and 
 most merciful Saviour ! deliver us not into the bitter pains 
 of eternal death. 
 
 Tlien, while the earth shall be cast upon the body by some standing 
 by, the Priest shall say, 
 
 Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God, of his great 
 mercy, to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother 
 here departed, we therefore commit his body to the 
 ground : — earth to earth, — ashes to ashes,— dust to dust ; in 
 sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life, 
 thro' our Lord Jesus Christ, who shall change our vile 
 body, that it may be like unto his glorious body, according 
 
176 THELWALl/s SELECTIONS. 
 
 to the mighty working whereby he is able to subdue all 
 things to himself. 
 
 I heard a voice from heaven, saying unto me, Write— 
 From henceforth blessed are the dead which die in the 
 Lord : even so saith the Spirit ; for they rest from their 
 labours. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 J. M'Creery, Printer, Black-Horse-Court, 
 Fleets treet, London. 
 

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