1797-1

Original Anecdotes.

He had only two daughters, and the fon of one of them alone remains to fucceed, Louis Lepelletier, a young man of the fairest promise.

GASPARD THIEVRI,

Colonel of the 9th regiment of huffars, was out on a reconnoitering party; and having discovered a body of the enemy, he pofted fome markfmen in a ravine in his rear, it being his intention to fly on their approach, in order to draw them into an ambufcade. His troopers, accordingly, in conformity to orders, began to term the Auftrians, "faves of the tyrant; bafe mercenaries, fighting for a mafter who kept them in chains!" &c. &c. They in their turn, called their adverfaries" paper-eaters, bellmelters, and regicides:" but would not advance a step. On this, a private e longing to Thievri's regiment rode up to the Auftrian line at full gallop, and leyelling his piftol with a deadly precifion, killed a horfeman immediately oppofite to him. The veteran enemy, however, undifmayed by this act of temerity, intead of pufhing forward, continued to joke, exclaiming, "Bravo, mention honorable, infertion, and bulletin !"

PETRE.

The preceding exhibits a remarkable inftance of hardihood in a private trooper; the prefent furnishes an anecdote infinitely fuperior, of which a perfon of the fame rank is the hero. Petre, a huffar in Thievri's regiment, was fent to a village of Brabant, to prevent it from being plundered. Some freebooters belonging to the army, who were fearching after hidden treafure, dug up a box, in which the inhabitants of the village had concealed all their property. The faithful guard, employed to protect the peasants, luckily arrived at the very moment when they were about to break the box open, and drawing his fabre, by his firmnefs and bravery, he at length fucceeded in driving away the pillagers. After this, he inftantly affembled the inhabitants, who, charmed with the bravery and generofity of the exploit, and pleafed too, perhaps, at the idea of having their future fafety enfured, under the guardianfhip of fuch a defender, offered to make him a prefent of the coffer, which contained ninety thoufand livres (worth 3000l. to 4000l. Sterling); but the generous Petre, who abfolutely refufed to accept a fingle hard, after thanking, ad. dreffed them as follows: " in preferving your property, I only did my duty; you therefore owe me nothing. I exhort, you, however, to be at more pains to

295

conceal your riches." Will it be believed, that fome of the officers termed this unfoldier-like-conduct, and that it actually ftopped his preferment for fome time?

M. BULIARD, the French Botanist. Though M. BULIARD did not live to acquire a diftinguifhed name among mo dern botanifts, yet his affiduity in the ftudy of that science would doubtless have procured him extenfive ce ebrity, had his years been prolonged. At the commencement of his labours, he had numberless difficulties to furmount. From the contracted state of his finances, he was compelled to defign, engrave, and print off with his own hands, the plates that embellished his firft work. After he had acquired fome degree of reputaon, he undertook the compilation of a botanic dictionary; in which, by the advi of his friends, the plants were claffifiedccording to their ufes, the poifonous, medical, culinary, &c. Unfortunately, he commenced with the poifonous and fufpected plants; as he deemed a warning concerning thefe, to be of the first importance. As foon as the work was edited, it was not only prohibited by the civil police at Paris, but all the printed copies were feized. A miftaken conception in the officers of the police of the nature of the work, and of their own power, was the caufe of this abfurd and oppreffive conduct. At the beginning of the prefent century, the mingling and adminiftration of poisonous drugs had arifen to a moft alarming height in the city of Paris and it was deemed neceffary to eftablish a chamber, under the title of La Chambre ardente, which was authorifed to prohibit all publications that treated of poifons, or the mixture of poifonous drugs. This chamber immediately condemned the work of Buliard, without making any enquiry into its nature and defign. Several months had elapfed, and much application was made, before the interdict was taken off. But this indulgence, when obtained, proved of very little fervice.The work had fallen into fuch negligent hands, that the greater part was destroyed, and the reft fo effentially damaged, that scarcely ten copies remained, which were fit for the public eye. The loss was estimated at 7000 livres, but he could obtain no indemnification. In the year 1780, he changed his plan, and published the fame materials, under the title of L'Herber de la France. Mr. Buliard died at Paris of a confumption, in the year 1793, and in the 41st year of his age. ORIGINAL

ARISTO DEMUS.

A MONODRAMA,

ARGUMENT.

Stimu

The oracle had demanded a virgin victim of the blood-royal, as the price of Metlenia's fafety. The lot had fallen on the daughter of Lycurgus, who fled with her. lated by ambition, Ariftodemus voluntarily offered his child: her betrothed husband, to fave her life, afferted, that he was pregnant; Ariftodemus immediately ftabbed her, and bade the priest convince himself of the falfehood of this evafion. He obtained the crown; but the reflection, how he had obtained it, never could be obliterated; and, at length, he flew himself upon his daughter's tomb."

YET once again-again at this dread hour,

When Nature flumbers in ferene repofe, And only murderers wake :-I come to paufe O'er thy cold grave, my child! Again I come, Worn out with anguifh, and the keeneft pangs That frenzying Memory knows. Ye dreadful fhades!

Ye fullen monumental groves of Death!
To you I come; efcap'd the wearying cares
Of empire, and its loathfome pageantry-
Sunk to the father, comes the wretched king.
O thou cold clay-once moulded by the hand
Of lavish Nature to perfection's form---
Once animate with life, and youth, and love;
Once my Earine! Again I come

To pour my forrows forth and call to view
What this curfed hand deftroyed; when, wild

with rage,

With favage fuperftition, and the luft

Of empire, I destroy'd the fairest work,
Of bounteous heaven-blafted the opening bud
Of beauty-caft away the ties of man-
And murdered my dear child!

Oh, he was dear!

I loved her-how I loved her witnefs heaven!
Witness the eternal grief that gnaws my heart;
Witness the days in fruitless efforts worn,
To check the bitter thoughts that ftill will rife;
Witness the nights, when Memory-fleeplels
fiend-

Fevers my throbbing brain. Oh, she was dear!
For fhe was all a father's heart could with:
Health bloffom'd in her cheek, and in her voice
The foul of mufic breath'd; her sparkling eye
Spoke each emotion of her gentle foul,
Moft eloquent, Meffenia never faw
A maid more lovely than Earine-
A happier father, than her barbarous fire.

Now I can praife thy falfhood, when too late,
Androcles!I had fanction'd all his hopes.
He faw her eye beam love; he heard her voice

[April,

age,

Behold me, withering like the blasted oak, Struck by the wrath of Heaven. Nor ever night

Defcends, but round my couch the furies throng, Dreadful they fmile, and in their red eyes glares Horrible expectation !

Light'nings come-Rufh round head-annihilate my my woes { Thou fearful fpectie, wherefore doft thou come Where doft thou beckon? Spirit of my child, Why bare that bleeding breaft? Earine, Spare me ! Earine my murder'd child, Spare thy poor father-tho' he spar'd not thee! Thou pointeft to the fword-this impious fwordThere is no hope-no mercy: I obey The dreadful call-accurft, abandon'd wretch, Down to perdition!(He ftabs himself.)

SONNET.

S.

the trance,

Where reafon ponders, to my faint heart speak Love's language: ardently could I rejoice

In fuch fweet tokens; but I fear thine eye Has learnt to beam with Love's hypocrify; And Siren wiles dwell in thy tuneful voice: For now of studied eloquence thy tongue

Yields to the task, which, to my lift'ning fenfe,

Was wont of yore fuch magic charms difpenfe, That on thy lips my trembling fpirit hung, Waiting new life.-Oh! free me from my pain

Speak as e'erwhile that I may love again.
B. W. H.

ΤΟ

1797.]

TO THE PRIMROSE,

BY THE REV. J. BIDLAKE,

(Author of the Sea, a Poem.) PALE vifitant of balmy spring, Joy of the new-born year,

That bidft young Hope new plume his wing,
Soon as thy buds appear:
While o'er the incenfe breathing sky
The tepid hours first dare to fly,

And vainly woo the chilling breeze;
That bred in Winter's frozen lap,
Still fruggling chains the lingering fap
Within the widow'd trees.

Remote from towns, thy tranfient life
Is fpent in fkies more pure;
The fuburb (moke, the feat of ftrife,
Thou canft but ill endure.
Coy ruftic! that art blooming found
Where artlefs Nature's charms abound,
Sweet neighbour of the chanter rill,
Well pleafed to fip his filv'ry tide,
Or nodding o'er the fountain's fide,
Self-gazing look thy fill..

Or on the dingles fhadowy steep,
The gaudy furze beneath,
Thy modeft beauties fweetly peep,
Thy chafter odours breathe.
From luxury we turn afide,
From wealth and oftentatious pride,

With many an emblematic thorn;
Thy humbler mien well pleased to meet,
Like competence in bleft retreat,

Thy fmiles the spring adorn.

What tho' thy boast no fplendid hue
Of Flora's prouder race,

To me more fair art thou to view

In all thy fimpler grace.
Thine innocence and beauty meek,
More like my Celeftina's cheek,

Where all the modeft virtues play;
Expreffion beaming from her eye,
In cherub fmiles of chastity,

With mild and temper'd ray.
Yet treasures lurk within thy lips
To glad the fpoiler bee,
Who not with idle errand fips,
Or wanton vagrancy.

Ah bleft is he who temperance tries,
Simplicity above disguife,

And fhuns the falfer glofs of art;
'Tis he extracts a blifs refin'd,
Congenial to the virtuous mind,
The tender feeling heart.

Thy fmiles young Innocence invite,
What time thy lids awake,
In fhadowy lane to taste delight,
Or mazy tangled brake.

The infant troop of rofy hue,
And gay with health I feem to view,

While Pleafure lights their laughing eyes ;
With little hands a wreath combine,
Their fugitive delights entwine,

And boast their fragrant prize.

AH Cynthia would thy gentle ear But once attend a mortal voice; Wouldft thou my wifh with favour hear, And grant the fubject of my choice; I would not ask a mighty, mighty boon; I would not ask a kingdom, gentle moon! I would but beg to take my place, Befide thee in thy filver car,

297

When o'er the heavens enlightened face
Thou throw't thy playful beams afar,
And mounted on a well-directed ray,
To diftant manfions wing my rapid way;
Then gliding to my Damon's bed,

Imprint a kifs upon his lip,

And from his flumber-folded head,
A raven ringlet foftly clip;
And on his pillow lay a potent charm,
To guard his fleep from any lurking harm.
Then turn my fecret course again,
And creep into my little nook,

And prefs the ringlet of my fwain,
And think upon his 'witching look;

And blefs his lovely name, and smile, and

To A LADY WITH A BOX OF ROUGE.

MUST I comply with what you afk-
Obedient when you speak?

Oh let me choofe fome other task,
I will not paint that cheek.
Sooner would I the fun-beam bear,

Or brave the rifing ftorm-
And fooner fhed the patient tear,
Than female youth deform.
How has dame Nature harm'd you yet,
That you with her must part;
Oh! why would you her care forget,
To be a Child of Art?
Thofe eyes fhall ever influence rain,

While beauty has a charm-
And ne'er fhall look on man in vain,

While love the heart can warm.
Then let your face, as lilies fair,

With lily-paleness vie ;

Let blushes, which the fimple wear,
The rofe's red fupply;
And for this trifle, tho' there be

No want of fuch-like aid,

Kifs it, because it came from me,
And I am well repaid.

EXTEMPORE.

ΤΟ

SEE, fairest of the nymphs, that play
In vernal meadows, blooming May
Comes tripping o'er the plain :
Lo! all the gay, the genial powers
That deck the woods, or "tend the flowers,
Compose her smiling train.

See, fofter, rofier hues adorn
The glowing cheek of blufhing morn,
When first the wakes the light:
Behold! a thoufand gentle fhades
Attend the evening, o'er the glades,

And glad the fullen night."
What fweets perfume the balmy air!
While Flora bids her glittering care

In all their beauty shine.
See Nature round, beneath, above,
All big with joy, all breathing love

And gratitude divine.

O fay amid these general fmiles,
What care corrodes-what joy beguiles

My friend's unfettled foul?
Say, does he join the fenfelefs throng
Of Comus' fons, and raise the fong

Around th' empoifon'd bowl?

But no! my ***'s generous mind,
Adorn'd with native tate, refin'd

By all the powers of art,
Would never bafely thus refign,
For all the feverish joys of wine,
The raptures of the heart.

Or does fome maiden, heavenly fair,
With rofy cheeks, and auburn hair,
And Love's inviting breaft,
At length awaken young Defire,
Set all his glowing foul on fire,
And break his golden reft?

But lo! a thousand maidens, all
Just ready to obey his call,

Difplay their venal charms,

And trim their locks, and tune their fighs, And try the force of fparkling eyes,

And wave their fnowy arms!

Thus Spring revives, and Summer glows,
And Beauty fmiles, and Nectar flows,
In vain to foothe his foul:
While led by Fancy's playful blaze,
The longing youth deluded strays,
Unbleft from pole to pole.

Alas! my friend, how vain to roam,
And feek abroad the joys that home

And home alone beftows:

The beam of mirth that lights the face-
The love that warms the fond embrace-

The blifs that ever grows.

What! tho' the awful pride of Rome
Unequall'd fwells the daring dome,
And emulates the skies:
Tho' many a temple's fad remains
Spread o'er Hefperia's storied plains,
Ia broken pomp arise :

Tho' o'er Helvetia's magic ground Rocks fwell on rocks confus'd around, And torrents roar between :

Tho' here a town, and there a farm, Perch'd on the breezy fummit, charm, And foothe the Sylvan fcene:

[April,

What! though the Rhine, fupreme of floods, Through caftled cliffs, and pendent woods,

And towns renown'd in fong:

For ever full-for ever great-
Thro' every age, in equal ftate,
Majestic rolls along :

Yet fay! can Art, with all its toys-
Can Nature's nobler, better joys,
Content the restlefs mind?
Like morning dreams, the phantoms play,
One fleeting hour-then fade away,
Nor leave a trace behind.

Then bomeward turn! there at the gate,
A thousand pleafures ready wait
A thoufand dear delights,
Amule the vacant hours of day,
Around the focial table play,

And brighten up thy nights.
There, fairest of the powers above,
Young Hymen waves the torch of Love,
And wooes thee to advance :
And there the Loves, a blooming band,
And fifter Graces, hand in hand,

Begin the mystic dance.

The Mufe, that loves a green retreat,
Already hovers o'er thy feat,

And wanders thro' thy groves:
Already, hark! the tuneful powers
Awake the echoes of thy bowers,
And fing thy future loves.
Alas! my ***, Glent, strong,

Time's treacherous current steals along,
And bears us on his tide:

While thinly fcatter'd up and down,
A flower may deck, a thicket crown,
It's bleak, unfightly fide.

Then haften! fnatch each floweret, while
The Fates allow it ftill to fmile,

For foon it's date is o'er;

And, as you pafs, enjoy the fhade,
Whofe vernal honours foon muft fade-
Muit fade to bloom no more.

May, 1797.

J. C. E.

To Mr. GILBERT WAKEFIELD, on his preparing for publication the poems of Lucretius, on the Nature of Things, with emendations, notes, and illuftrations. [Tranflated from the Latin of Mr. G. DYER.J By THOMAS BUSBY. THERE are who wrapt alone in claffic lore,

Can only Greek and Roman wit adore; Can trace no merit (fave in ancient lays) Pierian born, or worthy of the bays. Avaunt, each modern! thefe but ancients love, And Genius must his age and country prove. Others

Others there are, who daringly would brand That claffic fenfe they cannot understand: And ign'rant as loquacious, still exclaim, "Ceafe, Greeks and Romans, cease to challenge fame."

But we, more cautious, feek the middle way, Intent to follow Truth's informing ray: Left, too precipitate, and vain of praise, We treat the wit and tafte of ancient days Like those who fir'd with popular applaufe, Would reprefent the worse, the better caufe; Who doat on fuftian, and in pompous flyle, Augment the little, and extol the vile.

But if those ancients, charming all below, Bade from their hearts celeftial mufic flow; If, praifing heroes, they awak'd around The nobler virtues, by the pow'r of found; If a rich vein of fancy fir'd the foul, And happy labour beautify'd the whole; If their bold thoughts a god-like spirit breathe, Who from their brows fhall tear the living wreath?

Then be it thine, O WAKEFIELD! these to
praise;

To fpread their wisdom, and their glory raise;
Recal the luftre of their injur'd themes,
And ope new beds for their perennial fireams;
And while they murm'ring flow with tuneful
voice,

Britannia's nurtur'd vallies fhall rejoice.

Be this thy praife-mine, vagrant love * to
feek,

And in thy Mofchus hear Adonis fpeak;
Adonis ftill by Sylvan virgins mourn'd,
Adonis ftill by Venus' tears adorn'd.
Alas! too far they urge the melting art!
Now Priam's piteous fuff'rings rend my heart;
War's direful horrors, and Eliza's fate,

Preís on my foul, and fink me with their weight.

Appall'd, I throw. my wond'ring eyes around, And tremble while I tread Virgilian ground.†,

Now warmer paffions in my bofom rife, And tears unfeign'd gufh quicker from my eyes; While thou, foft Pity's bardt! art heard to

moan,

And all thy tragic forrows are my own.
Thee, thee our Collins and our Milton lov'd,
Reviv'd thy moral and thy force improv❜d.

* Mr. W. has edited the poems of Bion and Mofchus, the moft confpicuous of which are, the Ex Tapios Adwvidos by Bion, and the Epws Δραπετίδης of Μofcbus.

Mr. W. has edited the works of Virgil, with emendation and concife notes; he has likewife published an edition of Horace.

Mr. W. has edited fome Greek tragedies, under the title of TRAGEDIARUM DELECTUS; among the most eminent of thefe, are, the HERCULES FURENS, the ALCESTIS, and the Ion of Euripides, who has been called the Bard of Pity, and was particularly admired and imitated by Milton and Collins.

MONTHLY MAG, No. XVI.

299

Lo! rev'rend Homer || quits his awful fhades, And feems to liften to th' Aonian maids } From Phoebus' hands he wrefts the golden lyre;

The god tranfported owns his equal fire.

Now foothing ftrains his raptur'd mind compofe,

And fettled glory gilds his placid brows!
Blind, yet in mind he fees! and tho' deprefs'd,
The pride of genius rifes in his breast,'
As in that ancient buft his features fhine,
Thus in his Iliad beams the bard divine§!

Nor with those idle wits who fiction weave, And dictate nought that reafon can believe, Shall rank th' illumin'd fage whom now you raise, The kill'd Lucretius! crown'd with learned