THE HORSE AND THE RIDER, A FRAGMENT. And some there were, who shudd'ring, said Deep in the midnight glen; What time, his fir'd and trembling steed, Nor height of hill,, nor depth of dale, No antler'd monarch of the wood, No form was seen! no voice was heard Perchance he never will. FINIS. PREFACE. THIS Poem, in its first edition, was not unfavourably received, but it was considered too short. It is now three times as long. Perhaps I have added many faults, to remove one. Be that as it may, the Poem is now long enough—if good for any thing,— too long--if good for nothing. It was written at such intervals as could be spared from the prosecution of a larger work; but although this may be some excuse for writ ing bad lines, I admit it is none for printing them.---If fine themes always made fine B poets, this little effort would be much more deserving of the public attention; but the converse is unfortunately the case. The subject, indeed, deserves a pen that has more leisure, and more ability than mine. The Conflagration of Moscow is the most interestingevent of these latter times--whether we consider the immensity of the force that was put in array against her, the magnanimity of the sacrifice, or the incalculable importance of the results, Our modern Manufacturer of Kings would certainly have issued a fresh batch from his imperial oven of the Kremlin, if it had not been overheated by some of the workmen. I may be accused of not having treated my hero with sufficient respect, as in the opinion of many, he is still "majestic, though |