The Sun.
London, England, 1818-07-18 00:00:00

POETRY.

THE THIRTEENTH EPISTLE to Me EDLNRURG

REVJEWERS.

1.*C2Y12 It •

Celebres potosqw Poctas,

-• • .
Now from the Lakes; turn, and next the Bard,
Who sang the hallow'd day of rest, regard.
What ! sing the Sabbath ! oh—on such a theme
In vain would. genius throw his brightest beam.
Altite of Jewish superstition born,
Tho' sung by Angels, you would view with scorn.
To you that day marled not creation's close,
Nor the glad morn Wlien ClittisT front death arose;
But scem'd a needless institute of man,
Quite inconsistent with great Nature's plan ;
frho on that day which Christians give to sloth,
With ceaseless toil promotes the flow'ret's,growth ;
And thus gives proof, by works not words exptess'd,
Condoes.not will that day a day of rest.
Nu wonder then you stigmatiz'd the lays,.
Or worse than claimed them with insidious praise.
There are, said you, some striking thoughts, 'tis true,
Must borrow'd—of his own some one or two;
But with the good is mix'd so much alloy,
The whole would scarce be pardon'd in a boy.
No taste, no fancy, and no ear for verse;
'The diction vulgar, and the doctrine worse;
Nothing to please a nice fastidious reader.
High Churchman, Presbyterian, or Seceder,
We know not. what he is ; and theri—oh vile!
He BUONAPARTE treats in rudest style.
This was the sting; this, GRA LIAM E, call'd forth his satire ;
This, and thy Christian tenets, solve the matter.
lint heed him not; than hash that inward glow
Which ali who spread the Christian troth must know,
And Many a one who on thy little book,
Kith glistening eyes, in days too Come shall look,
Wili cry, xs pious thoughts his bosom swell—
Oh ! may in ev'ry land the sacred bell
To prayers its dwellers oto each Sabbath call !
May the Lou'sß Day be holy kept by all!

Let us to War.tuit next in order go,
Who, Order's friend, of course had you his foe;
To curb mad anarchy the champion rose, ,
And did in verse what B U HEE' had done in prose :
Arru'd in a public cause, fur public ends,
Perchance he said too Much of private friends;
But there was warmth and vigour in his strain,
"Which you, poor sneerer, would attempt in vain :..
You, woo once cried—The Wandeier's third edition,
And this without My sanction and permission ?
Nurs'd into life, who can with patience see
This spawn of mawkish sentiment and tea?
Let me the bantling's frail existence end,
Nor to his whining ahs and ohs attend. •
You said, and struck your would-be fatal blows :
But the young HERCULES more vigorous rose;
Till by his side, " The World before the Flood,"
A brother of still higher promise stood.
MoNTnomEav, scorn his gibes, nor wear the willow,
Because he rails so rudely at thy pillow.
On which be it thy theme or place of rest,
Sung by thy pen, or by thy temples prest,
Thou may'st than he more sweetly sleep or write,
Whose conscience wakes him, and who scrawls from spite

But will you not, altho' you sorely vex
The men, be kinder to the softer sex ?
No—no—like Monsters that disgrac'd the town,
With keener zest you strike a woman down.
BAI LUC, who halt with strung inventive mind,
The charms of SU., IiSPEA RE and RACINE combin'd,
Thou lutist hare read with calm and pitying smile
His scoffs on plan, verse, characters, and style.
Thy plan, he said, is full of ridicule;
Thy verse defies all harmony and rule;
Thy ill-drawn characters are void of force;
Thy style mere patchwork, trifling, tame, and coarse;
Thou bast nut powers to individualize ;
Read are thy Tragedies with tearless eyes;
Thy Comedies with laughless lips—for mark
Thou bast of true cis comics no spark.
Thus to defame thee was the man's design—
Quoting his proofs by single word and line ;
For had he made his extracts more at length,
He could not have conceal'd their warmth and strength.
Thou aeed'st not, lady, such aspersions dread,
By all despis'd who have thy dramas read.
But, Lady, now farewell—l see advance
A noble youth with genius in his glance,
In his left hand he bears a little book;
Whilst with his right he points (a modest look,
Illlploring kindness for his unripe age)
To Minor printed in the title page.
But vain the charms of verse or youth's appeal,
Relentless could for neither feel.
Tho' his first song bespoke his future fame,
Tho' not ,tilavorthy e'en of BYRON'S name,
You Critic view'd it with an eye of scorn,
The more because the Bard was nobly burn.
Such verse, you said, nor Gods nor men permit—
A Hat ne'cr rais'd to feeling dr to wit;
Nor can the plea of nonaKe aught avail;
In law and justice too that .plea must fail.
Then think not, tho' with Nobles we toast rank thee,
That. we will boti., and far thy nonsense thank thee.
Haut, game and rake, with others liirdiings, troy;
Thou vast not destiu'sl with the muse to toy.

You spoke—the young Bard look'd contempt and ire;
Cone was all softness—and eyes Hashing tire,
lie wrote that satire with indignant pen,
Admir'd, if not by Gods, at legit by we'll—
In that he struck you, Autsmacuus, down; •
Made you the laughing stock or the town.
Nor did the ridicule in London stay, -
But to Edina quickly found its way ;
Where at you jeers and scoffs were freqnent cast;
And pointing fingers mark'd you as you pass'il—
There goes—so prompt at honor's Call
Howe'cr he die it will not be by ball. '
No—no, cry they, in more sarcastic tone, •
The To!booth soon ;OH claim him for her own.
Thus from the stripling whom you dai'd to brave,
Did you endure the cruel pangs you gave;
Thus did the minor all your power defeat,
And hunt your bloodhounds back to Arthur's Seat..

With this example of just retribution,
Of hangman brought himself to execution, .
I end my list of your poetic wrongs;
(To tell them all would need a hundred tongues),
•
Had otheri-done as noble BYROK dial,•
You long ago your reereant.face had hid ;
Now by the frown of Satire uncontroul'd
Again impunity has made yOu bold;
Again you, tho 'with les'sen'd claim, affect • •1
A sovereign power o'er favour and neglect.
Can you, then, and your hireling scribblers give -
Death to a work whose worth might bid it live ? ••
Such crowds of readers from your traitorous pen
Take all their views. of things, and books, and men
Tiro' such vast numbers your abuses spread,
By whom the book abus'd is never read :
That, whilst we wish. your fatal poiver o'erthrown, .
We must with sorrow its existence own.
Time after time in vain have you deceiv'd ;
Again, like oracles, are you believ'd;
But soon your powers may truth's bright aegis numb,
And, as those oracles, make you too dumb.
Would my weak efforts might some Bard excite,
Of higher powers, to emulate the fight !
By whom you might be more than Byroniz'd,
Till in the end, unhought, unread, deepis'd,
Your dead Review might rot on shelves unseen,
And be but nailed as pest that once had been.

0* We hope that some loyal and patriotic Bookseller will
collect and publish these &nil.Es, which, though they
sometimes betray marks of hasty composition, are in general
characterised by good sense, sound morality, learning,
poetical spirit, and genuine piety. We can promise, in the
name of the Author, who is above all pecuniary considera-
tions, that they shall be illustrated with notes, instructive
and :interesting, affording a full justification of the ap-
parent severity of the ,criticisms on,the wor4;air,aitist, which it
'directed. ,• • •r: • tit,:
I.PtI IV4lc3* —.l

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