of ideas entirely new. And the address to Liberty, which concludes this admirable ode, is far superior to any thing of that kind with which we are so frequently entertained by our most admired poets; as it is more expressive of the true sense and spirit of an Englishman. Just and lively pictures are the very essence of an ode, as well as of an auction-room, whether there are any proper places to hang them in or not; and such there are in the narrow compass of this little piece, of every thing that is great and beautiful in nature; of the morning rising from the ocean; of the Sun, the Moon, and the planetary system; of a giant and a hermit; of woods, rocks, and mountains, and the seasons of the revolving year and in all these, the images are so entirely new, the transitions so sudden and unexpected, so void of all apparent art, yet not without much of that which is quite invisible; the thoughts are so sublime, so distant from all vulgar ideas or common sense, that the judicious reader will scarcely find in it a single deviation from the severest laws of just criticism; and if he can peruse this incomparable work without an enthusiastic admiration, he ought to conclude, that whatever delight he may receive from poetry of other kinds, he is one of those unfortunate geniuses who have no taste for that most sublime species of it, the ode. ODE. "I'LL Combat Nature, interrupt her course, And baffle all her stated laws by force; Tear from its bed the deeply-rooted pine, And hurl it up the craggy mountain's side; Divert the tempest from its destin'd line, And stem the torrent of th' impetuous tide; Teach the dull ox to dance, the ass to play, And even obstinate Americans t' obey. "Like some dread Herald, tigers I 'll compel In the same field with stags in peace to dwell: The rampant lion now erect shall stand, Now couchant at my feet shall lie depress'd; And if he dares but question my command, With one strong blow I'll halve him to a crest." Thus spoke the giant Gogmagog: the sound Reverberates from all the echoing rocks around. Now Morning, rob'd in saffron-colour'd gown, Her head with pink and pea-green ribbands dress'd, Climbs the celestial staircase, and looks down The crystal lakes and tufted trees, The lawns all powder'd o'er with straggling flocks, The scarce-enlighten'd vales, and high o'ershadowing rocks.> 1 Enamour'd with her newly-dawning charms, To the slow loitering hours he roars amain, Parent of life! refulgent lamp of day! Say, what new worlds and systems you survey! Where cold in everlasting triumph reigns; And thou, sweet Moon! canst tell a softer tale; And sighs and looks, and looks and sighs again; Say, for thou know'st what constant hearts endure; And by thy frequent changes teach the cure. Thy gentle beams the lonely hermit sees Or the wind whistling o'er the furzy plains. Now lovely Spring her velvet mantle spreads, Resembling much some antiquated beau, Soft nightingales their tuneful vigils hold, Summer succeeds; in ev'nings soft and warm O'er turnpike-roads incessant chaises sweep, To brace their nerves beneath the briny deep; There with success each swain his nymph assails, As birds, they say, are caught-can we but salt their tails. Then Autumn, more serene, if not so bright, And of its purple clusters rob the vine; Last, Winter comes; decrepid, old, and dull; Yet has his comforts too-his barns are full; The social converse, circulating glass, And cheerful fire, are his: to him belong Th' enlivening dance that warms the chilly lass, The serious game at whist, and merry song; Vanum iter ingreditur; nigris namque imminet alis, | Man, only man, solicitous to know Et cursu in medio Mors intercludit euntem, Quare age, vina liques: epulæ, convivia, lusus, Mane salutantum. Quid multa? Huc denique eò- Volveris, ut clames heu! quantum in rebus inane! Quænam igitur tentanda via est? Ubi littus amicum? Nempe vides ut semper avet, dum corpore clausa Mens alia ex aliis scire, ac sine fine gradatim Gaudia quinetiam non hæc fugientia poscit, Limitibus quibus hoc periturum corpus; at exsors tled in Lincoln's Ian, where he engaged in the profession of the law. In 1759 he published this poem, De Animi Immortalitate, which was universally read, and as universally admired, not only for the choice and arrangement of the matter, but the purity of the language, which Lucretius himself would have acknowledged as a perfect copy of his style. Struck with the arguments, the disposition of those arguments, and the beauty of the expression, but above all with the bright contrast to the obscurity of the metaphysical poets of the last century; Mr. Jenyns was the first who translated it into English, and whose translation, as it was first in time, was also first in propriety and elegance amongst those with which the public was afterwards favoured. Mr. Browne's happy vein in poetry placed him The springs whence Nature's operations flow, To sport with Phillis in the noontide shade? Great Bacchus, who alone the soul can clear, But these delights soon pall upon the taste; What means then shall we try? where hope to A friendly harbour for the restless mind? No fleeting joys she asks, which must depend Take courage then, these joys we shall attain; amongst the foremost of the art in his lifetime, the justice of which preference posterity will be enabled to determine, from a collection of his poems published in octavo, by his only son Isaac Hawkins Browne, esq.-a mark of filial piety, one of the prominent features in his most respectable and amiable character. Corporis in cellis poterit stipata teneri; Jam quorum undanti eloquium fluit amne, rapitque Quò velit affectus, tonitruque et fulgura miscet; Sive etenim flexu numerorum vique canora, Sanctus adest vates, per quem sublimior ordo', Quid, qui cœlestes nôrunt describere motus; Astraque pervolitat, delapsam cœlitus, illuc Qui tandem hæc fierent nisi quædam in mente subesset Vis sua, materiæ mixtura immunis ab omni? Conscia porrò sibi est, vult, nonvult, odit, amatque, Et timet, et sperat; gaudet, mæretque sua vi et Cogitet, ac prope jam sua quæ sit fabrica novit. Tantane corporea est virtus? An machina vires Percipit ulla suas, aut quid sibi præbeat escam? Omne etenim corpus nihil est nisi machina, motu Impulsa externo, non interiore suoque. Vulgiigitur studiis noli altæ mentis acumen Metiri; ast illos, etiam nunc laude recentes, Contemplare viros tellus quos Attica, vel quos Si quis rem acutius introspiciat, firmum ex Poesi sumitur argumentum, magnitudinem rerum magis illustrem, ordinem magis perfectum, et varietatem magis pulchram animæ humanæ complacere, quam in natura ipsa, post lapsum reperire ullo modo possit. Quapropter, cum res gestæ, et Can matter these contain, dispose, apply? When now the rapid stream of eloquence Of those what think you, who the circling race Of suns, and their revolving planets trace, And comets journeying through unbounded space? Say, can you doubt, but that th' all-searching soul, That now can traverse Heav'n from pole to pole, From thence descending visits but this Earth, And shall once more regain the regions of her birth? Could she thus act, unless some power unknown, From matter quite distinct and all her own, Supported and impell'd her? She approves Self-conscious, and condemns; she hates, and loves, Mourns, and rejoices, hopes, and is afraid, Without the body's unrequested aid: Her own internal strength her reason guides, By this she now compares things, now divides, Truth's scatter'd fragments piece by piece collects, Rejoins, and thence her edifice erects; Piles arts on arts, effects to causes ties, And rears th' aspiring fabric to the skies: From whence, as on a distant plain below, She sees from causes consequences flow, And the whole chain distinctly comprehends, Which from th' Almighty's throne to Earth deAnd lastly, turning inwardly her eyes, Perceives how all her own ideas rise, Contemplates what she is, and whence she came, And almost comprehends her own amazing frame. Can mere machines be with such pow'rs endu'd, Or, conscious of those pow'rs, suppose they cou'd? For body is but a machine alone [scends: Mov'd by external force, and impulse not its own. eventus, qui veræ historiæ subjiciuntur, non sint ejus amplitudinis, in qua anima humana sibi satisfaciat, Præsto est Poesis quæ facta magis Heroica confingat.-Bacon de Augmentis Scientiarum, lib. ii. E. Roma, nec alterutri cedens talit Anglia, nutrix Quid tibi tot memorem divino pectore vates, Enasci potuisse; Deum quin tempore in omni Conspersisse, velut stellas, hinc inde locorum Splendidiora animi quasi quædam lumina; ut istis Accensa exemplis se degener efferat ætas, Agnoscatque suî quàm sit sublimis origo. Præterea esse aliquid verè quod pertinet ad nos, Morte obita, nemo secum non concipit; intus, Monstratum est intus; testatur docta vetustas; Publica vox clamat; neque gens tam barbara quæ non Prospiciat trans funus, et ulteriora requirat. Hinc seritur, tardè crescens, et posthuma merces, Quercus, natorum natis quæ prosit: et ingens Pyramidum moles stat inexpugnabilis annis. Hinc cura ila omnis vivendi extendere metas, Nomine victuro; tanti est hinc fama superstes, Ingenio ut quisquis præcellit, nulla recuset Ille subire pericia, nec ullos ferre labores, Si modo venturi speciem sibi vendicet ævi, Gloriaque ad seros veniat mansura nepotes. Nonne videmus uti convictus criminis, ipso Limine sub mortis, culpam tamen abneget omnem; Mendax, ut sibi constet honos atque integra fama? Nempe animis hæc insevit natura futuri Indicia obscurasque notas; hinc solicita est mens, De se posteritas quid sentiat; at nihil ad nos Postera vox, erimus si nil nisi pulvis et umbra; Sera venit, cineres nec tangit fama quietos. Quid porrò exequiæ voluere? Quid anxia cura Defunctis super, et moles operosa sepulcri? Pars etenim terræ mandant exsangue cadaver, Et tumulo serta imponunt, et sacra quotannis Persolvunt; tanquam poscant ea munera manes: Extructa pars ritè pyra, cremat insuper artus, Colligit et cineres, fidaque reponit in urna ; Ut sic relliquiæ durando sæcula vincant. Quid memorem fluctu quos divite Nilus inundans Irrigat? His patrius mos non exurere flamma, VOL. XVII. Or Britain, well-deserving equal praise, Parent of heroes too in better days. Why should I try her num'rous sons to name By verse, law, eloquence, consign'd to fame? Or who have forc'd fair Science into sight Long lost in darkness, and afraid of light? O'er all superior, like the solar ray, First Bacon usher'd in the dawning day, And drove the mists of sophistry away; Pervaded nature with amazing force, Following experience still throughout his course, And finishing at length his destin'd way, To Newton he bequeath'd the radiant lamp of day, Illustrious souls! if any tender cares Affect angelic breasts for man's affairs, If in your present happy heav'nly state, You 're not regardless quite of Britain's fate, Let this degenerate land again be bless'd With that true vigour which she once possest; Compel us to unfold our slumb'ring eyes, And to our ancient dignity to rise. Such wondrous pow'rs as these must sure be giv'a For most important purposes by Heav'n; Who bids these stars as bright examples shine, Besprinkled thinly by the hand divine, To form to virtue each degenerate time, And point out to the soul its origin sublime. That there's a self which after death shall live, Hence, without hopes to be in life repaid, Hence is our love of fame, a love so strong, For fame the wretch beneath the gallows lies, What mean the nodding plumes, the fun'ral And marble monument that speaks in vain, To their unfeeling dead in different ways? Some in the flower-strewn grave the corpse have laid, And annual obsequies around it paid, As if to please the poor departed shade; And store their ashes in the faithful urn; But all in one great principle agree, To give a fancy'd immortality. Why should I mention those, whose ouzy soil Is render'd fertile by th' o'erflowing Nile, S s |