And loads of crockery pay their learned toil;
The wond'rous fragments rich museums grace,
And ev'ry Pipkin rises up a Vase.

With deep concern, the curious bid me tell,
Why no Black-Letter dignifies my cell:
No Caxton? Pynson? in defence I plead
One simple fact; I only buy to read.

I leave to those whom headstrong fashion rules,
Dame JULIAN BERNERS, and the SHIP OF FOOLS;
The cheapest page of wit, or genuine sense
Outweighs the uncut copy's wild expence.
What coxcomb would avow th' absurd excess,
To choose his friends, not for their parts, but dress?
Yet the choice Bard becomes some ancient stains;
I love, in Gothic type, my CHAUCER'S strains;
And SPENCER's dulcet song as deeply charms,
When his light folio boasts ELIZA's arms.
Nay doubly fair the Aldine pages seem,
Where, broadly gilt, illumin'd letters gleam.
For stupid prose my fancy never throbs,
In spite of vellum-leaves, or silver knobs.

But Dn's strains should tell the sad reverse,
When Business calls, invet'rate foe to verse!
Tell how the Demon claps his iron hands,'
'Waves his lank locks, and scours along the lands,'
Though wintry blasts, or summer's fire I
To scenes of danger, and to sights of woe.
Ev'n when to Margate ev'ry cockney roves,
And brainsick poets long for shelt'ring groves,
Whose lofty shades exclude the noontide glow,

go,

While Zephyrs breathe, and waters trill below,*
Me rigid Fate averts, by tasks like these,
From heav'nly musings, and from letter'd ease.
Such wholesome checks the better Genius sends,
From dire rehearsals to protect our friends:
Else when the social rites our joys renew,

The stuff'd Portfolio would alarm your view,
Whence volleying rhimes your patience would o'er-

come,

And, spite of kindness, drive you early home.
So when the traveller's hasty footsteps glide
Near smoaking lava, on Vesuvio's side,
Hoarse-mutt'ring thunders from the depths proceed,
And spouting fires incite his eager speed.
Appall'd he flies, while rattling show'rs invade,
Invoking ev'ry Saint for instant aid :

Breathless, amaz'd, he seeks the distant shore,
And vows to tempt the dang'rous gulph no more.

* Errare per lucos, amœnæ,

Quos et aquæ subeunt et auræ.

HORAT.

The following ode contains ideas, suggested by the extraordinary prospect from a rock, in the neighbourhood of Alnwick Castle. That view comprehends a series of antiquities, deeply interesting, not only by their magnificence, but by their relation to history; and frequently recollected by the author, amidst the exertions of active life, as the favourite scenes of his youth, Some readers may, perhaps, suppose that the thoughts are not sufficiently developed. But I have always considered it as essential to the ode, that it should indicate impressions, without dwelling upon them. The torrent of ideas, which characterizes this species of poetry, only presents an object with force, to hurry it more rapidly beyond the view of the spectator.