Quelquefois vous croirez, au déclin d'un jour som

bre,

D'une Héloïse en pleurs entendre gémir l'ombre. Chant 4.

There on a lofty hill exalted high,
Crown'd with proud battlements that scale the sky,
An ancient castle lifts his frowning head,
The country's tyrant, and the vassals dread,
Which in the days of discord and alarms
Beheld the broken lance, and feats of arms;
Where Henries, Bayards, and our worthies old,
Their tilts and tournaments were wont to hold.
Where erst this gloomy architecture frown'd,
The yellow harvest laughs along the ground;
Angles and bastions now are scarcely seen,
Cloth'd with a vivid robe of smiling green.
High 'mid the ruin'd tow'rs the nests are hung,
Where birds in peace brood o'er their callow young;
Wide roam the herds among the mould'ring forts,
And where his fathers fought the infant sports.

Deep in yon wood a sudden gloom profound
Enwraps the abbey's lonely walls around.
'Tis silence all! There Contemplation loves
To lose herself, as through the aisles she roves,
Where holy virgins check'd their young desires,
Pale as the lamps, whose solitary fires

Hung feebly glimm'ring through the sad abode,
Watch'd, burn'd within, consum'd themselves for
God.

Bless'd Solitude yet haunts each silent cell,
And peaceful Innocence there loves to dwell.
Those moss-clad walls which domes and spires
adorn,

That altar's steps, "which holy knees have worn;"
Those arched cloisters ever wrapt in night,
Those windows dim that shed a gloomy light;
Those shrines where secret victims mourn'd in vain,
And curs'd their vows, and voluntary pain,
When once-lov'd raptures seized the struggling

soul,

And tears of passion from devotion stole ;
All breathe a tender melancholy round,
And more than mortal voices seem to sound.
There as you muse along the silent shades,
What time the weeping ev'ning sadly fades,
Some shrouded ghost still stalks along the gloom,
Some Eloïsa groans from yonder tomb.

In the early editions of "Les Jardins" the poem terminates with the apostrophe to the memory of Cook; but in the latter impressions, with an episode founded on the story of the Sidonian monarch, Abdalonimus. As this very

narrative, however, closes the second book of the "English Garden" of Mason, it is scarcely possible not to suspect that the Abbé, however he may have varied some of the incidents, borrowed this illustration from the British bard. It is true that the tale has been told by several individuals both ancient and modern; that it is recorded by Diodorus Siculus, Plutarch, Justin, and Quintus Curtius, and has been dramatised by M. de Fontenelle and the Abbé Metastasio; but as it appeared not in the first draught of the poem, which there is reason to believe was composed without any reference to its immediate predecessor, its insertion in subsequent editions, when the author must have had ample opportunities for becoming well acquainted with the work of his contemporary, cannot but lead to the inference which has just been suggested.

An impartial review of the two poems will probably lead to the conclusion, that, if in dignity, simplicity, and pathos, the production of Mason be deemed superior to its French rival, it must, in point of variety, and I apprehend, too, in point of interest, submit to yield a preference.

With regard to the Anonymous Version of the work of M. De Lille, the discussion of whose merits has given rise to, and furnished the chief subject of these papers, it will, I trust, be allowed, that sufficient specimens have been given to bear out the qualified assertions in its praise with which the series commenced. By quoting the original, I have enabled my readers, indeed, to judge for themselves, and I do flatter myself, that, whatever may have been said or thought of this translation, when viewed as a whole, the extracts so copiously brought forward in these essays, will adequately prove that they, at least, are not deficient in beauty, fidelity, and spirit; a result which, when the inequality of the work from which they have been quoted, and the oblivion into which it seemed to be falling, are taken into consideration, will render this attempt to recall into notice its better parts, an undertaking, I should hope, neither void of entertainment nor utility.

No. XVII.

The gentle bard by Fame forgotten.

JOHN SCOTT.

THE Miscellaneous Poems of Dr. Beaumont, of which, in No. IX., I have promised to take a further notice, were published at Cambridge in 1749, under the title of "Original Poems in English and Latin.”

The latter, which occupy only about thirty pages, possess nothing remarkable either in relation to their matter or their manner, except that as specimens of classical purity of style, they will by no means stand the test of criticism. Their deficiency in this respect, indeed, has been apologised for by the Memorialist of his Life and Writings in the following terms:-" If in his style," says he, "he sometimes sinks below the purity of the Augustan age, it is to be remembered, that he had been long conversant with the ecclesiastical writers, and the later his