No. VI.

Dec. 18, 1797.

We cannot enough congratulate ourselves on having been so fortunate as to fall upon the curious specimens of classical metre and correct sentiment which we have made the subject of our late Jacobinical imitations.

The fashion of admiring and imitating these productions has spread in a surprising degree. Even those who sympathise with the principles of the writer selected as our model, seem to have been struck with the ridicule of his poetry.

There appeared in theMorning Chronicleof Monday aSapphic Ode, apparently written by a friend and associate of our author, in which he is however travestied most unmercifully. And to make the joke the more pointed, the learned and judicious editor contrived to print the odeen masse, without any order of lines, or division of stanza; so that it was not discovered to beversetill the next day, when it was explained in a hobblingerratum.

We hardly know which to consider as the greater object of compassion in this case—the originalOdist, thus parodied by his friend, or the mortifiedParodistthus mutilated by his printer. “Et tu, Brute!” has probably been echoed from each of these worthies to his murderer, in a tone that might melt the hardest heart to pity.

We cordially wish them joy of each other, and we resign the modernLesbian lyreinto their hands without envy or repining.

Our author’sDactylicshave produced a secondimitation (conveyed to us from an unknown hand), with which we take our leave of this species of poetry also.

DACTYLICS.“Wēāry̆ wăy-wāndĕrĕr,” &c. &c.IMITATION.DACTYLICS.Being the quintessence of all the Dactylics that ever were, or ever will be written.HUMBLY ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ABOVE.

DACTYLICS.

“Wēāry̆ wăy-wāndĕrĕr,” &c. &c.

IMITATION.

DACTYLICS.

Being the quintessence of all the Dactylics that ever were, or ever will be written.

HUMBLY ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ABOVE.

Wearisome Sonnetteer, feeble and querulous,Painfully dragging out thy demo-cratic lays—Moon-stricken Sonnetteer, “ah! for thy heavy chance!”Sorely thy Dactylics lag on uneven feet:Slow is the syllable which thou wouldst urge to speed,Lame and o’erburthen’d, and “screaming its wretchedness!”. . . . . . . . .[21]Ne’er talk of ears again! look at thy spelling-book;DilworthandDyche[22]are both mad at thy quantities—Dactylics, call’st thou ’em—“God help thee, silly one!”

Wearisome Sonnetteer, feeble and querulous,Painfully dragging out thy demo-cratic lays—Moon-stricken Sonnetteer, “ah! for thy heavy chance!”

Wearisome Sonnetteer, feeble and querulous,

Painfully dragging out thy demo-cratic lays—

Moon-stricken Sonnetteer, “ah! for thy heavy chance!”

Sorely thy Dactylics lag on uneven feet:Slow is the syllable which thou wouldst urge to speed,Lame and o’erburthen’d, and “screaming its wretchedness!”

Sorely thy Dactylics lag on uneven feet:

Slow is the syllable which thou wouldst urge to speed,

Lame and o’erburthen’d, and “screaming its wretchedness!”

. . . . . . . . .[21]

Ne’er talk of ears again! look at thy spelling-book;DilworthandDyche[22]are both mad at thy quantities—Dactylics, call’st thou ’em—“God help thee, silly one!”

Ne’er talk of ears again! look at thy spelling-book;

DilworthandDyche[22]are both mad at thy quantities—

Dactylics, call’st thou ’em—“God help thee, silly one!”

[The following is theSapphic Odealluded to above, which was intended by the poet of theMorning Chronicleas a “retort courteous” to theFriend of Humanity. The printer of that paper, unfortunately, being new to “such branches of learning,” and not dreaming it could be intended forpoetry, printed it as below. The mistake seems to have been immediately discovered, for it re-appeared next day (Dec. 12) in the guise of verse.—Ed.]

The Hint taken from the Anti-Jacobin, “Needy Knife-Grinders”

The verses which we here present to the public were written immediately after the Revolution of the 4th of September. We should be much obliged to any of our classical and loyal correspondents for an English translation of them.

Ipsa mali Hortatrix scelerumque uberrima MaterIn se prima suos vertit lymphata furores,Luctaturque diù secum, et conatibus ægrisFessa cadit, proprioque jacet labefacta veneno.Mox tamen ipsius rursúm violentia morbiErigit ardentem furiis, ultróque minantemSpargere bella procul, vastæque incendia cladis,Civilesque agitare faces, totumque per orbemSceptra super Regum et Populorum subdita collaFerre pedem, et sanctas Regnorum evertere sedes.Aspicis! Ipsa sui bacchatur sanguine Regis,Barbaraque ostentans feralis signa triumphi,Mole giganteâ campis prorumpit apertis,Successu scelerum, atque insanis viribus audax.At quà Pestis atrox rapido se turbine vertit,Cernis ibi, priscâ morum compage solutâ,Procubuisse solo civilis fœdera vitæ,Et quodcunque Fides, quodcunque habet alma verendiReligio, Pietasque et Legum fræna sacrarum.Nec spes Pacis adhuc—necdum exsaturata rapinisEffera Bellatrix, fusove expleta cruore.Crescit inextinctus Furor, atque exæstuat ingensAmbitio, immanisque irâ Vindicta renatâReliquias Soliorum et adhuc restantia RegnaFlagitat excidio, prædæque incumbit opimæ.Una etenim in mediis Gens intemerata ruinisLibertate probâ, et justo libramine rerum,Securum faustis degit sub legibus ævum;Antiquosque colit mores, et jura ParentumOrdine firma suo, sanoque intacta vigore,Servat adhuc, hominumque fidem, curamque Deorum.Eheu! quanta odiis avidoque alimenta furori!Quanta profanatas inter spoliabitur arasVictima! si quando versis Victoria fatisAnnuerit scelus extremum, terrâque subactâImpius Oceani sceptrum fædaverit Hostis!

Ipsa mali Hortatrix scelerumque uberrima MaterIn se prima suos vertit lymphata furores,Luctaturque diù secum, et conatibus ægrisFessa cadit, proprioque jacet labefacta veneno.

Ipsa mali Hortatrix scelerumque uberrima Mater

In se prima suos vertit lymphata furores,

Luctaturque diù secum, et conatibus ægris

Fessa cadit, proprioque jacet labefacta veneno.

Mox tamen ipsius rursúm violentia morbiErigit ardentem furiis, ultróque minantemSpargere bella procul, vastæque incendia cladis,Civilesque agitare faces, totumque per orbemSceptra super Regum et Populorum subdita collaFerre pedem, et sanctas Regnorum evertere sedes.

Mox tamen ipsius rursúm violentia morbi

Erigit ardentem furiis, ultróque minantem

Spargere bella procul, vastæque incendia cladis,

Civilesque agitare faces, totumque per orbem

Sceptra super Regum et Populorum subdita colla

Ferre pedem, et sanctas Regnorum evertere sedes.

Aspicis! Ipsa sui bacchatur sanguine Regis,Barbaraque ostentans feralis signa triumphi,Mole giganteâ campis prorumpit apertis,Successu scelerum, atque insanis viribus audax.

Aspicis! Ipsa sui bacchatur sanguine Regis,

Barbaraque ostentans feralis signa triumphi,

Mole giganteâ campis prorumpit apertis,

Successu scelerum, atque insanis viribus audax.

At quà Pestis atrox rapido se turbine vertit,Cernis ibi, priscâ morum compage solutâ,Procubuisse solo civilis fœdera vitæ,Et quodcunque Fides, quodcunque habet alma verendiReligio, Pietasque et Legum fræna sacrarum.

At quà Pestis atrox rapido se turbine vertit,

Cernis ibi, priscâ morum compage solutâ,

Procubuisse solo civilis fœdera vitæ,

Et quodcunque Fides, quodcunque habet alma verendi

Religio, Pietasque et Legum fræna sacrarum.

Nec spes Pacis adhuc—necdum exsaturata rapinisEffera Bellatrix, fusove expleta cruore.Crescit inextinctus Furor, atque exæstuat ingensAmbitio, immanisque irâ Vindicta renatâReliquias Soliorum et adhuc restantia RegnaFlagitat excidio, prædæque incumbit opimæ.

Nec spes Pacis adhuc—necdum exsaturata rapinis

Effera Bellatrix, fusove expleta cruore.

Crescit inextinctus Furor, atque exæstuat ingens

Ambitio, immanisque irâ Vindicta renatâ

Reliquias Soliorum et adhuc restantia Regna

Flagitat excidio, prædæque incumbit opimæ.

Una etenim in mediis Gens intemerata ruinisLibertate probâ, et justo libramine rerum,Securum faustis degit sub legibus ævum;Antiquosque colit mores, et jura ParentumOrdine firma suo, sanoque intacta vigore,Servat adhuc, hominumque fidem, curamque Deorum.Eheu! quanta odiis avidoque alimenta furori!Quanta profanatas inter spoliabitur arasVictima! si quando versis Victoria fatisAnnuerit scelus extremum, terrâque subactâImpius Oceani sceptrum fædaverit Hostis!

Una etenim in mediis Gens intemerata ruinis

Libertate probâ, et justo libramine rerum,

Securum faustis degit sub legibus ævum;

Antiquosque colit mores, et jura Parentum

Ordine firma suo, sanoque intacta vigore,

Servat adhuc, hominumque fidem, curamque Deorum.

Eheu! quanta odiis avidoque alimenta furori!

Quanta profanatas inter spoliabitur aras

Victima! si quando versis Victoria fatis

Annuerit scelus extremum, terrâque subactâ

Impius Oceani sceptrum fædaverit Hostis!

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