And, stretch'd out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength; And crop-full out of door he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings. Mr. M. seems indeed to have a turn for this species of nursery tales and prattling lullabies; and if he will studiously cultivate his talent, he need not despair of figuring in a conspicuous corner of Mr. Newbury's shop-window; unless indeed Mrs. Trimmer should think fit to pro scribe those empty levities and idle su perstitions, by which the world has been too long abused.

From these rustic fictions we are transported to another species of hum. Tower'd cities please us then, And the busy hum of men, Where throngs of knights and barons bold In weeds of peace high triumphs hold, With store of ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize Of wit or arms, while both contend To win her grace whom all commend. To talk of the bright eyes of ladies, judg ing the prize of wit, is, indeed, with the poets, a legitimate species of humming; but would not, we may ask, the rain from these ladies' bright eyes rather tend to dim their lustre? Or is there any quality in a shower of influence, which, instead of deadening, serves only to brighten and exhilarate? Whatever the case may be, we would advise Mr. M. by all means to keep out of the way of these knights and barons bold; for, if he has nothing but his wit to trust to, we will venture to predict, that without a large share of most undue influence, he must be content to see the prize adjudged to his competitors.

Of the latter part of the poem little need be said. The author does seem somewhat more at home when he gets among the actors and musicians, though his head is still running upon Orpheus and Eurydice, and Pluto, and other sombre gentry, who are ever thrusting themselves in where we least expect them, and who chill every rising emotion of mirth and gaiety.

He appears, however, to be so ravished with this sketch of festive pleasures, or perhaps with himself for having sketched them so well, that he closes with a couplet, which would not have disgraced a Sternhold:

These delights if thou canst give,
Mirth, with thee I mean to live.

no doubt; but we beg leave to remind him, that in every compact of this nature there are two opinions to be consulted. He presumes, perhaps, upon the poetical powers he has displayed, and considers them as irresistible;-for every one must observe in how different a strain he avows his attachment now, and at the opening of the poem. Then it was, If I give thee honour due, Mirth, admit me of thy crew. But having, it should seem, established his pretensions, he now thinks it suffi cient to give notice, that he means to live with her, because he likes her.

Upon the whole, Mr. Milton seems to be possessed of some fancy and talent for rhyming; two most dangerous endowments, which often unfit men for acting an useful part in life, without qualifying them for that which is great and brilliant. If it be true, as we have heard, that he has declined advantage indulging his poetical humour, we hope ous prospects in business, for the sake of it is not yet too late to prevail upon him to retract his resolution. With the help of Cocker and common industry he may become a respectable scrivener; but it is not all the Zephyrs, and Auroras, and Corydons, and Thyrsises, aye, nor his junketing queen Mab, and drudging goblins, that will ever make him a poet. To the Editor of the Monthly Magazine.

SIR,

AVING received a letter from

H Nancy, in France, stating the

3d. to 4d. per pound.❤

2s. 6d.

1s. 3d.

8d.

articles, it may give your readers some of colonial produce and other prices amusement by inserting them. Beef, Mutton, Pork, and Lamb, Fowls, a couple 1s. Turkeys, each Geese, each Butter, per pound Brandy, (best) Claret Black Tea Sugar, (refined) Coffee, (raw) Labourer's wages, from 5s. to 7s. a week. If you think it worth while to insert this, I shall from time to time give you the prices of articles in other parts of the continent.

2s. 6d. per gallon. 444. per bottle. 5s. to 5s. 10d. per lb. 2s. 6d. per pound. 3s. 6d. per pound.

But I have here no mother in whose ear To pour my cares, my doubts, my anxious bodings,

And I must weep alone and in concealment. When shall I be with her again?—I want

her.

Perhaps I never shall behold her more.
My father has not come so often lately,
And may not now return.-What armed maa
Stalks hither, like a god, majestic, calm,
But with a seeking eye, and hearkening ear?
Is it my father's spirit? No: 'tis he.
O come my father-let me clasp thy feet,
And thank thee for this welcome, heaven-
tim'd visit.

Pour calm and comfort on my troubled sou!.
Tosti. Comfort! What mean'st thou, child,

by words of comfort?

When we have done our duty, and the fate
That we deserve not falls upon our heads,
I know no comfort but to bear it bravely.
I come to snatch thee hence, and with thy

mother

To take thee to her father's court in Flanders:

dom,

The ghosts of past possessors glide in silence, Whence nor the winter-fire, nor summer

sun,

Can chase this cheerless and unsocial coolness:

Ye were not form'd for deeds of revelry,
For joyous pomp, for music, dance, or feast.
Tho' strewn with flowers and rushes, the'
adorn'd

With all this gilded pageantry of plate,
Ye see far fitter for some doleful scene

Of endless woe-to hold the warrior's corse, When wife and daughter weep upon his wounds,

And helpless vassals, mute, with folded arms Stand by, and view the spectacle of grief, While minstrels sound o'er his unhearing clay

The solemn hearse-song. Here, within some nook,

Might rise the virgin's tomb, whose lover

will I think of vengeance. Come along :

There are no moments granted for delay. Thus strangely arm'd, the servants of the castle

Took me, it seems, for one of Edward's train, And let me pass unquestion'd; but should Harold

Find I am here, I know his coward soul Will borrow some assassin's arm to slay me, And give thee up to be the whore of Edward. Edi. Harold is not the base dissembling

T. He knew that Edward did not; For Harold's counsel nam'd the embassy That but three days ago set off for Denmark, To bring our monarch his intended bride. Edi. Then I am lost.

T. Know'st thou the pandar now? What wonder if I started from my seat,

And,

Who help'd his minion up, I was his brother: And so I left him. From thy throne, Alfather,

Turn the red eye of wrath upon this man,
And heap the measure of his curses full!
Ingratitude, with cold and marble hand,
Wait on his childless age; and may he
vainly

Sue for the faith which he has broke to others!

Disease, and not the warrior's thank, or song Of praising bard, pursue

Edi. Stay, stay, my father; For oft the wishes that we speak in anger, The gods fulfil to punish our presumption. T. What mildews from the venom floods below

Could rack him with such loathsomeness of pain

As to avenge me? Has he not accepted
The earldom given for my long services,
Which Edward most unjustly took away?
Edi. The earldom-

T.

Maid, that earldom was brave Siward's,

The model whom my early eye was fix'd on, Whose equal after-ages shall not see.

His ear, his wealth, his arm, belong'd to those

Whom hard oppression's gripe retain'd in

thraldom.

When his son fell in battle, he look'd up, And thank'd the gods that not a wound appear'd

But on the young man's breast.--O he was great!

'Twas his old age that from a crime-earn'd

throne

Down dash'd Macbeth the tyrant; his weak

age:

And when his limbs refus'd the toils of war, He scorn'd to live-he brac'd his armour on, And stabb'd himself. (draws bis sword.)

This is the blade he hallow'd. His earldom Edward to thy father gave, (Once he had not forgot that I have serv'd him)

And call'd me the great Siward's worthy pupil.

'Twas a proud word; I thrill'd as Edward spoke it.

I priz'd the gift, and on the old earl's sword
I swore to Mana I would not defile it.
And this is snatch'd from me, unjustly
snatch'd,

Because I dar'd to say that lust is wicked.
What dost thou think, Editha? Is it wicked?
Edi. O do not look so terribly upon me.

Edi.

Yes, it was snatch'd from me, to be

thy uncle's.

will yet have vengeance. (Harold enters beloto.) Here he comes O let us fly, my father, let us fly. Irresolution is the woman's weakness. 'Tis now too late. Be not dismay'd, my child:

7.

Thy father's arm shall stili suffice to hew A bloody passage hence. Thou shalt be sav'd.

I've station'd armed vassals in the wood, With means for thy retreat-they have my orders

To seek me here in arms, in case I tarry.

Edi. Wilt thou not hear my uncle, lest

his soul

Batten on stolen wealth, grow fat on plunder,
Refuse to make a common cause of justice,
And to unsheath the sword at tyranny?
Our forefathers had made this wilful Edward
Their quarry of inexorable war,

Till he had yielded back my right; or chas'd him,

Like the vile Dane, to other shores for shelter.

H. Be not so hasty. Ere a week is fled, The king will be dispos'd to give thee back Thy earldom, and his former confidence. If I declin'd, some other favourite Had ravish'd it for ever from our house. As for thy daughter, by my knightly word, From Edward's lust her honour shall be safe While I have life and weapons. Trust me, brother,

Her purity I value, as thyself.

His love I would encourage-but she's

Edi. Now every thing about me seems transform'd.

The day itself puts on a yellower garment, And sweeter music billows in the gale. Henceforth let Joy her blooming roses twine Around these stately columns: thro' the roof

Vibrate the welcome voice of mirth and song.

(EDWARD, HAROLD, also Minstrels, enter.} Edw. Tosti, thy daughter's wishes, and thy brother's,

My bosom echoes. Let unmingled gladness
Hover among these hospitable rooms.
And may oblivion's murky cavern hide
The hated memory of our vanish'd anger.
(Minstrels sing.)

Stay, stay, ye loitering gales,

Ye clouds your golden tresses loose,
Peace, whistling billows, peace :

Ye Vauns, your locks with coral wreath'd,
Forsake your marble caves,

With amber strew the strand,
And to the billowy plain

With winning words O woo the mermaid

choir

To twine their pearled arms in swimming dance,

And warble songs of joy!

'Tis Lofna, from her shelly car,

Who waves the lily-wand.

forgotten.

T. This holy hand-shake be recorded

I'll straight be here.

[Goes.

Edi. O how my heart is eas'd! I'm glad thou heard'st my uncle: he is kind, My father, let me weep upon thy neck The tears of joy that tremble on my cheek. As when the clouds of tempest melt to rain, For louring death bestowing fertile showers, So is the change from enmity to love. "Twill make my mother happy. To forefeel Her coming joy, redoubles my delight.

T. We'll soon be with her, child. I feel exhausted

With this tumultuous ebb and flow of feeling. Edi. Gladly the generous soul foregoes mistrust.

T. How liable to fatal misconception Is all the conduct of the cunning man! His ends were easier gain'd by plainer means. The mazy path winds further thro' the wood, And adders lurk beneath its secret shade.

Two brother-souls.

Elves, on the sparkling floor
Of Hlyna's hall

Your sweetest flow'rets fling.
Two brother-souls approach

wreathe anew the bonds of love,

Which strife with wolfen tooth`
No more shall gnaw in twain.
Edw. I would be left with Harold. At
the feast

We meet again, and in the wassail-cup
We'll bury what remains of lingering hatred.
(TOSTI,EDITHA, also Minstrels, withdraw.)
I hate hypocrisy; but you're obey'd.
Why bend before his anger? Why descend
To use one word of mean apology?
O, it was like the cowardice of one
That dares not face a quarrel, to forgive
him.

Besides, this boasted peace cannot be lasting. 'Tis as the shining içe of one night's freezing, Which levels all the waves to perfect calm