ΤΟ

HUMPHRY REPTON, Esq.

ON BEING PRESENTED BY HIM WITH HIS LANDSCAPE OF

STOWE-VALLEY.*

INGENIOUS REPTON, from thy pencil warm,

Shines this loved scene, with more than scenic charm;
Since each soft feature, by th' associate powers,
Of youth and love and friendship's blissful hours,
Brings back, thro' every season, as it veers,
Some striking image of the vanish'd years;
Whether the months of bloom, and light, and love,
With silver blossoms curtain yonder grove;
With golden king-cups bid the mead be gay,
And all the lake in molten glass inlay;

* Mr Repton took the view from the drawing-room window, in the Bishop's Palace at Lichfield, the home of the author from her earliest youth.

Or when less genial mornings of the spring,
Chill'd by retreating Winter's icy wing,

The darkling waters with their gusts assail,
And curl the mists along the rainy vale.

Dear is that vale, when Summer's sultry days
In one white, dazzling, circumambient blaze,
Shadeless, excessive, all distinctness hide,
Straining the visual rays, that scarce divide
The circling hills, blue lake, and mossy tower,
The hedge-row motionless, the silent bower;

While shrink mute birds, where central branches

spread,

And lowing mothers hang the heavy head,
Wade in the sedgy brook that sluggish flows,
Or crowd beneath the alder's dusky boughs,

Dear, when the amber noon of autumn gilds The flame-tipt umbrage, and the level fields; Dear, e'en tho' sullen wintry clouds impend, And showers of leaves, in eddying winds, descend; While the mild auburn nymph, that crowns the year, Mourns her swoln waters, and her forests sear; To Fancy's eye her exile seems to wail,

And, down the little, desolated vale,

To press, with lingering step, as one that grieves, Its white, shrunk petals, and its rustling leaves.

When o'er the livid lake, and grey waste fields
His blasting rod the stormy despot wields;
And thro' the rifled grove, in wild career,
Howls the loud knell of the expiring year,

Yet loved the scene :-And now, when tempests roar,
Thick snows descend, and ice incrusts the shore,
On its changed face no more my eye shall dwell,
No fruitless sighs 'gainst Nature's laws rebel;
But be it mine the glowing hearth to pile,

And woo the mild Penates' lively smile!

Thus, while ascending fires, with influence bright, Deride the sickly sun and howling night,

In as disarming power thy tints shall foil

The year's grim tyrant, yelling o'er his spoil,
Charm'd, since the consecrated vale I see
In one eternal Summer cloth'd by thee.

1. 10. Mild Penates-The Penates, or Lares, are the house</ hold gods. There is a beautiful hymn to them in Mr Southey's Miscellany.

PHILIPPIC

ON A MODERN EPIC.

BASE is the purport of this epic song,
Baneful its powers;-but O! the poesy!
(What can it less when sun-born Genius sings?)
Wraps in reluctant ecstacy the soul

Where poesy is felt ;-tho' here it paint

In all the lurid traits of Nero's heart,

The high heroic spirit of that prince

Who graced the crown he wore; Britannia's boast, HARRY OF MONMOUTH !-he, who ne'er exposed His ardent legions on the deathful plain

Where flamed not his broad shield, nor his white plumes,

Play'd in the battle's van.-What claim'd he then

1. 11. White plumes-It is mentioned by the historians, that in the field of Agincourt, the white plumes of the king's helmet were always seen waving in the front of the battle.

From France, at the sword's point, but ceded rights
Howe'er perfidiously with-held, when pledg'd
For aye to England, after the proud day

Of Cressy's thundering field? Then Gallia's star
Sunk, and the planet of the argent shores
Rose glittering on the zenith's azure height,
What time upon the broken spears of France,
And prostrate helms, immortal Glory stood,
And with the lilies of that vaunting clime,
Like a gay bridegroom, wreath'd the victor brows
Of her great EDWARD.-O! unnatural boy!
O beardless parricide! thy treacherous Muse,
In the dire splendour of MEDUSA's charms
Balefully deck'd, an impious task essays,
Lab'ring to turn to deadliest aconite

The laurel wreaths of Agincourt;--to brand
The hallow'd lustre of the British name

With slavish meanness, with rapacious avarice,
And the wolf's rage. Britain, whose martial fire
Applauding ages have pronounced adorn'd
With fair munificence, and temper'd still
By God-like mercy's sway,-O, dark of heart,
As luminous of fancy! quit, for shame,

Quit each insidious pretence to virtue,

1. 4. Cressy's thundering field-Cannon were first used by the English at the battle of Cressy.