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Hear then, dread Genius! now invoked with truth,

Benignant grant thy suppliant's warm request; In soft repose, oh lull my wearied youth !

And let me taste the joys of placid rest.

But if stern fortune ev'ry hope should blight,

Forbid the bliss of Silence, hallow'd reign! If she should tear me from each fond delight,

And plunge me ʼmid the angry waves again;

At least, O Father ! to my closing life

Grant some retreat-where I my age may bear ; There place me far remote from vulgar strife,

And shelter'd safe from every human care.


TUNE—"Begone dull Çare.

BEHOLD! where Spain

Lifts her glittering turrets on high,-
Behold! where Spain

Spreads her lap to the azure blue sky.

Ah, why do her hills, and sweet vallies between,

Seem brighter and brighter, I pray? 'Tis the breath of fair Liberty blows o'er the scene, And drives the dull clouds away.

Arise ! bold Spain,

Spread thy glittering banner on high-
Arise ! bold Spain,

Thy day of redemption is nigh.

The blood that warm’d thy sons of old,

Shall fire thy sons to day;
And the spirit that chased the valiant Moor,

Shall drive the proud Gaul away.


It is with no small degree of pleasure I enter on the most grateful office an Editor of a work like the present has to perform, that of arresting sometimes in their flight the erratic productions of Genius, and of gracing my pages by giving in them a local habitation to the scattered gems that have escaped the industry and research of more regular collectors. For presenting to them the following very elegant effusion from the pen of the celebrated David Garrick, I challenge the thanks of every reader of taste, and I here gratefully offer mine to the friend who so obligingly favoured me with it.


O NANNY! why when ardent love

Beats in each trembling pulse of mine,
Dost thou the generous flame reprove,

By ev'ry killing look of thine ?

But Nanny, thou wilt nothing stake,

No little trifling danger run
For him, who freely for thy sake,

A thousand ways would be undone.

The above was set to music by Dr. Burney, but it has never yet, I believe, appeared in print. It certainly is not in Kearsley's collection of Garrick's poetical works, though nothing can be more beautiful.

Of the lady to whom these lines were addressed, I will only observe that this is not the only tribute paid to her by Garrick; nor was he the only poet that broke a lance in her honour. Of her beauty and accomplishments what testimony can be given superior to the verses themselves ?


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In a conversation I some time since had the honour of holding with the present Emperor of Hindostan, Acbar Sanee, His Majesty recited to me an anecdote of his royal and ill-starred father Shaw Allum; which at once displayed his own manly and nervous appreciation of character, and fineness of tact, in seizing on that happy minuteness which marked, more than the most elaborate description could have done, the form and measure of his illustrious father's mind;-and displayed both the deepest sensations of respect and veneration for that great and much suffering descendant of Timour.—“My Father"-said His Majesty to me, was a great man, he possessed an exalted mind, and a firmness of character perhaps unequalled,—of this, I will adduce a strong proof. He was affected, Sir, with a disease, which I believe, is vulgarly termed the Bengal Itch ; it was represented to him by the most learned of his physicians, that nothing would more exasperate, and consequently retard longer his case, than scratching himself, and at the same time it is known, that in this disease, the desire of scratching most violently predominates, and is indeed considered invincible. Yet what was my father's conduct on this occasion ? He perceived that to

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scratch would be unwise and this was for him sufficient ; strong as the inclination must naturally have been, he determined to repress it; and I now assure you on my royal word, that what I am about to tell you is a solemn truth : Shaw Allum had the magnanimity, Sir, not to scratch himself once !!!"

Magnanimous indeed!”—said I, in a rapture of enthusiasm—“ thus greatly to deny himself a luxury which one of our kings (James the First) has declared to be too exquisite

exquisite for any but Sovereigns to enjoy !"


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56'Tis best sometimes your censure to restrain,
And charitably let the dull be vain.”


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